We arrived a bit late for dinner at the Naples Ritz- Carlton ballroom for a Serge Missions Fundraiser. We were disheveled after a day of travel from Seattle and it felt strange to be in a silk summer dress in November when a few minutes before I had been wearing jeans, a sweater and boots. Our name tags instructed us to sit at table number eight, and when we got there two women at our table greeted us and said that they felt like they knew me and then said, “Hi, Dan, it’s nice to meet you too, but we really like your wife’s writing.” I have traveled with my husband for four decades and been the invisible spouse who loves what he teaches but am often unnoticed. This greeting was completely unexpected, and I heard Dan laugh as he delighted in this new chapter of our lives.
I have honed this black op art of invisibility from an early age. My parents were part of “The Greatest Generation,” Tom Brokaw’s coined phrase for those who survived the Great Depression and World War II. With youthful exuberance my parents gave their time to countless groups helping orphaned boys, raising money for college scholarships for girls, funding a new wing at the art museum, building a church, and so on. I was to be a good girl—proof of their hard work and good character. I was never to dispute or contradict their opinion or desire. I was to be seen and not heard.
It was wise to stay out of their way because they had so much to do. Being quiet and out of sight was a safe haven and wise choice. Being the middle child allowed me to hone this skill even more. I took those skills into my marriage. Further, I married a man whose presence is large and fills a room even when he is quiet. When I attended his conferences or when he preached, there was little curiosity about me and usually I was okay with that.
The dance of invisibility happened especially when I traveled with my husband. I did not feel invisible at home. I rarely traveled with Dan because my life was full having babies, raising children and holding down the fort. When the nest was empty is when new troubles began and our even keeled marriage became choppy in uncharted stormy waters.
I felt jealous of his skillful teaching and envious of the participants and their aliveness and pursuit of Dan. I became critical of his words and the judge of the accuracy of dates and concepts related to the stories he told about our lives and family. I knew it was my issue to sort out but it wasn’t clear what would relieve the pain of feeling left out like the dingy being pulled behind the yacht.
My vision narrowed and I began to see life through the lens of what wasn’t mine and what others had. I was jealous and felt ill equipped to travel the seas together outside of our home.
The empty nest was a season of inquiry and quest for position. Who was I to be in this third phase of our marriage? My desires tossed me up and down and I felt mean or misunderstood. The way forward didn’t have a clear compass point and the “new” was a bit like Alice’s Wonderland. Sometimes I was too big and noisy and other times my smallness was a haven of peace or a prison of despair. I ventured to new places and I boarded up old doors. I paved new paths to others and I fenced in areas of my heart for healing.
It felt like I was spinning in a dangerous dance. I happened on the theological idea of “perichoresis”. Perichoresis is the Greek word for rotation or dance and in early church theology it became a way to talk about the interplay of the members of the Trinity. The Trinity dances together in a holy mutual indwelling without loss of identity. I love to imagine each person of the Trinity, The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit voluntarily circling the other two and dancing with joy and love for one another.
But it also involves us too because we have been resurrected with Christ in his ascension and we sit with him at his right hand. It helps us understand what our adoption means for us in that there is a mutual indwelling without loss of personal identity. Because of Jesus we are one with the Father and the Holy Spirit and all that I do (play, work, create) and all that I am (a woman, wife, mother, friend) becomes my arena for participating in the Trinitarian life of God. Tell me that this is not wild?
I can’t dance with my husband in the sweet song of the Trinity unless I rise up and join him on the floor. I have to bring my body to him and allow him to move with me fully independent, unique, but intertwined in a rhythm that must be interpreted apart from the other, yet connected in symmetry.
If I fail to step onto the dance floor or merely mirror my husband’s moves I will not be sufficiently distinct to offer him the fullness of who I am. Nor will I be able to join the wild dance of the kingdom.
At our dear friends’ Nate and Abby’s wedding we threw ourselves into the percussive movement of music we didn’t know with people decades younger and older than us. We danced until our bodies screamed “take me home!” Sweaty, exhausted, and alive we held hands and walked to our car to the sounds of the celebration of love and the joy of the Trinity.
Come join the dance around the crib of the newborn King. Join the throng and dance with every move that is uniquely yours. There is no shame in being you. You are meant to shine and the King invites you to dance with wild abandon and joy.
Becky Allender lives on Bainbridge Island with her loving, wild husband of 38 years. A mother and grandmother, she is quite fond of sunshine, yoga, Hawaiian quilting and creating 17th Century reproduction samplers. A community of praying women, loving Jesus, and the art of gratitude fill her life with goodness. She wonders what she got herself into with Red Tent Living! bs
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I love this Becky, I love your honesty and your heart to share from the depths of what is real and to point us to Jesus, to dance around the newborn King Jesus in our own way, just to be us.
Thank you Anna. I love how you dance around King Jesus. I love your grace, service and beauty.
Becky, this is beautifully written. Your strength and wisdom, and gentleness of heart come through eloquently. I love your analogies…how you felt like a dinghy trailing behind, and the change to dancing, not alone, not behind, but with Dan, and the circular dance, around Jesus. You have given me inspiration today, to dance too. Thank you!
Ruth, you have been a dear sister whom I love to watch dance: Your teaching, your leadership, your playing of your cello, your care for others and please….teach me how to dance those Hebrew dances! Thank you for your kind words.
Becky, your writing continues to pierce my heart. As a fellow sojourner in this empty nest season you bring me new hope. You are definitely no longer invisible, but instead a vehicle of great light in a dark world!
Thank you Lori. Your words go very deep and to be called a light in a dark world is the very best compliment. With love and courage as you keep sojourning this next chapter.
Thank you for helping some of us navigate this new season. Your honest struggle is such an encouragement. Your writing is a blessing to many……..
Thank you Cindy. Our common struggles are oddly our common strengths of sisterhood. Thank you for your words of encouragement.
Thank you for sharing yourself with us. As a pastors wife of almost 40 years and empty nester I related to your feelings of invisibility. At first it seemed my husband felt threatened by my gifts, my new voice, my partnership in the dance. He is coming to appreciate my gifts and ministry . We are both learning in this new season
Dear Sandy, It is a total new way of living with our marriage partners! I can only begin to imagine the territory you have traversed in being a pastor’s wife. The hardest profession, truly. Blessings to you and your husband and all that you have sacrificed for the sake of the Kingdom. May this new season be a good one.
I am so glad you are writing. Your words have been so kind to my heart and the voice you have is a gift. These last four sentences will be held in my heart today as I push into a opportunity to own my own power and “bigness” tonight.
Dear Lindsay, thank you for your very kind words. You spur me on. And may you dance and feel the delight of your Savior. May you be free….
You, my friend, are becoming a skilled dancer. And this makes perfect sense. The commitment of your human partner and your heavenly father/Son/Spirit assure that, but so too do your choices. The beauty of you entering the fray despite your training to be dragged behind is a sight worthy of praise. Your writing is such a big part that beauty, for good writing first reflects, then chooses and arranges words to re-create the architecture of life in concise, lettered form. I count it a huge privilege to have joined the dance at the time when you were putting yourself into the theater of Dan’s teaching, and that you reached out to me, an always noisy one, makes me so happy. Thank you for sharing so much of your life.
Thank you Kelli. I count it a huge gift that we were together in our learning and that your brilliant questions rang deep in my bones. Sounds like you are a writer too. You always encourage me. Thank you.
Beautiful. Honest. Real. Thank you for all the good messages and modeling!
Thank you Linda. So honest and it feels good to not be ashamed!
Becky I enjoy your writing as well and also the podcasts you’ve been doing with Dan. I was especially impacted by the marriage series you did together and wanted to let you know how beautiful I thought it was. It was such a treat! I’ve read a lot about marriage but to be able to see it play out taught me in a way a book never can. I loved seeing Dan lead by introducing topics and setting the stage and then hear you respond with tender engagement to his leadership. At it’s best it was a beautiful picture of how his words bless you both by creating a space for you both to engage. Your responses made the conversations rich. One particular interaction that made an impact on me was when he complimented you on your legs and you accepted his delight with appreciation and thanks. So awesome! What an affirmation of his masculinity in such a simple way. I often struggle with how to accept my husband’s boyish enjoyment of my beauty. I also enjoyed seeing you rest in relationship with him. I can’t pinpoint anything in particular except to say you often felt at rest in his company which is something missing in many marriages, my own included. Which is why hearing you guys interact was so valuable. I have a better picture of what I want my marriage to look like as a result of hearing your podcasts. Thank you for taking the risk!
Dear Kim, what an unexpected reply to get this morning! Thank you for taking the time to give me your feedback and encouragement. I am humbled to have been used with the podcasts. Writing is new to me and speaking is usually SO scary and hard for me. It took courage and then when the podcasts came out, it took prayer to be not be overwhelmed with shame for not speaking more eloquently. Your writing that they were helpful are all that I need to know to not hide in fear. So a thousand times over, thank you. I do not know your age, but I was especially captured by your response to your husband’s “boyishness towards your beauty”. Ah, Kim, what a gift to yourself and your family (let alone your husband) to accept those compliments because as I find myself approaching 64 it really is hard to trust my husband’s compliments of beauty. So to begin to be at ease with them in the younger years is a gift to many! Thank you again for your words of encouragement.
Becky, I do not know how I missed this (have just now read it). This touched me deeply. Your naming of your tender struggle with envy is as lovely as the struggle itself – a struggle to find your rightful place. I join the chorus of those who love seeing you shine – no one’s shadow could hold you, Becky! This is, again, an exquisite and important offering.
Thank you Jan! Thank you for taking the time to write this. I never thought that envy could ever be considered lovely but the naming and freeing from it certainly is. Merry Christmas to you and Steve!
I am so grateful you are no longer doing the “dance of invisibility” as you have so much beauty, creativity, compassion and insight to offer! I love that the women in Florida knew you, and I love that Dan delighted in it…all such goodness!
Thank you Janet! Thank you. It was a total shock having the two women at our table begin that way! I will never forget it and I will never forget Dan’s surprised and smiling face. Joy!