Page 82 of The Marriage Game

“First off, having problems but working through them is not humiliating—it’s admirable. Second,” she cocks her head, “have you ever actually read one of my books?”

“Well, no,” I reluctantly admit. “But I’ve heard all about them. My sisters called you Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle for married couples. They told me that story about the couple you made ride the ski lift over and over again until they…made up.” Wow, there I go again…my code words really need some work. “And,” I go on hastily, “there was that couple you yourself mentioned, the one where the husband struggled with a porn addiction. You’re really going to sit there and tell me that man was okay with you putting something so shameful in a book?”

“Yes,” she says simply, “I am.” Her expression turns hard. “And shame on you for judging him for his sin, a sin he brought to light in order to break free from its chains.”

I reel back as if I’ve been slapped. “I-I wasn’t judging him,” I stammer, “I only meant that must’ve been embarrassing for him.”

“Ah, yes.” Dorothy’s eyes still flash with anger. “Embarrassment, the devious cousin of shame. The two so often work in tandem to keep us enslaved to our sin by preventing confession. The former often stops us from telling others and the latter fools us into thinking we can’t approach God with it.” She snorts. “As if He doesn’t already know. As if He hasn’t already covered it with His blood. Let me tell you something, there is so much power in confession. Confession can not only liberate us of our chains, it can also showcase God’s grace. Confession is, in my opinion, often a form of testimony that can spur others toward confessions and reconciliations of their own. Perfection, on the other hand, is a devilish illusion that only serves to feed the all too pervasive lie that we don’t need God.”

Her words crack something inside me. It takes me a moment to realize what it is, but then it strikes me. They crack my facade of perfection.

It’s only a tiny sliver, and yet its very existence gives me space to take a full breath for the first time maybe ever.

Stop chasing perfection and chase me instead, God seems to whisper and the crack lengthens. An echo of a familiar Bible verse resounds in my mind, one I’ve heard so many times over the years that the words lost their significance. The message of it became rote. Something to recite simply because it sounds good or it’s expected of Christians. But this morning it’s as if the Holy Spirit has shone a light across the words, illuminating their direct application to my life. Highlighting the devastating effects of having not lived their message out.

“For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.”

Even with all of the openness and honesty between me and Max the last few days, I don’t think I once said that I wanted to move away from my perfectionist ways. Sure, I admitted toneeding him, but my desire to have the perfect image is still fully intact. Heck, it’s what brought me and Max to this extreme point of lying to someone who wants to help us–it was all to avoid negative exposure.

Another verse, just as familiar and rote, comes alive in my mind.

“Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”

Boast? Of my weaknesses?

Could I really do such a thing?

“Now then,” Dorothy continues briskly, “there’s no point in dwelling on our difference of opinion about what constitutes as shameful. We’re here today to talk about the two of you, so I suppose we should move onto what your plans are going forward. You’ve made strides this weekend, but marriage often requires a battle plan, one where the two of you are fighting in the same army with God as your general rather than operating as opposing forces.”

I stare blankly at her. It’s strange how she can be so unaware of how something so momentous just took place inside me. How can she not know that God just changed my heart? There’s a bubbling inside of me like I’m celebratory champagne waiting to burst out of the bottle to the joyous shouts of the surrounding party. I want to share this good news inside of me.

Next to me, Max clears his throat. “Before we go on, I, uh, think I have something I need to say,” he announces.

“By all means,” Dorothy says, spreading her hand out in his direction to indicate he should speak, but it’s me he addresses when he does.

“Jill, I’ve been thinking, and, well, I’ve really let you down the last couple of years by prioritizing my work over you and the kids. Last night we spent some time in prayer together and it only cemented my feelings on the matter.” He takes my hands.“I am not going to run for attorney general. And not just because you don’t want me to—though that would have been enough of a reason seeing as you’re my wife so your opinion matters most, but also because I realized thatIno longer even want to run for attorney general. What I want is to be more present at home.”

His declaration is the last twist on the cork keeping my joy contained, and with a wide smile the words start to overflow out of me.

“Oh, Max, that makes me so happy,” I effuse. “I should’ve expressed this to you sooner, but the kids and I, we need you. We really do. They’re growing up so fast, and I don’t want you to miss it. I want us to see it together. And I want you around more because Imissyou.”

“I miss you too.” Max runs his thumb across my cheek. “I’m sorry I haven’t prioritized you and the kids the way I should have.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t recognize what a gift it was that for so long you did make us your priority,” I say earnestly. “Maybe if I had you wouldn’t have stopped. I took it for granted, and I won’t ever do that again. I’m done playing games in our marriage and I’m also done acting as if we have it all together when we don’t. In fact,” I lean in to whisper this next part, because, as eager as I am to shout about the new freedom I’m feeling, what I’m about to say is not my decision alone, “I know this is a complete 180, but if it will help others, I think I actuallydowant Dorothy to share our story. Is that crazy?”

Max smiles. “If it is, then I must be crazy too, because I was actually thinking the same thing.”

“You know, my patients really don’t usually have so many whispered side conversations,” Dorothy muses. “Then again, my patients usuallywantmy help and input. Just please tell me you’re not plotting another animal stunt. I don’t think theowners will be as understanding if you bring a horse into the lodge.”

Max chuckles. “No more animal stunts,” he tells her, still looking at me.

“No more stunts period,” I agree. “And not just stunts. We’re also all done with plots, plans, and most of all pretenses. From now on, authenticity is our game.”

“Oh really?” Dorothy’s voice drips with disbelief. I can’t say I blame her. I guess there’s only one way to prove her wrong.

“Yes, really,” I say with a smile. “And I hope you’ve been taking notes on all of this, Dorothy.” I pause because I want to provide some build-up for my next question–an effective tool I’ve utilized often in my career in public relations. It works just as it should; Dorothy leans in with interest to hear my next statement: “How else are you going to remember all of this for your next book?”

Dorothy’s eyes pop satisfyingly wide. I’ve succeeded in surprising her. I can’t lie: it feels good.

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