"Y Garble Blah?"
The words were foreign. I thought all the guys in my Bible study spoke English, but Mike spouted gibberish. Where's a babble fish when you need one? He wasn't speaking in tongues; we're
Lutherans. We nail or concise comments on doors so everybody can understand them.
"Y Garble Blah?" Maybe you can make sense of it. I'll put you in the scene. Five guys sitting at a semicircle of folding tables in a conference room. Chip's leading the group today. We've been wandering through Ephesians for the past six months; today we're stalled over the valley of Husbands and Wives (5:22-36). It's Paul's advice column to the new church. They were newlyweds, he wanted to see them as the old couple sitting hand in hand on Armageddon's porch.
Most people who read the Ephesians chapter hit "Wives submit to your husbands" and stop there. Wives turn atheist, Husbands high-five and demand a beer. Nobody ever reads through to see what's required of the husband. Oh, sure the word "submit" isn't used, but that's because Paul knew that men weren't strong enough to hear that kind of language. He'd have to dress it up in words like "protect." Quite the PR guy that Paul. I won't ruin his story. Go read it.
Chip likes this part; he's been married 3 times. Turning to Don, our usual leader, he says "What about this submit thing Don?" The room is suspended silence. Don's been married over fifty years. If anyone can shed light on marriage it's Don.
"I don't know, I'm not a wife. When I become the perfect husband, I'll worry about what the wife is supposed to do."
Sure. It's a cop out, but how do you top that? Right now, I'm the only one in the room watching the marriage train leave the station without me. I have no room to talk about being a good husband.
That's when Mike, the newest guy to our group chimes in. He says "Y Garble Blah?" Ok, so no, that's not what he said. His words were: "I don't understand. Where do you become friends? How do you do that?"
Y Garble Blah?
Huh? Become friends? I can't imagine a relationship that doesn't start at friends. Ok, Don't take now to point out that maybe that's why I'm getting a divorce. We were friends first, and I'd do that again no matter what. I told you, I'm an acquired taste. How can I stay long term with somebody who bristles before she's even woken up next to drooling Rob? MyUnwife and I were friends. I think she just liked the character more than the real man. Reality has a way of kicking you in the teeth during the coolest fantasies.
So this was my chance to be a steel toe in the teeth. I could set the world straight. I could dispel the men's fantasy that MyUnwife was anything more than an accidental footnote. This is where I could express the breakdown of everything between us. I could even point out that she never relented, let alone submitted—a plague of locusts on the fertile valley of my life.
"I think you have to be friends" are the words that crossed my lips. Then more words flew out. I began speaking of how MyUnwife and I started as friends. How we grew into a good team. The air rang with songs of the days when she and I were united. When we both played our perspective roles, and accomplished everything we tried to do. From buying a house, to a buying wood stain, we complemented each other. She carried my nouns on days I could only find verbs. These are the heinous accusations I put before my Christian brothers. These were her sins I demanded recompense for. These were the unpaid tickets blowing from the window of my car.
When I finished, everybody remained quiet. I was just as surprised as they were. Even though it was my story, I felt like it was something I'd just read from a book. Those things were so far away. That was another Rob, in another world, another language.
So Mike stares at me for a bit. Obviously he's trying to sort through everything I've said. Drawing his breath, he prepares a question. Something to scribble on the tab of the "Rob on Marriage" folder. "So, why are you guys getting a divorce?"
I answer without thought, "Y Garble Blah."
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