Mary Andonian

Better Ways - By Mary Andonian

(Winner of the 2005 Writers Digest Awards, Inspirational Category, Honorable Mention)

It has been over two years since my daughter, Andi, first attended Bethlehem Church Preschool, a nondenominational Christian preschool.     

It was also a particularly dark period in my marriage where I contemplated whether my husband, Craig, and I belonged together.  I lived with one foot out the door, measuring Craig’s every action and word against some internal ideal I had created for myself.  He never measured up, of course.  We had just moved from California to Oregon; I wasn’t initially fond of Oregon, and I obsessed over how my needs weren’t getting met in my marriage.

Soon after the new school season started, I received a flyer in Andi’s mailbox from the church, offering parents a free couples’ compatibility assessment profile.  The church had a ministry that helped couples improve their relationship by assessing their compatibility in a number of different areas, such as extended family relationships, money, spirituality, and so on; and then bridging any gaps in compatibility through a structured counseling program.  When I sold training and development systems to corporations, I used a similar gap analysis methodology—identify gaps in behavior, and then train to fill those gaps—so I knew the process was sound.  I also knew Craig and I needed to try something, anything, to get ourselves back on track.  I mailed away for the assessment tool.

After receiving the material, Craig and I individually completed our assessments, sealed and mailed them in an envelope, and then promptly forgot about it until we received an interesting call a few days later.

The associate pastor, Harold, asked us if we could meet with him to discuss our test results. He was willing to come to our home to spare us the trouble and expense of finding a babysitter.  We thought that sounded peachy, and so we enthusiastically agreed.  Little did we know we were like the dog that wags his tail as he enters the vet’s office with the two big shots lying on the stainless steel table.

Harold was a sweet, personable fellow whom I could tell was a little bit nervous when he met Craig and me in person for the first time.  After the obligatory small talk and a round of herbal tea, we all sat down at our kitchen table—Harold on one side, Craig and me on the other—and got down to business. 

Harold pulled out a blue folder with our names on the cover, and placed it on the table.  He began speaking to us in a slow, over-enunciated voice, like the one the vet uses just before he helps that wagging-tail dog meet his maker. 

Why I keep comparing Craig and me to a dog, I don’t know.

I asked the question, “How did we do?”

Harold shifted in his seat and opened the folder.  Inside was a typed report.  He glanced at it, and then said, “As a couple, you scored lower than most. If you don’t get some counseling, you are headed for trouble.”

“How bad could it be?” I asked. 

“Put it this way,” he said, “Couples who score like you are usually talking divorce.”

Craig and I exchanged looks.  This was bad, I thought.  I looked down at the paperwork Harold was shuffling in front of him.  He was trying to read the scores from each section of the test without showing it to us, but from my angle I could see the raw data.  In most sections of the assessment, Craig and I had scored in the 10-20 percentile range.  Not good, considering most tests fail you at 60%. 

Had we failed our marriage?

I don’t remember much else about that night, except at one point, during the end of the conversation, Craig broke into a solemn dissertation about how maybe we didn’t score as well as those other pious couples, but we had something they didn’t:  the willingness to change and grow.  He sounded like the one of those washed up football coaches who miraculously leads his underdog team to victory.  I half expected to hear a swelling of patriotic music in the background.

Harold bought the speech, and so did I. Yeah! Why not us?  So what, we weren’t compatible.  We wanted it to work, and so we would work.  Right?

For months I had viewed our problems with mild resignation, almost apathy.  Now I saw our marriage in black and white bar graphs within a report on the table across from me.  What would it take for us to be compatible? 

Fortunately, the test, and the subsequent suggested counseling had been standardized, and had been proven to be remarkably successful for thousands of couples who had gone through the program.  We agreed to meet with Harold once a week for several weeks to go through the homework together.  He even offered to come to our home, so we readily agreed.  We had known for a long time that we needed to work on our marriage in a structured, therapeutic way, but we didn’t have the resources to seek outside counseling.  The arrangement was ideal.

Over the next few months, we met with Harold on a weekly basis.  I still had nagging doubts about our marriage, and tended to disagree with Craig on many issues.  And I continued to silently criticize Craig for failing to meet my needs.

During this time, Craig studied other Christian literature, independent of our homework.  One day over the Christmas holidays, Craig mentioned he had read a study which concluded that couples that prayed together reportedly had stronger relationships than those who didn’t. 

I responded by saying, “Sounds great! Let’s try that after we both graduate from seminary.” I felt that in all my profound coolness it would be awkward and weird to pray together, as if that sort of thing was reserved for the missionaries who worked in South Africa, or the couples who gave their life earnings to Billy Graham’s foundation or, worse, the ones who proudly displayed their four-foot-tall crucifix over their fireplace. 

It just wasn’t going to happen.

Later that week, Harold met us at our home to discuss the finance section of the assessment.  No sooner had we gotten into our homework when Harold said, “Have you both ever tried praying together?”

Craig and I smiled at each other, and then Craig said, “Funny you should mention that. We were just saying this week that it’s something we should try someday.”

“Yes, someday,” I repeated.  But not today, I said to myself.

After Harold left, Craig and I marveled at the coincidence, but left it at that.

Later that night, while Andi was playing with her sister, Julia, she had an accident of the worst kind.  Running into her bedroom, Andi tripped and fell head first into the corner of her bed, missing her right eye by mere millimeters.  She shrieked in pain, and a lump the size of a golf ball began to form.  I called 911.  Within minutes, the paramedics arrived.  I held back my tears as they reassured us she would be okay, but we should take her to the emergency room, just to be sure.  Two hours later, with our eldest’s first emergency room visit under our belt, I tucked Andi into her bed.  I gazed down at her round, innocent face, now sporting a blackened, swollen-shut eye.  I could no longer hold back my tears of gratitude as I silently studied Andi’s disfigurement.  We were so lucky, I thought.

After Andi had fallen asleep and the house was quiet and still, Craig and I crawled into our own bed, emotionally and physically drained.  I could tell Craig had been crying.  As we lay there under the covers, Craig reached for my hand, and said, “I think it’s time we prayed.”

I agreed.  We took turns praying out loud, thanking God for sparing Andi’s eye, for the privilege of raising two wonderful children, for our marriage, and for each other. 

We have prayed together almost every night ever since.

Praying together has dramatically changed my thought process.  It’s difficult to keep one foot out the door when every evening we recommit our marriage and our lives to God.  Instead of spending time in my head throughout the day, focused on what Craig didn’t say or do correctly, my thoughts shift to what I am grateful for, and how blessed I am to have Craig in my life at all.  I know our work with Harold also achieved this purpose, but I believe the praying made a significant impact. 

When I pray, my attitude about getting my needs met through Craig tends to shift toward how I can obey God in this marriage.  I find my needs get met as a result of this obedience to God, and not by my insistence that Craig must somehow make me happy.

Our praying together has changed since that first night two years ago.  For the first month, we continued to pray out loud to each other, and this became awkward and cumbersome.  There were evenings when Craig felt shut down, and he didn’t pray as openly as I felt he could.  So I spent time after our prayers evaluating his contribution.  This didn’t go over well.  How many people do you know who want a running commentary on their prayers to God?

Sometimes I prayed passive-aggressively, saying things like, “Please God, help our family, and help Craig not to be so angry and irritable, because it’s so difficult to live with him right now, oh Lord.” 

Now we simply hold hands under the covers while we silently pray to God.  This allows us to speak openly and frankly to God, and maintain a connection to each other.  We squeeze each other’s hand when we’ve completed our prayer, and we only let go when both of us have finished.    This has proven to be the ideal, although it’s not foolproof.  Sometimes I take an inordinate amount of time to get my points across to God, only to find myself holding Craig’s limp hand as he snores softly.  Or I might fake a prayer, because for some reason I am not speaking to God at the moment.  I wait out the obligatory amount of time it would take one to finish a short, sincere prayer, and then I squeeze.  It’s dishonest, but sometimes it is what it is.

And then there are the nights when we argue, like on a recent occasion when I waited until bedtime to proclaim that I felt invisible, and that I didn’t think Craig cared about me.  If we put our differences aside long enough to hold our hands in prayer, we usually make up afterward, because it’s difficult to talk to God and then go back into the ring with your gloves on. 

Praying together during an argument allows me to instantly assess my part.  If I truly seek God’s will in my prayers, I usually don’t hear an intuitive voice that says Craig really is a big oaf.  More often than not, I find myself considering what I could have done to help the situation.  So we usually pray, give the squeeze, and then immediately say we’re sorry.   The praying draws it out of us.  If the argument escalates to the point where we refuse to pray together, then chances are Craig is also camped out in our guest bedroom.

Praying together forces us on a daily basis to recommit to our lives together, and this commitment is counterintuitive to my mind chatter that says I deserve better, or I am somehow not getting my needs met.  If anything, I am reminded in prayer that God gives me more than I could ever deserve, and for a brief moment, I am grateful.

(Excerpted from Mind Chatter: Stories From the Squirrel Cage Copyright 2005)

I wrote the book Mind Chatter: Stories From the Squirrel Cage in 2005. This essay is Chapter 22. Mind Chatter starts with the premise: If God is in the moment, and happiness is in the "now," then what does it take to get you there? Mind Chatter is a culmination of all the ways I avoid the moment.  It's a humorous take on how NOT to live in the moment.

-Mary Andonian