Thoughts of Mary, Martha and Fatherhood

This past weekend Dave and I celebrated our 34th wedding anniversary and you’d think that after forty or so years of knowing someone, there would be relatively little new discoveries about them.  Sometimes though, all of a sudden, a spark of realization pops into my head, an epiphany of sorts, that hits me square in the face (metaphorically) and I connect dots in a new way.  Last Friday, as I was pondering our married life together, I experienced one of those moments.  I was thinking about Dave and I and how different we approach life and it occurred to me that in Biblical terms Dave is  a “Mary” to my “Martha”

While I maintain an overworked hyper awareness of my surroundings like Supergirl; arms akimbo, standing on a rooftop (cape flying in the breeze) vigilantly keeping watch for those in need, Dave has a super-human ability to sit and ponder only what is directly in front of him, totally oblivious to what is going on in the world around him.  When he was a student at the Naval War College, it used to amaze me how he could it in a chair, engrossed in dry text books on philosophy and history undisturbed while family life went on around him; kids running in and out, the phone ringing, the dog barking, the TV blaring, none of it phased him.

Understandably, this difference of focus caused some moments of frustration on my part, especially when the kids were little.  At the end of the day I was exhausted by the constant demands of motherhood, housekeeping and the community activities I seem to always be involved in.    So much of the time Dave was physically gone; either at sea or on some crazy watch schedule, that when he was home, he just never seemed to fall into step with the routine of things.  At least that’s the way I used to see things.

Now that those tough years have passed and I have time to reacquaint myself with my husband, I see him through different eyes.  As I look back, even though he never seemed to jump into my dealings with Maggie and Andy, he was still always present to them.  When he was home he was the one who read the books before bed and tucked them in while I collapsed in my chair.  Dave also was their chauffeur, driving instructor (thank God!) and “good cop” to my “bad cop”.  Secretly I wanted the roles reversed; I wanted to be the provider of hugs and let him handle the discipline.  It just never seemed to work out that way.

Anyway, it was just the other day when I realized that Dave, in his silent focus and solitary ponderings, is like Mary in that his work is quiet and generally unseen. The fact that the rest of us never disturbed him was a good thing; he has never been one of those husbands who had to go somewhere else for peace and quiet; he always brought his “cone of silence” with him.  He also provided an island of tranquility in my Martha sea of perpetual involvement.  And, like Martha, I wasn’t quiet in my displeasure of  what I perceived as carrying the load alone.

It’s incredible that I can still be discovering things about a person I have known for forty years. Perhaps it’s one of the reasons we’ve beaten the odds and stayed together.  The adventure of knowing and still not fully knowing, the continual unravelling of the truth is what keeps faith alive.