Dates with God, Chapter 2, Part 2: Jill’s Letter #2

I am making up for not posting something from my book until today, Friday, by giving you two excerpts today, and then two tomorrow. So here is the next installment of Dates with God. I started posting pieces of this new novel of mine last week. Check back to last week’s posts so you can meet all of the characters and their first letters to God. I wrote this book as a collection of four  fictional women’s letters/journal entries that they write when they take the Mothers Who Know class. So, may I present Chapter 2, Part 2: Jill’s Letter #2, in which we see Jill’s husband have a temper tantrum.

Jill’s Letter #2

 

What am I fighting for?

 

I am fighting to save my eternal marriage and family. I remember when I was just married. It was so easy to talk to Rob. The love flowed so completely and easily between us. There was no second-guessing or wondering how he would take things or feeling like he is a hypocritical grouch. I could always count on him listening calmly and lovingly. Now things have changed. We get into fights so easily. I wish I could go back to the good old days, or even when we were dating. I was looking at pictures from then and all the happiness I felt back then came rushing into me. How things have drastically changed! When I was about 10 or so, I remember being scared of some of my friends’ dads. Now Rob is one of those grumpy old men that I was scared of.

 

I learned about the satanic spin of the mind last week in class. The mentor asked us to watch for it happening inside of us over the next week. I definitely saw it happen in this house.

 

I was in the basement, refinishing an old dresser to make it look distressed in a vintagely charming way for the girls’ bedroom. I was also taking pictures of every step so I could put a tutorial about it on my blog. I had this complete vision in my mind of just how darling it would look! Rob was upstairs, trying to find something. Then I heard his voice boom out,

“Where’s my racquet?”

 

I remembered he said he was going out to have guy time with his friends to play racquetball.

 

“Check the shed!” I called back to him. I took a peek through the basement window to watch him go fetch it. He was gone in the shed for a while, then he came back out. As he walked across the backyard in the snow, he accidentally stepped into one of the holes the kids had dug in the yard last fall and never filled in. He tripped and fell.

 

I expected him to start yelling about falling in the hole when he stormed through the back door. Instead he launched into a tirade about racquets. “That’s not the racket I wanted. It’s my racquetball racquet, not a tennis racket!”  He started jumping up and down and threw some toys that were on the coffee table, against the wall, breaking the glass of a picture frame in the process.  I ran upstairs to talk to him. When he saw me he yelled, “You are such a dope! Don’t you know the difference? Why do things have to be so disorganized around here?”

 

I stood there looking at him, a grown man, acting like a two year old. It was actually quite comical. Normally when he has done this in the past, I get sucked right in and start yelling back. This time, I noticed a shift in my body’s chemistry. It was this feeling of anger towards him. It brought back all the memories of all the times he has raged. I had this thought inside me of “I’ll show him!” I felt my heart beating faster and my mind scrambling for what to say. All the kids were staring at us.

 

“If only Curtis could see you now.” I said to him. We then had a bitter argument that probably lasted for 15 minutes. Everything he said was about how he would be nicer if things weren’t so messy and why was I such a lousy housekeeper. Everything he said just proved more and more of what a jerk he is. Doesn’t he know that the housework is never done and I was taking a break?  I finally decided to walk away and he kept following me, yelling the whole time. I went into the bathroom and locked the door behind me. He kept yelling through the door. I decided to turn the shower on so I couldn’t hear him. I took a long time in there and started crying. I was just hoping the girls would take care of the baby, who had probably woken up with all that yelling.

 

That’s another thing I hate, besides his yelling. It’s that I cry because he’s so mean, and even if I am ever mean to him, which is hard for me to be, he never cries. It’s like he can “get” to me so quickly, and I will usually change and do what he wants, but I can’t get to him or change him or hurt him. It’s so unfair! After I came out the kids said that he had left with Brother Fielding to go play racquetball. I guess he decided to rent a racquet. All that fuming for nothing. He could have just simply decided to rent a racquet right away when he couldn’t find one and save all the ranting, and the broken picture frame, and his tripping. Jerk.  After it was all over he came home and acted like nothing happened. Double jerk. He definitely owes me an apology. #ican’tbelievehowmuchofajerkmyhusbandis

 

I spent the rest of the week replaying the event in my mind, wanting to call my friends and blab all about it and ask what they would do. But I didn’t. It’s really none of their business. I have had this habit when we have problems between us that I go call my mom or girlfriends and get them involved. I am changing that. He has told me many times that it’s like I am a walking poll, going around and getting everyone’s opinions on our marriage’s current events and issues.

 

Why am I fighting for my eternal marriage and family? Why do I want to be eternally sealed to a jerk? It’s because I know that Rob really isn’t a jerk. That’s not his real self. Whenever satan starts replaying memories of Rob being mean I remind myself that that’s not really him. Nevertheless, it’s not OK for him to treat me this way. I want to get the old Rob back, the Rob who laughs with me, roughhouses with the kids, and asks me what he can do to help me. I still have hope I can get him. I ask Thee God to please help me know how to get him back.

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