Comfortable, Vulnerable and {Never} Embarrassed

September 7, 2016 by Melinda Haas 6 Comments

About a year ago I went to the Minnestota state fair with my {then} friend {now husband.} It was fun enough, and I got to experience some of the charm… including tons of beer, tons of garlic fries, and even eating the inside of a fried Snickers bar. We ended our night watching the Avett Brothers perform from outside the stadium. We could hear the music and just barely see a screen from the side of the stage. Israel ran up the staircase outside the place in order to find the best spot for the free-from-the-outside show. I could have stood there forever, listening to music and feeling a little rush when our elbows touched.

But this story is really about what happened the next day.

I was all the way in St. Paul house sitting, and around 3 AM I woke up, in horror, realizing that something hadn’t gone well. I was puking my guts out, and to this day, I blame the garlic fries and the remnants of gluten I probably ate when I sloppily ingested the inside of that fried Snickers.

What’s a gal to do? Having lived a long life of stomach problems, I could have just toughed it out alone. But I have also learned that it’s better to have someone there. So I texted my friend, told him I was sick as a dog, and he almost immediately told me he was coming.

Folks, that’s when you know you have a true friend.

He drove all the way back to the Twin Cities that morning, with gluten free crackers and bottles of ginger ale. We both laugh when we remember that moment. I opened the door: hair a mess, obviously been throwing up, teeth unbrushed, disheveled pajamas and a smile, because I wasn’t alone anymore.

It’s a powerful thing to realize that you can be with someone without having to put on a single front. We didn’t talk much. I think he apologized profusely, feeling a little guilty that I ate crap food and wound up sick.

Here’s what we did: I laid on the bed with my butt sticking up in the air, arms folded over my stomach, and Israel laid on the other side of the bed, occasionally rubbing my back. We faced each other (me, completely gross, eyes crusty, face greenish pale) and talked, we took turns playing songs, listening to them in silence, and I knew he was someone special.

I knew that we were both experiencing a certain kind of love, but I wasn’t sure how to name it.

My dad’s always preaching about the four different Greek loves. My favorite is Agape: the all encompassing, unconditional love that God gives us. Eros is your romantic love, between you and another person. There’s Philia, the brotherly love we feel for friends and for our hometowns. Storge is mostly the family love we can’t help but feel for our blood relatives (or step kids!). There’s a lot more to each one, and probably a good amount of debate considering what they mean, but this is what I’ve always taken away from the information given.

I love (not sure which kind) that the Greeks figured out that we really do need to define these different types. When I say “I just love you” to one of my best girlfriends, it is different from when I say “I love you” to my husband. When I thank God for the love He gives me and try to convey that I am trying to love Him with all I have, that’s a whole different deal as well. I’ve been pondering this as I thought of what I’d write today.

The second question in my 20 Questions Every Woman Should Ask Herself series is this:

2. How do you want to be loved?

I’m very happy to report that lately, I’ve learned a lot more about this answer. I used to think that love between two people meant that you didn’t argue much and laughter was the #1 thing happening between you.

Oh, how wrong I was.

Years later, and I’m a total work in progress, taking in all that love really is and I have a partner who shows me love in ways I didn’t actually know existed.

Fast forward another year, and we are no longer just friends, and he doesn’t have to drive forty minutes to see me in my time of need. Very recently, I was sick again, and I had to laugh because it was the same old scenario… no glamour, no trying, to pretense.

It was again with the messy everything on my person, and this time I laid down on the bed with a box of tissues, a cup of tea from my husband, and we talked about life while he stretched on the floor and worked out a tweak in his back.

To any spectator, it does not look like a scene filled with romance. But to me, I realized, it is exactly how I want to be loved. I want to be loved at my very worst… whether it’s the bad week I’m having and so I am the most cranky to the one who deserves it least, or I smell really bad because I’m sick and just haven’t gotten in the shower yet, or I’m crying because of those ridiculous reasons that make us cry…. and it’s a miracle, because I actually feel the most love from my husband when I’m in these exact moments. It’s not when I’ve dressed up and put on mascara for the date night we finally had a chance to have together. It’s not when I put on a fake smile and tell him that my day was awesome, even when it wasn’t. (though there is still love present in those moments, too)

I want to be loved in the most real way possible, which is imperfect, messy, and full of vulnerability. It’s the moments that we were taught are the most embarrassing, but are actually the most gracious. It’s the times we are comfortable being uncomfortably real with one another.

The best part is: I feel my heart open up and love better the more I see that imperfection in him, too.

I am forever grateful for the love I receive daily from family, friends, and my husband. I’m so thankful to be living a life where I don’t feel the need to make sure all signs of the drool that’s dried on my face is gone before he sees me in the morning. Nope, it’s usually there. And it doesn’t even stop him from giving me a kiss! Miracles, folks. Miracles.

Cheers to the moments we are vulnerable.

And the moments when we clean up and go out into the world are definitely worth a cheers, too.

Oh, and here’s to comfortable LOVE, the kind that is no longer embarrassing. Because that is 100% up to us.

Love,

Lou (who wants oregano oil to be the answer to all sickness, and has learned through humbling moments that sometimes nyquil does in fact help. Israel, you were right.)