Thoughts on Marriage

Having just returned from teaching at a marriage seminar with HeartConnexion Ministries in Kansas City, (and prior to that weekend, the AACC conference in Nashville), I am filled up professionally. That makes me happy. But having also seen the breaking hearts of spouses who want so much more for their marriages and can't seem to make it happen, I remain somewhat discouraged about the state of marriages in general. And that makes me sad.
I am reminded of the starfish thrower in the Joel Barker video who, despite being chided for even attempting to save the hundreds of starfish that had washed ashore, determined to make a difference one starfish at a time, unaffected by an otherwise impossible task. The problem is, we may never know if we are indeed making a difference.
My passion is for marriages... for families... for the precious, innocent children whose healthy development lies almost completely at the mercy of how strong or weak mom and dad's marriage is. My heart's desire is to make a difference, yet I am cautious, knowing I want more even in my own marriage. I am trained in relationships and considered an "expert" in the seminar room, but I am quick to confess I don't have a perfect marriage, rather one in progress as well.
One of the questions that haunts me and has caused me to begin researching the answers is, what help is there for a marriage when only one spouse is interested in working on it? I see this frequently and hear many women, especially, long for their husbands to work as hard at their marriage as they do their jobs. (I'm sure there are many men saying the same thing, but my heart is for women, so that is my focus.) Either the husband is too busy with his career or other endeavors, or there is resistance, denial or refusal. Finding answers for the heartbreak of these women is increasingly important to me. Is there a way of behavior and attitude that will invite and intice their husbands to want to change? To make the marriage a priority? To begin to desire that safe harbor that marriage should be? I believe there are many women asking this same question.
The other observation / question that is beginning to gain my attention is the seemingly unique personality traits of men who are in leadership positions and the equally unique challenges in their marriages. I am researching this one also, but I am developing a theory that these strong and unique personalities seem to have difficulty transitioning from their professional lives to their personal lives, which eventually often leads them straight into a marital crisis of some kind. Only the man who consistently keeps his faith as his number one priority is able to avert disaster. How do we help the wives of these uniquely gifted leaders? What can be done to save these marriages? This is critical since many of these leaders happen to be pastors.
I am overwhelmed with these and other questions. I am frustrated with my inability/unwillingness to create a schedule for myself where I can study, research, write and work on all this. I am pulled in so many directions personally and professionally and feel like I am accomplishing little in both areas. I am in desperate need of fulfillment and productivity, and I am ashamed when I acknowledge I have all the ability in the world to create this for myself. I am positive this is part of my calling, and I am feeling myself a poor steward of my gifts if I don't begin producing, whatever that looks like. I am crazy wrestless with desire to find answers, to help, to make a difference; even if for one marriage at a time.

Wedding Pics! (Start from the bottom...oops!)

The Getaway!

The New Happy Family

(Um, Berk, not so much!)

Simone wins the dance contest, for sure!

Cutting the Cake

Fun Camping theme for the reception.

(See Story in post below)

Mr. and Mrs. Matt Ehlen

Classic

Savannah and Berkley take it all in.

Of course Savannah must greet her audience :)

Here Comes the Bride

Getting ready!

The 100th Date!

I am reprinting for you the contents of the Story of Shannah and Matt. The booklet these words belong in was at each guest's place at their wedding (which I shall be blogging about later!). Enjoy!

ACT I (Early Last Summer)

After first meeting at a local bookstore, exchanging telephone numbers, and long phone conversations into the night, Matt began driving all the way to West County to meet Shannah on the porch after her kids were asleep. These were not dates by anybody's definition. Hoping for more than marathon drives that ended in on-the-sly encounters, they managed to eek out several real dates. Things progressed. Conversation deepened. Love blossomed.
Not wanting to confuse, alarm or excite the kids, Shan made sure she had a plan for exactly when to introduce even the idea of dating someone. Or so she thought.

One evening, Grayson stretched out across the bed watching Shan brush her hair.

"Where ya going?" he asked.

"Well, Gray", she said turning to face him, "I have a date tonight."

"Matt?" he probed.

"Um, yeah" how did you know?"

"I hear things", he quipped.

"Well, yes, I have a date with a guy named Matt."

"Is this your first date?"

"No. I think it*s about our third or fourth." Gray sat up on the bed, and began calculating his next round of questions.
"So, how many dates do you have to go on before you get married?" he asked slyly.

"A lot!" Shan answered quickly.

"I know, but like how many?"

"I don*t know, like a lot!"

"Come on, I need a number."

"Like a lot! Like a hundred, I don't know."

"A hundred? Really?! Wow. So when do we get to meet him?"
Having already asked herself this question, and not having a clue what the magic number was that would be most considerate of their little hearts, she answered confidently, "Um, I don*t know."

"Well, I think we should meet him on date 20, cause that*s when you start getting all attached, and people like you really get attached."

"Really," she smirked as she slipped on her shoes. "Well, I guess that sounds about right, then. "Date twenty it is."

ACT II Matt's Story

(A Man of Few Words Who Knows What He Wants)

"I had just about resigned myself to being alone for the rest of my life. And then I met Shan. I remember I use to sit on the front porch waiting for the kids to go to bed, and sometimes we'd sneak back onto her screened-in porch she calls her tree house. We kissed on the third date, and I remember I was impressed that she loved to cook, she would actually watch a football game, she would drink a beer, and camping was her favorite thing. I asked her why she wasn't already taken. We instantly bonded when she said her dream was to take her kids to a different National Park every year. But when she told me she went to Woodstock and didn't shower for five days... I knew she was the girl for me."

ACT III Shannah's Story

(This is How I Knew Matt Loved Me)

"Grayson wanted to meet Matt after date 20, but I wasn't convinced either the kids or Matt were really ready for all that could mean. As the days went by, I was reminded the dates were indeed being counted and we were well past number 20. So we decided on date 27 we would all go camping. We were leaving on Thursday afternoon for St. Francis State Park, and I was touched when Matt showed up with a new inner tube for the flat tire on Berkley's bike. Major points.
I was in my car with the kids and the dog, and Matt was ahead of us in his truck which was loaded down with all the camping gear. When we finally got there, it was raining and already dark. Matt got out my three-room tent complete with broken poles and proceeded to put it up in the dark, in the rain, aided only by my headlights, a hyper, three month-old Golden Retriever, and two kids he never met running around yelling every two seconds, "Can we get in? Can we get in?" There was no dinner, no grass (only mud), and Matt silently and saintly setting up the tent, never saying a word.
We ate PB & J sandwiches off the dashboard, blew up the air mattresses and decided we had enough fun for one night. We put the dog in his cage in one room, girls in one room, boys in the other, and settled in for the night. The next morning Matt and Grayson took Beau for a walk by the river, while Berkley and I slept in. When we got up, I piled the kids back in the car and took off for the kids' soccer games, leaving poor Matt behind to take down the whole campsite with the dog. Two worlds collided."

EPILOGUE(This Brings Us to Tonight)
Last night, the dress rehearsal was our 100th date. Welcome to our wedding!

A New Dad, Please

I remember well sitting in my prayer chair in my office about a year and a half ago. Sometimes my time there honestly feels more methodical than heartfelt. With my prayer journal in hand, I begin. "Good morning. It's me again." And then I list all the 'please don't forget abouts' and 'could you please grants', stopping to refresh God's memory about needs that would obviously slip through the cracks if He didn't have me regularly bringing them to His attention.
On this particular week, my heart was especially troubled for two of my grandkids who desperately needed a father and my precious daughter who has so much to give to a relationship. My prayers were passionate and the situation I presented on those days was one of utter hopelessness save divine intervention on their behalf. Time was slipping away, I told God. "Soon, Gray will be too old to bond with another man. He's the perfect little boy for a dad. He asks so many questions and is so full of desire to imitate and idolize. You just can't leave him hanging out there without a dad to emulate! And Berk... she so needs to be special to someone. If she isn't soon certain she's cherished and protected by a dad, she'll go looking to be special to anyone. We can't let that happen to her, and you're the only one who can stop it! And single moms?! Geez, it's too hard, God! This is not how it's suppose to be! Will you help us? Please, I know you can. Will you? PLEASE??"
I sent the same clanging up day after day for several weeks. I don't know where the urgency came from, but I know I wasn't the only one who felt it. Nor was I the only one praying about it. I just happen to be the only one writing about it. I don't know whether it was the persistence, or the number of prayers rising up, or the sheer desperation of those petitions. Perhaps it was the precious, innocent, simple prayers of Gray and Berk themselves, along with those of their cousins and classmates, who consistently offered up requests for a new dad over breakfast, broccoli, and bedtimes. Whatever, however, and whomever; God listened. And His compassionate heart was filled with the intention to right a wrong done to this incomplete, but otherwise happy, little threesome. He is truly awesome.
A couple months and many similar prayers later, Shannah casually mentioned she had been "talking to someone", and was thinking about taking it up a notch. This "casual" mentioning was significant. I usually knew when she sneezed. I knew about every date or hint of since her divorce, so this comment made with all the resolve and discretion of a confident thirty-something single woman spoke volumes. And believe me, I was listening.
As the weeks dragged on, I found my hopes and my breath suspended. I had no clue what to make of the unfolding of this relationship. She was cautious and deliberate. Every step was planned out, but still possessed the same effortless non-chalance only Shannah can pull off. I was completely impressed, though not surprised, at her judgments, questions and strategy of the relationship. I was amazed at how she balanced trusting with holding back. Here was a woman who had learned from the past, yet truly still wanted a good relationship and was working to see if this one could be that. All indicators appeared it indeed could be. This man was gentle and sincere and was excited about having a family of his own.
Early in my prayers since the relationship began I didn't quite know how to pray. My discussions with God were more like an interrogation. What's going on? Should I be getting excited or should I still be praying? Is it too early to start praising you? Are you actually answering prayer here?! His response was a teaching moment for my own spiritual growth... as is always the case, since He never changes, and is always most concerned that I learn more about Him (and because I am constantly in need of a teaching moment.)
Immediately I was taken back to a scripture that at first read doesn't make much sense. In Mark 9 Jesus is asked to heal a boy possessed by a demon. When Jesus challenges the boy's father on whether he believes Jesus can help his son, the man replies, "I believe. Help my unbelief." Sounds crazy to me. Either you believe or you don't. But Jesus was showing me exactly what this man meant. In fact, Jesus knew I already knew what he meant. I don't know this man's heart. Perhaps his unbelief was truly a matter of Jesus' ability as the passage suggests. But for me, my unbelief wasn't about can He, but rather will He? I was confident Jesus could bring the perfect man into Shan's family, but I wasn't confident He would. It wasn't even a matter of His will concerning the circumstance. I am convinced we pray according to His will in matters where He has already spoken. We know families are His very own creation. We know Fathers are extremely important to every aspect of a child's development. We know we were made to be in relationship. Fathers and whole families are already His will, so my doubt obviously didn't lie in matters of His Will. Rather, my doubt was buried in matters of His choosing. Would He choose to answer MY prayers?
"You pray to me and cry to me and beg me for this, yet when I give you what you ask for, you are in shock that it's happening. You're not even sure it's happening still. You demonstrate unbelief." Wow. I am humbled and contrite. I can only say "I believe. Help my unbelief." And I get what it means.
The months have come and gone, and the relationship has proven solid. My unbelief has been replaced by praise... lots of praise. And lots of wedding planning! Surely, He gives exceeding abundantly above all we ask or can think to ask!

Easter 2009 I Have Been Freed

Many images and feelings come to mind as I reflect on Easter this year. God is good to smile on our enjoyment of the kiddie part of Easter... the chocolate bunnies, fancy dresses, patent shoes, and egg hunts. He is present in our daily life, the scurrying to fill baskets, the baking of the ham, the rushing to church. I have always known that. This year, however, His presence was more real than ever; more tangible, as though He were pressing in all around me, demanding I take notice.

"I want you to see me. I want you to feel me. I want you to know I am here." Here, in the midst of some of the worst pain my family has experienced. Here amid the questions, the confusion, the sadness, the fear, and yes, the doubt. I hate to admit I didn't ask Him to come to Easter. I didn't ask Him to make Himself known. There wasn't time for that. Easter flew in on the heels of a tragedy in our family, and we hadn't even had time to pick up the pieces. That may take years. For some, the pieces are forever broken and will lay where they fell.

Good Friday began in haste, and I barely took time to think about the solemnness of the day. We had our own solemnness around here. Still, He was here. It wasn't until I received a text message with a quote from my five-year-old granddaughter that I realized what day it was.

"Today is the saddest day for God", read the text. "His son is dying on the cross right now." Indeed, it was a gloomy day outside, and I shuddered that I hadn't given it a thought. My personal sorrow and concern had squeezed out any sorrow or concern, or gratitude for the Savior. But in the midst of my distractions, here He was crowding His way into my preoccupations through a child.

The preparations for Easter went along through Saturday, and there was a brief, passing discussion about a Cardinal's baseball game on Easter Sunday. Not just any game, but a special day for the kids where they get to go on the field and run the bases... on Easter Sunday. Did I mention that Run the Bases Day was scheduled for Easter Sunday? Opposing opinions on the issue floated by, but I didn't have the energy to participate in the discussion. Why should I continue to be an advocate for Christ on every front when, clearly, it seemed He has done little to intervene in our struggles. My old distorted upbringing was slipping through again. 'Those who live for Christ are spared the ugly pains of this life. You might encounter sickness or even death in old age, but the messiness that "non-believers" experience is more about choice. Yessirree... choose God and live happy!' I shrugged Him off in exhaustion and uncertainty. I wasn't aware of it, but He was still there.

I had a long conversation with one of my family members that night about the painful experience we were going through. I spoke what I had come to know as truth about the everlasting, unfailing, immeasurable love of God. It was good for me to say in words again that I was convinced beyond any doubt, that while I may not have all the answers to the specifics of doctrines and beliefs, I knew God to be a God of Love. I am completely positive His love endures forever. He shows Himself to us daily in so many ways; in the morning chorus of the birds' songs, in the evening sunset-of-the-day paintings, in the laughter of children. He is a good king, and He is constantly vying for our affection.

Sunday morning came, and I honestly didn't feel like going to church. I was more excited to see my grandkids in all their Easter frills than I was looking forward to worshiping. My soul was truly downcast. There had been no time for recovery from the blast. My heart was too heavy for some of my family members, and I honestly didn't trust that God would comfort them. There is no comfort from this.

In addition to my own private doubting, for some time I had been searching for the Truth of God in the world religions. I entertained the belief that perhaps many religions worship the same God, but call him by a different name. Who are we to hold the mortgage on God? Who are we, in the western world, to think ourselves so superior that God needs US to evangelize and ultimately 'save' the rest of the planet? Who am I to judge the devotion of the girl at my nail salon as she begins her day by placing an offering of oranges before Buddha? Who am I to judge the throngs of committed worshipers I saw at the Hindu temples in India? All of these thoughts about God and world religions I could make some sense of. But I just didn't know what to do about Jesus. I was certain His death and resurrection couldn't be ignored, I just didn't know how to excuse that away from other religions that left that part out.

As it would happen, one of our last-minute Easter guests was my niece's boyfriend from India who is Muslim. I hurredly thawed out a beef kabob, knowing he couldn't partake of our traditional Easter ham. We had just returned inside from our annual Easter Egg Hunt with the grandkids. Standing with him in the dining room overlooking the table scattered with pastel-wrapped candy decorations, I ran smack into my dilemma.

"So, Paula" he said placing his arm across my shoulder, "I know about Jesus and Easter and the resurrection, but how do the easter eggs and chocolate and ducks and bunnies fit in?"

I smirked and nodded my head in slow motion in a way that clearly communicated, "You got me, and I'm trying to figure a way out." "Well, Kamal", I finally answered. It's purely commercialism. Of course, I could tell you it's about spring and the newness of life that symbolizes our new life in Christ, but.... um, yeah, it's really just commercialism." I felt like Peter denying Christ, and I expected to hear a rooster crow somewhere. Instead, I surprised myself by saying, "You know, we do celebrate the new life we receive because of Jesus' death and resurrection, but we also celebrate the fun side of Easter with the kids... and I think God does too."

"Yes, you know we believe that Jesus was taken up also, but we believe God took him up so he could escape the people who wanted to kill him. His spirit was taken so all they crucified was his shell." I couldn't speak. I was immediately sad in my heart that the deep meaning of the single most defining moment in all the world for me was viewed so differently by so many. If His crucifixion isn't true, then there is no promise, no guarantee of eternal life. If Christ did not willingly take on himself the sin of the world in an excruciatingly painful display of sacrifice on my behalf, then I have no way of saving myself from the sins I commit on a daily basis; from my nasty attitudes and judgments, from my base motivations for self-gain, from my selfish pride and desire to be right or better than someone else, from my addictive ways, or the million other times I give in to temptation. I need a Savior. I may not have outwardly committed the big ten, but I have done so thousands of times in my heart, and I can't possibly rid myself of that shame or the shame or pain I have caused others. I need the Crucifixion to be True. I need it to be true that I am no longer condemned for my sinful nature. I need it to be true that my punishment was nailed with Christ to that cross. I need it to be true that I am free from condemnation and the punishment of all my ugly sin. If it is not true, then all hope is lost. All hope is lost.

And then, in the middle of the Easter service that I was barely aware of going on around me, my son-in-law stepped to the microphone to sing. Joel has this huge fan club of one in me. We share the same passion for singing. It's truly what both of us were created to do. There's something about communicating with an audience through song. But, he's better and more musically educated than me. He has been doing a lot of singing at church since they began attending, and I joke with him about when he'll really cut loose and they'll really get to hear him. Well, they heard him Easter Sunday. We all heard him. And God pushed His way through and made sure I saw Him and felt Him, and knew He was there.

In my soul I knew once again Easter was real, and it is important. In my soul I knew the Crucifixion was real, and it is important. I knew Jesus is indeed a force to be reckoned with no matter what religion you are. Once again I claimed it is true there is a promise, a guarantee of eternal life. And every bad thing I've ever thought or said or done in the past or in the future is completely wiped away because, He stood in to take my punishment. I was convinced anew that any struggle or heartache or sickness or tragedy I experience here on this earth is because of the presence of evil, and not the way God created the world to be. And He will bring it back around to goodness and health and peace because He defeated evil on the cross. And even death itself can no longer be an end, but is now a beginning... a passing into the next life, because He defeated that too. Hope is restored. He is alive. This is real.

I am grateful. So grateful. I have been freed. I am not condemned. And neither is anyone else who ever believed that Christ is who He said He was... the Son of God himself.

Cheap Therapy

It occurred to me after the holidays we have have lost what generations before us would recognize as therapy that is both convenient and cheap. I spent a good part of several days in a row ironing all the holiday napkins and table cloths I had used for our special family dinners on Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I own a lot of cloth napkins. I own no paper napkins (except for those really cute cocktail kind that make you want to have a party). Cloth napkins make even pizza in a box seem like a served meal.

My oldest daughter, Shannah, happened to call me two days in a row while I was ironing and sounded partly amused and partly disbelieving. I felt old. While my generation discovered and dabbled in permanent press, her generation went way beyond permanent press into permanent wear; as in wear it til it walks into the hamper on its own, then pull it out and wear it again... several more times. I honestly witnessed a survey being taken by 30-somethings that actually asked how many days' wear before washing was acceptable for a favorite pair of jeans. The answers astounded me. Of course, these are the kids that started the whole college phenomenon of 'throw your hair in a pony and wear your pajamas to your 8 o'clock class so you can sleep an extra half hour, then go back to your dorm and shower', after everyone on campus has already seen you looking so lovely. I have no category for that in my brain.

You can imagine my daughter's response when she called the third day and happen to catch me once again ironing.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm still working on these Christmas linens."

"Of course you are. Really?! wow."

I tried to explain I hadn't actually been ironing for 36 hours straight, but that she just happen to catch me when I was ironing.

"Yes, but you're doing it. You're ironing napkins. That's a crack up. All I have is 'wow'."

I felt very old. But I liked it. I was breathing. I was calm. I was standing in the same place for longer than three seconds. I was thinking. I was reliving all the hilarious moments around the table and taking in all the togetherness that's never enough. I was praying for hearts that showed glimpses of concern at certain topics mentioned, and I was holding tightly to images of my grandkids faces who will grow up too fast, just like my girls did.

And then I realized. Modern technology is great, but it's robbing us of some valuable quiet, thinking time that people now pay a lot of money to get back. All these activities that soon may become a thing of the past were therapeutic. Ironing, washing dishes by hand, mowing the lawn (walking-style without headphones), hand-writing letters and journal entries, sewing and mending, working in the garden to grow your own food, and a hundred other tasks that have been replaced by machinery to save time.

Saving time mostly means extra minutes to cram in more things to do, which means more anxiety and stress and problems, which means we need more quiet time to figure out and fix. And that means therapists' offices are full of clients looking to do just that, when all they really need to do is buy cloth napkins.