It is used both for salutation and valediction. Namaste is usually spoken with a slight bow and hands pressed together, palms touching and fingers pointing upwards, thumbs close to the chest. This gesture is called Añjali Mudrā or Pranamasana. In Hinduism, it means "I bow to the divine in you".
I have a divine daughter. Six of them, in fact. Each of them is in various stages of joy at any given time. (Also two divine sons and one divine husband, who this is ultimately about.)
Several of my girls struggle with mental illness. Some with severe, life-threatening mental illness. Two of them have been hospitalized for suicidal ideation.
One of them has been there (behavioral hospital) 3 times in the past year and a half. (She was helped along in her journey by some special adult male predators on the internet, who have their own sizzling place waiting for them in hell, and if I ever meet them in real life, I'll speed their journey...)
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| That's right--there will be calisthenics in Hell. Our predators might be too sore to enjoy them when they get there, however. |
Anyway. During her most recent hospitalization, which was also the most traumatic and brutal of any so far, but also the most productive and healing, Paul and I were visiting and praying with my parents. (In our church we believe in the Laying on of Hands by those holding Priesthood authority, and my Step-dad gave me a blessing.)
I had just described the past few days to them, which had consisted of continuous heartbreaking sobbing that then morphed into furious anger, which was actually easier for me to cope with. It had ended that day over the phone by a crashing "F-bomb" and refusal to talk to anyone else. (I shouldn't have shared this with my parents. They were shocked, but didn't know that the word in question is actually one that easily leaves her mouth, though luckily not at home--she's very considerate that way. Sadly, church is not home...)
I was reminded by my father (in an encouraging way) that I had made solemn promises to God and each of my family members. That my life was exactly how I had chosen it to be. He encouraged me to seek to see each of my loved ones as our Heavenly Father sees them.
I assumed at the time that he was referring to the daughter, and that he was encouraging me to look past the behavior and see her divine. He could have been. But I believe now that God had more intent than that. I believe this because He told me that quietly but firmly yesterday as I prayed in the temple.
I've been on a little journey, and now that I've managed to roll off the carriage, I can see that it's been less of a journey and more of a twisted carnival ride.
The first thing that's coming into focus is my marriage. I know sometimes it wearies him when I refer to him as the Handsome Prince. Very soon I'll need to switch it to the Elderly King. For now I guess I'll call him Kind Sir.
| This is about as close as I can come from Google Images. Maybe Carey Grant with a tooth sparkle. Though, to be fair, Paul doesn't really have a tooth sparkle, either. |
Kind Sir has patiently gagged down piece after piece of Tiny Czar Pizza or other similar kid-friendly-artificial-food-substitute because I've either been at an appointment or in bed. He's endured mounds of dishes, piles of ingratitude and stacks of unacknowledged service. His candle has burned at both ends; his level of exhaustion would bring a lesser man to his knees.
And while most would LOVE to have a consistently cheerful morning companion, he basically has to deal with a household full of blood relatives who routinely plan his violent death--all because he can't stop himself from rising each day with a song in his heart. At the butt-crack of dawn. Every single day! Even on week-ends. A LOUD SONG. A. VERY. LOUD. SONG. THAT HE CAN'T STOP SINGING. AND THAT IS WHY HE MUST BE DESTROYED!
Sorry.
Anyway, that's what's happened. I've been so focused on literally keeping everyone alive that I've stopped working on my marriage. I've been grouchy and self-absorbed.
For some, working our their marriage means communication, or spending time together, doing grandiose things, etc... For our marriage, I believe that the best thing I can do is to is to simply keep things rolling whine-free. Many of you out there reading this will want to slap me, and I don't blame you. It's so simple that I'm rather stupid. The most important things to Paul, I believe are:
1. Family Dinner each night at a reasonable time, with some healthy elements.
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| Before you freak out, this is Thanksgiving dinner. This is not what I mean, but LOOK! I did it once! |
2. A reasonable level of clean and organized--clean clothes, clean plates, etc.
3. A content wife: I don't need a lot of emotional support, physical stuff, money or big-ticket items, attention, time, etc... He basically wants me to just be fine, which isn't asking a lot, if you think about it.
4. The Spirit in our home. Uplifting media, Family prayer, scriptures, fun times, kindness, service, conflict resolution, etc.
5. Respect.
When I say respect, I don't mean hero worship. I don't mean blind obedience or deferral. I don't know how to put it into words, but I think he basically yearns for what we all yearn for: Namaste.
I think the kindest thing I can do for Paul is to see the good in him and acknowledge it. To show gratitude, to look at him with love, to speak with kindness in my voice. I have forgotten to treat him as the Man of God that he is.
He is a man of God. He works hard. He makes righteous decisions. He can be trusted. He serves. He's unselfish. He has really good self-control. He's a good husband and father. He puts God, family and country first.
I have a treasure, and in all of the chaos and pain, I've forgotten to cherish it. There could have been a lot more joy and grace, and I've chosen not to have it.
So, I'm publicly committing to look at the giant that I live with through new eyes. I will pray each day to see the good in this amazingly, solidly good man that I married. I'll show him in small ways that I'm glad he's here, that life is better because he is. I'm very blessed, and very thankful.
