I Know Who I Want My Daughter(s) to Marry

Since we'd attended the evening service at our church the night before, we were excited about a non-rushed, non-hurried, slower-pace Easter Sunday morning at home with each other.

The girls got to take their time with their Easter baskets.  They made resurrection rolls.

And then our plan was to make these cute little things to take to the grandparents' house for lunch.

But as I pulled everything out I needed, I suddenly realized I'd forgotten to purchase one crucial item when making cupcakes.  The cupcake liners.

Derek was standing in the kitchen when I realized my mistake, when I whispered "Uh oh", and when the thought of someone (um...him) going out to purchase some crossed my mind.

I made eye contact with him and gave him the "look". 

The silent, but weighted, look which said, "So...any chance you'd maybe, possibly throw on some clothes, get in your truck, drive to Wal-Mart on Easter morning to pick up white (has to be white, because well...sheep are white) cupcake liners even though I've already made about ten trips to the store this week but still forgot to get cupcake liners and since it would take me about ten times as long as you to get dressed and since I really need to stay here to prepare the cupcake mix and since you are such a wonderful husband...and dad...please..."

He saw the look.  He interpreted the look.  And responded,

"You know I really love you..."

Then he was off.  Half an hour later, he returned with exactly what our soon-to-be flock of sheep needed.

But it was while he was gone that I thought about the interaction we'd had that morning.  And how it could have gone very differently.

He could have completely rejected my non-verbal suggestion. 
He could have gotten frustrated with me for being forgetful, for not having my ducks...er...sheep in a row. 
He could have said, "No way. I've been going all week and I don't want to go anywhere this morning."
He could have said, "You go. This is your deal. You forgot. You go get what you need."
He could have gotten angry with me for even suggesting he be the one to go to the store.

But he didn't. 

Which is exactly why my eyes leaked a few tears that morning.
And also why, when he left, I thought, "I know exactly who I want my girls to marry."

A man very much like their dad. 

The same man who didn't respond in anger when I hit the side of the car while I was pulling it into our garage...twice.
Or when I backed that same car into a friend's car on New Year's Eve over seven years ago, days before leaving for a vacation to Disney World.
Or when I overspend on groceries.
Or when I accidentally spilled bleach on his most favorite Gap khaki shorts.

A man who is not easily angered.
A patient man who calms a quarrel versus a hot-tempered one who stirs up dissension.
A man who does not give full vent to his anger like a fool.
A man led by the Spirit, not hot-headed and reckless with his words or actions.
A man who is slow to anger, abounding in love.

Not a doormat or a pushover.  But a man who knows when and where to express anger, and in the right way.

Those who know Derek may say he was born with this personality.  Lack of Italian or Irish blood makes for a calmer demeanor. Maybe.

But in the sixteen years we've been married, of course, I've seen my husband frustrated. 
I've seen him angry. At idiocracy. At ignorance. And most certainly at injustices.

But I've also seen him restrain his anger.  I've seen him purposely walk away, choosing not to react by blowing a gasket, but instead, responding with grace. 

I've learned so much being the recipient of that grace, by watching him, living with him.
And that's what I want for my girls.  It's what I pray for my girls.

I want Grace and Gloria to hand over their hearts to trustworthy men.  Men who love their God and love them intensely.  Not men who'll trample them in easily-angered, easily-offended, or easily frustrated moments of foolish rage in this age of rage, when it seems many are angry about something, or everything.

I want them to be connected forever to a man like their father.  A man who is connected forever to his Heavenly Father. 

Connected to a God who does not treat us as our sins deserve.  A God who responds to our shortcomings, our mistakes, our human frailties with the same words Derek spoke to me on Easter morning,

"You know I love you..."  

A God who is slow to anger, abounding in love.

 

Happy 16th Anniversary to us!

When It's Best to Just Shut Up

We're celebrating fifteen years of marriage today.  And for the sake of reminiscing, I'm sharing a few pictures of a certain young, innocent (& pretty clueless) couple back in the day on July 11, 1998:

On one hand, I cannot believe it's been that long.  On another, I cannot believe it's only been that long.

In fifteen years of marriage, I'd like to think I've learned a thing or two about living blissfully with my man. 

Things like respecting and honoring and trusting and supporting.  All really good things.  And about listening and observing and encouraging and praying.  All really great things. 

But one of the biggest lessons I'm afraid I'll still be learning until the whole "death do we part" thing can be summed up by any one of these phrases:

Be quiet.
Zip it.
Shush.
Close your mouth.
Silencio, por favor.
Hold your tongue.
Shut up.

However you choose to say it, they all mean the same thing.

Don't. Say. Another. Word.

I know the last one on the list sounds harsh.  Believe me, it sounded harsh fifteen years when it was said in my very own wedding ceremony...by my husband's friend and college mentor who was co-officiating the ceremony. 

After the vows, ring exchange, and unity candle, our friend stopped to take a moment to offer some personal words of wisdom and encouragement to both of us before we were announced as husband and wife.

He started with my husband.  He recalled a time in college when he felt my husband was holding back emotionally.  He emphasized the vital importance of him sharing his innermost feelings.  Of being open and vulnerable, even when it was hard.  Of trusting someone else (namely me, the new wife) with both his pains and his joys.

Then our friend shifted his attention to me.  He began with a story of another couple he'd counseled.  He told how the wife had come to him expressing her dissatisfaction with her husband's leadership and asked his advice as to what she should do.  Our friend said he knew the answer.  She just needed to "shut up...be quiet...and pray".  His implication:  I may need to do the same whenever I felt the same.

It was a stereotypical gender analysis.  Man needs to talk more, woman less. 

At first, I bristled.  I didn't like the way it sounded to my ears.  Even as gentle and as calm and as kind as he tried to say it, he still said it.  He said the words, "shut up" in my wedding ceremony and I was stunned.

Naive and inexperienced, I certainly had no idea how to navigate the waters of a godly marriage.  I had no idea what was ahead and had no idea how much I needed to hear those words.  But our friend apparently did.  He knew I'd need to hear them.  Maybe not then, but most definitely later.  Especially fifteen years later.

There are certainly times when it's beneficial and appropriate to speak up; I do not condone being a doormat.  As a matter of fact, I come from a long, female bloodline of "non-doormats".  But other times, I must confess.  It's best to just shut up.

So yes, I'm still learning this:

I spend most of my days overseeing, managing, correcting and teaching my girls.  I do all of this and all of that.  I'm a caretaker and a mama...just not my husband's.

And at no time do I desire to be this...

"A nagging spouse is like the drip, drip, drip of a leaky faucet;
You can't turn it off, and you can't get away from it."
Proverbs 27:15-16 (The Message)

No ma'am.  No sir.

Instead, I'd rather choose to:

*respect versus reprimand.
*encourage instead of enrage.
*agree instead of argue.
*consider instead of correct.

When I forget (and I will), I hope to call to mind the story of Daniel in the lion's den. 

I will try to remember the ferocious, ready-to-devour beasts as they stood before one of God's children.

And I will remember how an angel of the Lord was sent to still the lions.  To shut their mouths so they could not hurt or wound (Daniel 6:22a).  All because of prayer.

Harsh?  Maybe.  But sometimes harsh makes you think.  Especially when it's also true.  And helpful.  And inspiring.  And necessary.  And kind. 

So I finish with this:


Thanks to my pastor for this gem. :)

Lord, I know there's a time for everything.  

There's a time to speak and a time to be silent (Ecclesiastes 3:7b). 

Give me the wisdom to know the difference. 

Shut my mouth if what I'm about to say is not true, helpful, inspiring, necessary and kind.  

And may you richly bless the next fifteen+ years of my marriage as you have the first fifteen.  

Amen.

Spilled

She didn't mean to do it.  It was an accident.

I could feel her excitement.  I could see her nervousness.  Her little hands struggled to stop the shaking.  Balancing the tiny, plastic cup filled to the brim with the dark juice was so much harder than it looked, particularly for a five year old.

It was her first communion in "big church".  With her sister, with us and with everyone else.  It was the first time she'd been able to participate since coming into God's family.  The first time she could walk up to the table, take the bread and the juice and remember...just as He said to do.

..."This is my body, broken for you. 
Do this to remember me...

This cup is my blood, my new covenant with you. 

Each time you drink this cup, remember me."

1 Corinthians 11:24-25 (The Message)

As soon as our family of four returned to our seats and attempted to sit down with our cups and crackers, I felt it.  The splashing wetness landing on my knee and trickling down my leg. 

And then I noticed the effects on her.  Looking down, I saw the consequences of what had just spilled onto her lacy white socks.  A bright red stain.

Instead of huffing during such a holy moment, the Lord halted me with this thought:

What my daughter spilled...her juice...

completely accidental.

What my Savior spilled...His blood...

completely intentional.

 

He meant to do it. It was no accident.

 

Because His precious, perfect blood spilled from His body, because it poured down from the tip of His head and trickled to the bottom of His feet, we are stained.  And amazingly, His stain makes us clean.

 

"...without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness."

Hebrews 9:22b (NIV)

He wants us in His family.  He wants us to have eternal life.  He wants to forgive our sins.

And I am grateful.  Forever grateful that because of His lavish love, the blood He shed on the cross He did so willingly and purposefully.

It was no accident.  He meant every drop spilled.

Love Big

Yesterday was hard.  So painful and so sacred.  So real and so unrelenting.

An unwanted day occupied with grief and finality.  A day filled with remembering a life and reflecting on its legacy. 

As Matt's friends, many of us have felt smothered by this blanket of sadness.  We cannot imagine.  We do not understand.

But we also cannot fathom how much more his beautiful wife, his young children, and his loving family are struggling to take a breath.  To breathe through the sudden separation and the unexpected loss.

As they face the days, months and years ahead without their hero, we are compelled. 

Compelled to pray.  For peace and comfort.  For grace and strength. 
Compelled to carry.  To carry the loss and the loneliness.  To carry the daily burdens of life.

And without a doubt, we will also be challenged by the testimony of Matt's life.

Matt was a big man with a big heart.  And consequently, he loved big. 

His Savior, Jesus.
His wife, Amy.
His son, Levi.
His daughter, Sydney.
His family.
His friends.
His church.
His children's school.
His Georgia Bulldogs.
And football.

His passionate nature made the expression of his love big.  His service was big.  His devotion was big. 

Nothing small about it.  Nothing at all.

No one had any reservations as to where his affections resided. 

"... Love each other deeply with all your heart."

1 Peter 1:22b (NLT)

Which begs a difficult and challenging question of myself.

Do I love big?

Granted, love is often demonstrated in a million, tiny, unseen actions. 
But it can also be demonstrated in a million, grandiose, boisterous gestures as well.

Do those I love know I love them? 
Do my husband and my daughters see visible, tangible evidence of my love for them? 
Are there any doubts as to the devotions of my heart?

There were no doubts regarding Matt.

He loved big here on earth. 

And now he's loving big there, in heaven, spending forever with the One who loved him big first.

"We love because He first loved us."

1 John 4:19 (NIV)



T-shirt created in honor of Matt & his legacy

Tell & Show...or the Other Way Around

Me:  "Honey, listen.  You've got to hear this." 

Without hesitating to see if he was ready to listen, I proceeded to read aloud the last sentence I'd just read in my book to him.

Me:  "What do you think?  Wasn't that good?"

Him:  "Yes.  It was.  I liked it."

Me:  "Don't you love the way the author penned those words together?  Don't you think it was a beautiful way to illustrate such a point?"  

I do this all the time to him.   I read something incredible and I feel compelled to share it.   I'm forever drawn into someone else's words.   I'm a sucker for a well-written, well-thought out sentence, paragraph, or story.

Him (with a twinkle in his eye):  "You know...I'm kinda surprised you married me."

Me:  "What?!? 
Why would you even say something like that?  That's not funny. 
Oh. Wait... 
I think I know why you said that. 
Because in fourteen years, you've only expressed your feelings for me in writing a few times. 
Is that it?"

Him:  "I'm sorry I don't tell you how I feel with a lot of words."

Me:  "That's okay.  You do tell me.  And you always show me--with your actions."

"Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.”

1 John 3:18

Fourteen years ago today, my husband and I ate dinner at the local Red Lobster in our college town.  Well, I should say I ate.  He barely touched his food and at the time, I had no idea why. 

Now I know.  The poor thing was too nervous to eat.  He was thinking about his course of action in the next hour.  The hour that would redefine our lives as individuals, and redefine us as a couple.

After dinner, we headed back to the college campus, where we had both graduated the previous spring.  He told me he needed to go by the chapel to check on something for a friend. 

Of course, I followed.  As we climbed the stairs and approached the front entrance, I noticed a sign on the outside of the door which read, "Please do not enter tonight, Saturday, January 17th."  Being the rule-follower I am, I insisted we could not go in.  He insisted we could.

When we opened the door, the first thing I noticed was how dim the chapel looked, except for one spotlight and two solitary chairs facing one another on the stage.  He escorted me to one and he sat down in the other. 

From his lips and from his heart, he spoke Ephesians 5:25 to me,  "Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave Himself up for her." 
Slowly, but deliberately, he got up and returned with a basin of water and a towel.  In a very humbled manner, he removed my shoes and began to wash my feet.  In a similar humbled manner, I began to cry.

He told me he loved me.  For the first time.  Words he'd reserved until he had the freedom and peace to speak them aloud.  And then...

He pulled out the box, which held my ring.  He asked the question I hoped he'd ask.  And I gave the answer he hoped I'd give.

 

Years later, my husband still loves me the way Christ loved the church. 

You see, Jesus set the example for him to follow.  He didn't only say He loved us with words.  He showed us by His actions, with the most profound display of love ever demonstrated.  He gave Himself up for us.

And so continues the story of our relationship today. 

I still talk. He still listens.

I could be described as the colorful, communicative type.   He's definitely the strong, silent type.

My words, most often, are many.  His words are few.

But one thing I know.  One thing I don't doubt. 

My husband loves me.

How can I be sure?

He tells me.  And He shows me--with His actions, always with his actions.

"Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.”

1 John 3:18

Good Gifts

"If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask Him!" Matthew 7:11

It's Christmas morning and I am the only one awake in my house, waking up nearly two hours before my alarm clock was set to go off.  Apparently, the excitement is just too much for me!  :)

Christmas.  The most wonderful day of the year!  It's the time when all the planning, all the preparation and all the presents align to make some very magical memories.

I absolutely cannot wait to see the girls' faces when they open their gifts in a little while.  Why?  Because this year we got them some really good gifts. 

Both girls will be getting their very own American Girl Doll.  Not just any ol' 18 inch doll.   Nope.  We went big and got them the real deal.

The gifts are a big sacrifice on our part.  They were costly.  They were extravagant.

So why such gifts this Christmas? 

Because we love our daughters.  Period. 

No, we do not spoil them.  No, we will not always be able to make this kind of purchase.  But...

This year they made no wish lists for material things. 
This year our family tried to focus on giving to others instead of receiving only for ourselves. 
This year we tried to revel in the joy and contentment of our eternal treasure in Christ versus the temporary trinkets of this world.

And as I wait for them to wake up, I can't help but wonder.  Will they know how costly their gifts are?  Will they understand the sacrifice we made?  Will their hearts be truly grateful for their gifts?

Hopefully, their new dolls will become their best friends.  Hopefully, they will honor and respect the extravagant gift they've been given.  Hopefully, they will express great joy and gratitude when they receive them.  Hopefully, they will treasure the good gifts they've been given. 

And as these thoughts dance around in my mind this morning, I think of my Heavenly Father.  I can't help but wonder if He thinks similar thoughts of us and His good and perfect gift to us. 

Perhaps He hopes we will pause this morning. 

Take a moment to notice.  To remember His Son.  To give thanks for the costly, extravagant gift He planned in advance to give us thousands of years ago.  

Maybe He hopes to see great joy and great contentment expressed in our hearts as we awake to Christmas.  

After all, He's given us the greatest gift we could ever receive, His one and only Son.  Jesus. 

"Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!"
2 Corinthians 9:15

Christmas 2011
Shortly after receiving their gifts!  Big smiles!

 



Priceless Thoughts

I opened my eyes and awakened to my true reality.  Not the dream I just had.  Not the horrible nightmare I'd just lived through in the subconscious areas of my mind. 

With a rapidly beating, yet very grateful heart, I gave thanks for the new day and the two little lives who are still mine.  Still here in our home.  Still whole and healthy.  Still in need of my care.

I've heard that sometimes our dreams are manifestations of our daily thoughts, our daily concerns or our daily fears.  That would make perfect sense in this case. 

I think about my daughters constantly.  Nearly every minute of every hour of every day. 

What are they doing?
How are they doing?
Are they safe?
Are they protected?
Are they hungry?
Are they tired?
Are they prepared?
What do they need?
What do they want?
Are they listening?
Do they understand?
Are they learning enough?
Are they playing enough?
Are they hurting?
Are they content?
What are they thinking?
What are they saying?
How are they feeling?
How will this affect them in the future?
What kind of teenagers will they be?
What kind of adults will they be?
What kind of mothers will they be?

The wheels seem to be spinning on a never-ending loop inside my head.

As much as I try to tell myself I'm not really worrying or being anxious about anything, deep down I know I probably am.  As much as I try to convince myself I am trusting the Lord with every detail in my life and theirs, deep down I know I struggle with relinquishing control.  Is it possible you could relate?

As I lay in bed this morning, contemplating my dream, this verse came to mind:

"God, Your thoughts about me are priceless. No one can possibly add them all up. If I could count them, they would be more than the grains of sand." Psalm 139:17-18a (NIrV)

In thinking a multitude of thoughts toward my daughters, I realized I am, in fact, emulating my Father.  My Father, who thinks so many priceless thoughts of His children, that they cannot even be counted.  More than the innumerable grains of sand by the sea.

Unlike me, His thoughts are Divinely incapable of being consumed with worry, anxiety or fear.  He holds His children in the safe, secure palm of His hand.  He is sovereign and in total control.  His thoughts are not my thoughts, nor are His ways like my ways. 

His thoughts are higher than mine. His thoughts are for me, not against me.  His thoughts are full of great love.  He has thoughts only a doting parent could have for His child.

Time to refocus.  Time to think less on the weighty, burdensome questions and thoughts.  But instead, think on that which is "true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent or praiseworthy." (Philippians 4:8)

Concerning my girls, I'm choosing to think about such things:

What precious gifts they are...
How adorable...
How delightful...
How insightful...
How brilliant...
How entertaining...
How talented...
How kind-hearted...
How helpful...
How challenging...
How tender...
How perceptive...
How sensitive...
How obedient...
How strong...
How brave...
How bold...
How fun...
How loving...
How grateful and blessed I am they're mine.

These are my priceless thoughts about them. 

A Letter to the Bride

My dearest bride,

Thirteen years ago was your wedding day.  The day you'd imagined since you were a little girl.  The day where all your dreams came true.  The day you married your doting Prince Charming.  The day your real-life fairy tale began.  The day your "happily ever after" became a reality. 

You knew better than to place all your focus and all your finances strictly on the wedding day.  You knew it was but a day in the grand scheme of your life.  But you also recognized July 11, 1998, as holy, as sacred, as set apart to honor the union of you and the one God had chosen for you. 

Your desire was to see God glorified and to demonstrate gratitude to the One who brought you and your beloved together.  You wanted to celebrate your love with all your family and all your friends, who would serve as witnesses to this momentous occasion.  You clung to the hope that every detail of this day would be etched in your heart and mind forever.  And it would be.  Forever.

Your wedding is but a memory now.  The marriage began when two separate-thinking, separate-feeling individuals joined together to become one and thus, formed a new family unit.  For the first five years of your marriage, life was pretty simple.  You started your careers.  You both taught school.  You labored in the Lord together.  You traveled.  You reveled in life as it was.  You enjoyed each other to the fullest.

Baby girl #1 arrived and your family grew.  So did your responsibilities.  So did your love.  You saw each other as partners in this crazy, but overwhelming, task of parenting.  You needed each other more than ever to overcome the numerous challenges that inevitably came with having a newborn.  But you survived.  As a matter of fact you treasured your new role as Mom.  So much so, you desired another little one.

Baby girl #2 joined the family three and half years later.  With her arrival, life became busier, but also more fulfilling.  You were extremely grateful for your newest gift and managed to juggle having two little blessings completely dependent upon you.  You cared.  You cried.  You prayed.  And suddenly, the realization hit you that life was no longer so simple. 

Years later, your heart is content.  You feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for all you've been given.  You're in a good rhythm, singing new songs and learning to dance new steps each day of your life.  Your home is filled with the goodness and grace of a loving and faithful God. 

Amazingly, your husband still adores you.  Still considers you a most cherished treasure in his life.  Still honors you, loves you, and cares for you as he publicly promised he would on your wedding day.

You feel the same way.  Your beloved is your best friend.  He is your strength.  He is your calm in the storm.  He rights a multitude of wrongs.  He speaks with wisdom and truth.  He is well respected.  He is an invaluable helpmate and trustworthy provider.  You have an amazing man, a reflection of your Savior, with whom to share your life.  You love him with all of your heart.

Be forewarned.  Over the years, there will be times of tension.  Moments of misunderstanding.  Seasons of struggle.  Lest you forget, may I remind you that forgiveness is paramount.  Listening is essential.  Silence is golden.  Compassion is key.  Take heart.  True love conquers all.

Most importantly, remember that your marriage to your beloved is a symbolic picture of Jesus' precious relationship with His radiant bride, the church.  You were called and sanctified.  You are pure and holy.  You are unblemished and unparalleled, all because of Jesus, your bridegroom.  He is passionate and patient, as He waits to be with His bride.  He longs to celebrate with those He loves. 

Trust me, the union will ultimately be a day you will never forget, just like your own wedding day thirteen years ago.  It will permanently be etched in your heart and mind.  Forever.

Lovingly,
Michele