One of my wife's friends gave us a rather unusual wedding present: three small, glass vases, about three inches high. With the vases was a note that said something like this: "When I was a little girl, I used to pick dandelions and give them to my mom. She would put them in tiny glass vases like these. I know it's a little early, but I wanted you to have some vases ready so that someday, when you have little girls, you will have a place to put the dandelions they pick for you."
Charming notion. Over ten years later now, that sentimental gift has indeed been used as my wife's friend intended. My wife has been the recipient of many bestowals of dandelions, picked fresh from our lawn, and given with love from our adoring children.
There's just one problem with all of this: I detest dandelions.
Not my children giving them--that's all well and cute--but I resent the very existence of dandelions. To me, they are the poster-child species of the Noxious Weed category of plant life on this earth. They pop up out of nowhere, they multiply like crazy, and it takes a LOT of effort to eradicate them once they become established. They are the cockroaches of suburban flora.
This spring, the dandelions in my yard got an extra leg up on us, for two reasons. The first is that it has been unseasonably wet and cool. The second is that the birth of our fifth child coincided with the optimal time to spray dandelions, which is after they are big enough to easily spot in the grass, but before their nauseatingly-merry, stupid little yellow flowers turn into puff-ball landmines of reproductive potential. Thus, while we were fully into sleep-deprived-new-parent-zombie-survival-mode, the weeds outside were throwing wild parties, drinking too much, and multiplying with reckless abandon--a miniature Woodstock in our lawn.
The rainy weather also contributed to preventing me from breaking out the lawn mower. So it was that I watched out the window with growing anxiety and mounting feelings of helplessness as the dandelion stalks in my lawn grew taller and taller in our grass. The puff-balls of fluffy white parachutes for the seeds had ascended to optimal position for the frequent breezes to carry them into every nook and cranny of our yard. It was too late to spray this generation; the damage had already been done.
When I finally mowed for the first time I used the grass-catcher bag, which I almost never do, in a vain effort to vacuum up as many dandelion seeds as possible and reduce my future spraying job. The lawn was so long at this point that I filled three times as many bags as usual, but all to no avail. In the process of running over the seed stalks, bending them to the point that the blade could cut them, all the seeds were inevitably dislodged. The breeze picked them up in great swirling clouds, and it soon seemed as if I was mowing the lawn in a blizzard--with those despicably-downy seeds gently lodging themselves where I had just mowed, in our flower beds, in our window screens, in my hair, in my eyes, in my ears, and for all I know, invading bodily places where they absolutely had no business in going. Dandelions apparently don't understand about personal space.
I thought a lot about dandelions that day. I remembered reading a book in junior high school called Dandelion Wine, by Ray Bradbury, which as I recall cast dandelions in somewhat of a back-to-basics, childhood-nostalgia light. I don't know whether Dandelion Wine is considered one of "The Classics" (definition: a book that would never sell if your English teacher didn't make it required reading), but I know other books by Ray Bradbury are in this category. This memory, in the current context, only confirmed my long-held suspicions that most of the authors of "The Classics" were sickos.
And then I had sort of a realization. The little yellow flowers in the lawn, and the noxious flurry of dandelion spawn swirling around me, though failing to conjure up childhood nostalgia for me, as it did for Ray Bradbury or my wife's friend, did have some symbolic meaning in my life. You see, the dandelions in my yard are the consequences of decisions my wife and I have made over the years: decisions to marry, to have one child, then another, and another, and another, and finally, to have our most recent addition. Each child added to our family bouquet is a serious commitment, a precious soul that Heaven has entrusted to our care here on earth. And with each of these most precious assets we have gained, we have had to sacrifice a little bit more.
I thought about the sweet little round pink face of our newest addition, her wild hair sticking out in every direction, her tiny fists curled around my finger as she looks penetratingly into my eyes, and then I thought about dandelions. I was reminded of the story of Jesus visiting Mary and Martha:
Now it came to pass, as they went, that he entered into a certain village: and a certain woman named Martha received him into her house.
And she had a sister called Mary, which also sat at Jesus’ feet, and heard his word.
But Martha was cumbered about much serving, and came to him, and said, Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone? bid her therefore that she help me.
And Jesus answered and said unto her, Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things:
But one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her. (Luke 10:38-42)
Mary chose to spend time hearing the Savior speak rather than serving dinner. Wasn't choosing my little children, who are like the Savior in so many ways, also a more noble cause than my personal jihad against dandelions? Perhaps, in the midst of my mowing, I realized that I too had "chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from [me.]" After all, no matter how diligently I spray, there will always be another crop of dandelions to battle, but my time with my children is precious and limited.
Besides, if I killed all the dandelions, what would my children put in the vases?
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
Wife Rule #50: It's a Matter of Respect
There's not enough respect in the world today.
There's not enough respect for our country. Or respect for the military. Or respect for the offices that our political leaders hold. Or respect for our freedom. Or respect for the sacrifices that purchased that freedom. Or respect for values that have held our country together for over two centuries.
There's not enough respect for those who have gone before us. Or respect for the elderly. Or respect for our parents. Or respect for our children. Or respect for the unborn.
There's not enough respect for marriage. Or respect for motherhood. Or respect for fatherhood. Or respect for family relationships in general.
There's not enough respect for our magnificent bodies. Or respect for the process by which our bodies are created.
There's not enough respect for this planet. Or respect for the creatures we share this planet with. Or respect for the magnitude of the universe that lies beyond our own little sphere. Or respect for all of God's creation in general.
In short, there's not enough respect for God anymore.
We are taught from all angles to criticize, to demean, to diminish, to poke fun at, to laugh at, to look for flaws and ignore what's right, and finally, to disregard too many sacred things. The world has largely lost respect for--which is inevitably followed by forgetting about--the tremendous blessings we have been given, and with that, largely lost respect for--and forgotten--the Giver of these blessings.
Not my wife.
I am blessed--greatly blessed--to be married to a woman who respects all of the sacred things I mentioned above. She knows that our lives on this planet, in this country, with our bodies, in our families, as children of our God, are precious gifts whose value excels all the lesser things that seem to command the world's respect.
My wife and I, like many of you, have become painfully aware of the general lack of respect for the Highest. One of the first times I realized this in clarity was about eight years ago, while watching a G-rated children's film where the main characters--young children--took God's sacred name in vain over a dozen times.
This behavior barely registers with movie critics as "minor profanity" nowadays. This behavior has become considered "cute" by the world and is canonized with an acronym so that it can more conveniently be "texted" back and forth in rapidity. Imagine, now we can break one of the great Ten Commandments and profane the name of our Creator with only as much thought as it takes to execute three character strokes! What a world we live in today.
There was a time in our world when the name of God was held so sacred--in such high respect--that language was altered to avoid using His name so frequently, rather than being altered to abuse it more conveniently.
My wife and I are determined to make our home a safe haven from the world of profanity that surrounds us. Our children will grow up in an environment where the name of our Father in Heaven is held in such high esteem that a feeling of reverence, of respect, enters the room when we talk about Him.
Some of you may have noticed that I never use my wife's name in these Wife Rules. Why would I protect the name of the one person on this earth that I love and adore above all others?
It's simply a matter of respect.
There's not enough respect for our country. Or respect for the military. Or respect for the offices that our political leaders hold. Or respect for our freedom. Or respect for the sacrifices that purchased that freedom. Or respect for values that have held our country together for over two centuries.
There's not enough respect for those who have gone before us. Or respect for the elderly. Or respect for our parents. Or respect for our children. Or respect for the unborn.
There's not enough respect for marriage. Or respect for motherhood. Or respect for fatherhood. Or respect for family relationships in general.
There's not enough respect for our magnificent bodies. Or respect for the process by which our bodies are created.
There's not enough respect for this planet. Or respect for the creatures we share this planet with. Or respect for the magnitude of the universe that lies beyond our own little sphere. Or respect for all of God's creation in general.
In short, there's not enough respect for God anymore.
We are taught from all angles to criticize, to demean, to diminish, to poke fun at, to laugh at, to look for flaws and ignore what's right, and finally, to disregard too many sacred things. The world has largely lost respect for--which is inevitably followed by forgetting about--the tremendous blessings we have been given, and with that, largely lost respect for--and forgotten--the Giver of these blessings.
Not my wife.
I am blessed--greatly blessed--to be married to a woman who respects all of the sacred things I mentioned above. She knows that our lives on this planet, in this country, with our bodies, in our families, as children of our God, are precious gifts whose value excels all the lesser things that seem to command the world's respect.
My wife and I, like many of you, have become painfully aware of the general lack of respect for the Highest. One of the first times I realized this in clarity was about eight years ago, while watching a G-rated children's film where the main characters--young children--took God's sacred name in vain over a dozen times.
This behavior barely registers with movie critics as "minor profanity" nowadays. This behavior has become considered "cute" by the world and is canonized with an acronym so that it can more conveniently be "texted" back and forth in rapidity. Imagine, now we can break one of the great Ten Commandments and profane the name of our Creator with only as much thought as it takes to execute three character strokes! What a world we live in today.
There was a time in our world when the name of God was held so sacred--in such high respect--that language was altered to avoid using His name so frequently, rather than being altered to abuse it more conveniently.
My wife and I are determined to make our home a safe haven from the world of profanity that surrounds us. Our children will grow up in an environment where the name of our Father in Heaven is held in such high esteem that a feeling of reverence, of respect, enters the room when we talk about Him.
Some of you may have noticed that I never use my wife's name in these Wife Rules. Why would I protect the name of the one person on this earth that I love and adore above all others?
It's simply a matter of respect.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Wife Rule #49: We're Always Better Together
My wife and I recently attended a home show. You know, the kind of excess-on-parade spectacle that always manages to convince me that if I ever want to be happy, I've just got to have a waterfall in our yard. Preferably as part of the swimming pool complex. And an indoor bowling lane.
Anyway, the master bedroom in one of the homes we visited had not one, but two giant flat-panel TVs. I stood there, pondering why in the world one room could possibly need two high-end, luxury model, flat-panel TVs, when my wife and I still seemed to get by just fine with only one old-fashioned bubble-screen television in the house. (Okay, actually, we have two, but one is in the exercise room and seldom gets used, and is so old that it only shows three different colors and only picks up three different channels. So that one doesn't really count as a TV, any more than our microwave does. Come to think of it, I think the microwave gets better reception.)
While processing all these very important thoughts, I must have looked incredibly unenlightened, because suddenly I found us being approached by the male half of an older couple who happened to be in the room at the same time as us. With a knowing tone in his voice, he offered, "I'll tell you young folks the secret to forty years of happy marriage."
This ought to be interesting, I thought, sizing him up. Obviously looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger wasn't the secret. That came as a huge relief. I look more like Mr. Potato Head.
He continued: "The secret to a happy marriage is two TVs with headphones in the master bedroom. That way she can watch her show, and I can watch my show, and no one has to hear the other's show!"
That was it. The golden key. Why didn't I think of that? Why isn't that the standard first step in marriage counselling?
While retreating into headphones and shutting out the sound of one's spouse's existence for a couple of hours every night might prevent arguing over which show to watch, maybe--I know I'm going out on a limb here--there's more to a healthy marriage than two TV shows at a time?
When God created Adam and Eve in the garden, I don't recall anything about issuing them each a set of head phones (although as an aside, I'm quite certain that the serpent listened to a lot of rap music). In fact, besides the clothes they were given, I think God mostly just gave them knowledge and commandments to work together and be a family. Fighting over who was in charge wasn't to be a part of their union, and neither was shutting each other out. What was the secret then?
Perhaps the answer lies in Adam's realization after God first brought Eve to him:
This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh: she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man. Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh. (Genesis 2:23-24)
Adam realized that symbolically he and Eve started out as one flesh, and as a couple, they were to cleave together and act as one, always.
They did this so very well. Even when Eve at the forbidden fruit, Adam chose to eat with her, and they left the garden together, side by side (Genesis 3:6,23). They knew that each depended on the other for more than just procreation; they depended on each other for work, for companionship, for conversation, for growth and learning, for life. They were each fully invested in the other's happiness. Even if sticking together meant a change of address, hard work, challenges, sickness, and eventual death, they knew it was better to go through it together than alone.
My wife and I fell in love with Jack Johnson's song Better Together while on our trip to Hawaii together. There's a few lines in this song that describe just how I feel about my wife:
Love is the answer,
At least for most of the questions in my heart
Like why are we here? and where do we go?
And how come it's so hard?
It's not always easy and
Sometimes life can be deceiving
I'll tell you one thing: its always better when we're together
I think these few lines tell it all: the story of Adam and Eve, and the story of all happy couples. Life is full of questions, many of which we don't know all the answers to, but some things are certain: Love is the overriding purpose for life, and we're always better together.
With or without twin flat-panel TVs.
Anyway, the master bedroom in one of the homes we visited had not one, but two giant flat-panel TVs. I stood there, pondering why in the world one room could possibly need two high-end, luxury model, flat-panel TVs, when my wife and I still seemed to get by just fine with only one old-fashioned bubble-screen television in the house. (Okay, actually, we have two, but one is in the exercise room and seldom gets used, and is so old that it only shows three different colors and only picks up three different channels. So that one doesn't really count as a TV, any more than our microwave does. Come to think of it, I think the microwave gets better reception.)
While processing all these very important thoughts, I must have looked incredibly unenlightened, because suddenly I found us being approached by the male half of an older couple who happened to be in the room at the same time as us. With a knowing tone in his voice, he offered, "I'll tell you young folks the secret to forty years of happy marriage."
This ought to be interesting, I thought, sizing him up. Obviously looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger wasn't the secret. That came as a huge relief. I look more like Mr. Potato Head.
He continued: "The secret to a happy marriage is two TVs with headphones in the master bedroom. That way she can watch her show, and I can watch my show, and no one has to hear the other's show!"
That was it. The golden key. Why didn't I think of that? Why isn't that the standard first step in marriage counselling?
While retreating into headphones and shutting out the sound of one's spouse's existence for a couple of hours every night might prevent arguing over which show to watch, maybe--I know I'm going out on a limb here--there's more to a healthy marriage than two TV shows at a time?
When God created Adam and Eve in the garden, I don't recall anything about issuing them each a set of head phones (although as an aside, I'm quite certain that the serpent listened to a lot of rap music). In fact, besides the clothes they were given, I think God mostly just gave them knowledge and commandments to work together and be a family. Fighting over who was in charge wasn't to be a part of their union, and neither was shutting each other out. What was the secret then?
Perhaps the answer lies in Adam's realization after God first brought Eve to him:
This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh: she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man. Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh. (Genesis 2:23-24)
Adam realized that symbolically he and Eve started out as one flesh, and as a couple, they were to cleave together and act as one, always.
They did this so very well. Even when Eve at the forbidden fruit, Adam chose to eat with her, and they left the garden together, side by side (Genesis 3:6,23). They knew that each depended on the other for more than just procreation; they depended on each other for work, for companionship, for conversation, for growth and learning, for life. They were each fully invested in the other's happiness. Even if sticking together meant a change of address, hard work, challenges, sickness, and eventual death, they knew it was better to go through it together than alone.
My wife and I fell in love with Jack Johnson's song Better Together while on our trip to Hawaii together. There's a few lines in this song that describe just how I feel about my wife:
Love is the answer,
At least for most of the questions in my heart
Like why are we here? and where do we go?
And how come it's so hard?
It's not always easy and
Sometimes life can be deceiving
I'll tell you one thing: its always better when we're together
I think these few lines tell it all: the story of Adam and Eve, and the story of all happy couples. Life is full of questions, many of which we don't know all the answers to, but some things are certain: Love is the overriding purpose for life, and we're always better together.
With or without twin flat-panel TVs.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Wife Rule #48: No RHIP Here
My wife spends a lot of time up at night with the baby, doing things that she alone can do. So I try to be extra helpful in the morning. Part of my responsibility is to find suitable "babysitting material" for the kids, so that they will stay quiet and away from my bedroom while I get ready for the day, and my wife and baby sleep.
On Saturday mornings (like today), preserving peace and quiet can be especially challenging, because all four of my non-baby kids are at home for the long haul. This morning I really wanted to get some exercise in, followed by some intense work in the yard in the cool of the morning. Knowing how disastrously things can get out of hand when neither parent is refereeing for 45 minutes or so, I decided that extra-strength babysitting material was called for: possibly a full-length feature movie. So I gave very explicit instructions to the kids:
"I'm going to run to the canyon and back. I need you to all be nice and quiet and not fight and not whine and not argue and to stay away from where Mom and Charity are sleeping." I looked at their four angelic faces, staring intently at me with anticipation of what they knew was coming. "So you guys are allowed to turn on cartoons."
"Yes! Yeah! Allright! Yee-haw!" they sang back in chorus.
Watching cartoons is the ultimate carrot in our house for good behavior, but there was more to my foolproof plan (I am so clever sometimes, I even amaze myself). I continued, "If you guys ever get into an argument about which cartoon to watch, I want you to turn on a movie instead." I knew they would probably be arguing about what to watch within five minutes after I left, and I figured the movie solution would squelch any bickering before it blew up into full-blown brawling. I chuckled at my ingenuity, having just bought my wife and myself two uninterrupted hours of peace.
Whoa, I almost forgot the most critical part of the plan. We'd better agree on which movie they're watching now, or the whole thing would inevitably collapse. "Let's decide on the movie," I beckoned, and started calling out movie names.
Let's see, try gender-neutral ones first: "Lady and the Tramp!"
"Yes." That's one... "Uh huh." Two! Could we have a winner? "I hate that one." Dang.
"Kronk's New Groove!"
"Uh huh!" One. "Yippee!" Two! "Nope!" Dang. "You always say no!" That's true. "No I don't!"
This predictable cycle repeats, until finally they agree on a movie. It's not the preferred movie for any of them, but it's an acceptable solution for all. I think this compromise will work.
I look at my watch: Hmmm. Only five out of my planned seven minutes was spent bickering about picking the movie. Not bad. My morning was looking pretty good so far.
I went back to the bedroom to quietly put my running clothes on. When I came back two minutes later, on my way out the door, I overheard the following exchange:
Click click. "I want to watch this cartoon."
"No! I hate that one!" Click.
Then my oldest child intervened, remembering the rules of the deal: "You guys, we all have to agree. No fighting," she wisely counselled them. Then she added impatiently, "Now give me that remote control." Click.
I smiled as I exited the house. That's how it often goes with my kids, and sometimes that's okay. RHIP, Rank Has It's Privileges, my career-army grandpa used to say. It's not really fair, but in the army, or in a house full of young kids incapable of effectively reasoning through problems on their own, sometimes a pecking order can be useful to resolve conflicts and preserve the peace. In these situations, such a simplification of the rules just works.
That said, our marriage definitely won't work that way. For my wife and me, conflict resolution needs to occur with a spirit of mutual cooperation and sacrifice. Neither one of us holds rank to trump the other. We are both accountable to a Higher Power for the way we treat each other.
Perhaps there's some symbolism in the scriptural account of how Adam and Eve were created. After Adam was created, the scriptures say that God took one of his ribs and made Eve (see Genesis 2:21-22). Note that it wasn't part of Adam's head, making Eve superior to him. Neither was it part of Adam's heel, making Eve inferior to him. Eve was taken from Adam's side, next to his heart, in what I believe to be a symbolic gesture of the equality and partnership the first couple were to achieve.
So when my wife and I have a disagreement, we can't simply grab the remote control of the TV of Life out of the other's hands, and push all the buttons we want to. We need to compromise, compromise, compromise. Sometimes that means giving up the cartoons we want most, in favor of the movie we can both agree on. We need to talk it over, work it out, make it do, or do without.
And doing without sometimes is okay with me; the TV is on too much anyway. Who turned that thing on in the first place?
On Saturday mornings (like today), preserving peace and quiet can be especially challenging, because all four of my non-baby kids are at home for the long haul. This morning I really wanted to get some exercise in, followed by some intense work in the yard in the cool of the morning. Knowing how disastrously things can get out of hand when neither parent is refereeing for 45 minutes or so, I decided that extra-strength babysitting material was called for: possibly a full-length feature movie. So I gave very explicit instructions to the kids:
"I'm going to run to the canyon and back. I need you to all be nice and quiet and not fight and not whine and not argue and to stay away from where Mom and Charity are sleeping." I looked at their four angelic faces, staring intently at me with anticipation of what they knew was coming. "So you guys are allowed to turn on cartoons."
"Yes! Yeah! Allright! Yee-haw!" they sang back in chorus.
Watching cartoons is the ultimate carrot in our house for good behavior, but there was more to my foolproof plan (I am so clever sometimes, I even amaze myself). I continued, "If you guys ever get into an argument about which cartoon to watch, I want you to turn on a movie instead." I knew they would probably be arguing about what to watch within five minutes after I left, and I figured the movie solution would squelch any bickering before it blew up into full-blown brawling. I chuckled at my ingenuity, having just bought my wife and myself two uninterrupted hours of peace.
Whoa, I almost forgot the most critical part of the plan. We'd better agree on which movie they're watching now, or the whole thing would inevitably collapse. "Let's decide on the movie," I beckoned, and started calling out movie names.
Let's see, try gender-neutral ones first: "Lady and the Tramp!"
"Yes." That's one... "Uh huh." Two! Could we have a winner? "I hate that one." Dang.
"Kronk's New Groove!"
"Uh huh!" One. "Yippee!" Two! "Nope!" Dang. "You always say no!" That's true. "No I don't!"
This predictable cycle repeats, until finally they agree on a movie. It's not the preferred movie for any of them, but it's an acceptable solution for all. I think this compromise will work.
I look at my watch: Hmmm. Only five out of my planned seven minutes was spent bickering about picking the movie. Not bad. My morning was looking pretty good so far.
I went back to the bedroom to quietly put my running clothes on. When I came back two minutes later, on my way out the door, I overheard the following exchange:
Click click. "I want to watch this cartoon."
"No! I hate that one!" Click.
Then my oldest child intervened, remembering the rules of the deal: "You guys, we all have to agree. No fighting," she wisely counselled them. Then she added impatiently, "Now give me that remote control." Click.
I smiled as I exited the house. That's how it often goes with my kids, and sometimes that's okay. RHIP, Rank Has It's Privileges, my career-army grandpa used to say. It's not really fair, but in the army, or in a house full of young kids incapable of effectively reasoning through problems on their own, sometimes a pecking order can be useful to resolve conflicts and preserve the peace. In these situations, such a simplification of the rules just works.
That said, our marriage definitely won't work that way. For my wife and me, conflict resolution needs to occur with a spirit of mutual cooperation and sacrifice. Neither one of us holds rank to trump the other. We are both accountable to a Higher Power for the way we treat each other.
Perhaps there's some symbolism in the scriptural account of how Adam and Eve were created. After Adam was created, the scriptures say that God took one of his ribs and made Eve (see Genesis 2:21-22). Note that it wasn't part of Adam's head, making Eve superior to him. Neither was it part of Adam's heel, making Eve inferior to him. Eve was taken from Adam's side, next to his heart, in what I believe to be a symbolic gesture of the equality and partnership the first couple were to achieve.
So when my wife and I have a disagreement, we can't simply grab the remote control of the TV of Life out of the other's hands, and push all the buttons we want to. We need to compromise, compromise, compromise. Sometimes that means giving up the cartoons we want most, in favor of the movie we can both agree on. We need to talk it over, work it out, make it do, or do without.
And doing without sometimes is okay with me; the TV is on too much anyway. Who turned that thing on in the first place?
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Wife Rule #47: Peace Will Come
I still remember the conversation we had.
It was about five years ago. My wife and I were talking about how incredibly blessed we felt in our lives. It seemed like every opportunity was open to us, that every aspect of our lives was proceeding according to our plans, even that every person we loved was doing well. In general, we felt that everything was, well, just perfect.
We both wondered aloud why we were so blessed, why it seemed that there had not been any major trials in our lives for several years. The idea that we didn't need any trials, to facilitate more personal growth, was so obviously foolish that we never even considered it. So then, was it that God knew we weren't strong enough to handle any trials? That didn't seem likely either. We knew so many of our good neighbors, just ordinary people like us, who seemed to have heaping portions of trials on their plates, much more than the Recommended Daily Allowance called for, and they were handling it. We were sure we could too.
This line of thought finally culminated in the question that had been simmering on the back burners of our minds for a while: How long will the peace last?
Well, needless to say, it wasn't long before the trials came. Big ones. Hairy ones. Nasty ones. Scary ones.
I should be careful not to be flippant about these trials. They have been major tests of our faith, our strength, and our resolve. They have stretched us in ways that we never could have imagined. They have brought us to tears frequently, and brought us to our knees in the most excruciating anguish we have experienced yet.
And to date, none of the direct causes of these trials were events involving my wife or me, or our children. The biggest share of these hardships was, and is still, borne by other members of our family: our parents and our siblings. I'm not talking about trials of their own choosing, either. These are not the consequences of carelessness, or foolishness, or rebelliousness. They are just the incredibly difficult things of life, which often seem to fall like anvils out of the blue.
These trials are still personal to us, but they are also trials of sympathy, of sitting helpless on the sidelines, watching people we love beyond description suffer in ways we that reach beyond our comprehension.
And so we worry, we lose sleep, and we drive ourselves crazy trying to figure out some way--any way--to help. But the harsh reality is, no matter how badly we want to, there's simply no way that we can bring someone back from the dead. There's no way that we can take away the suffering caused by brutal cancer treatments. There's nothing we can do to re-engineer genetic tendencies towards depression. And there's no way for us to heal deep emotional wounds caused by former abuses heaped upon the innocent heads of those we love.
When faced with this reality, it is sometimes tempting to despair at our helplessness--or our non-helpfulness, as the case may be. I'll admit that there were times, after exhausting what little ingenuity I have, that in frustration I have taken the easy way out and simply driven the thoughts of my suffering loved ones from my mind.
But far more often, my wife and I have been driven to our knees, our hearts poured out in prayer to that God who is our Parent and to Whom we belong. If we are frail, foolish, and feeble in our abilities, then He is Strength, Wisdom, and Power. If we don't know how to help, then surely He does. If we are too selfish to expend our last drop of focus on behalf of another, then He is ever-focused on us--all of us--and never on Himself.
Having been a parent now for eight and a half years, I understand a little about the love a father has for a child. There is no doubt in my mind that I would give my life for one of my children if that's what it took. And that's exactly what our Savior, the Father of our salvation, has done for us.
Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.... (Isaiah 53:4)
But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. (Isaiah 53:5)
He has borne our griefs, and our sorrows, and we can be healed. We can be healed! Made whole. As if nothing had ever happened. As if everything was going according to our best plans. At peace. Perfect. Healed.
His grace extends to us, to heal every hurt, and fix every problem we have, though not always according to our preferred schedules:
And he shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver: and he shall purify the sons of Levi, and purge them as gold and silver, that they may offer unto the Lord an offering in righteousness. (Malachi 3:3)
This scripture has been well-known to me for a long time; it's the text for one of the chorus numbers in Handel's Messiah, which I have sung numerous times. My understanding is that the sons of Levi can also represent the Lord's chosen people in our time and land, His sheep who follow Him today.
A refining fire is placed upon those who choose this discipleship. And for most of us, this fire most often takes the form of trials, whose purpose is to purge all weakness, all imperfection, and all impurity away, that we may offer up to the Lord the offering of our righteousness.
All this is essential to understand, but there is more to this verse than that. Until someone pointed it out to me, I had overlooked one very important word, a word that adds a new depth of meaning to this refining process: "sit." The Lord sits as a refiner and purifier of silver. One who refines silver sits and watches the refining process, so that at just the right moment, when the last particle of imperfection has been burned away, the cleansed product can be promptly removed from the fire. The one who sits and watches ensures that refining lasts only as long as is absolutely needed, and no longer.
He does this for us, personally. He does not delegate, though He invites us to watch with Him.
So when my wife and I are sitting on the sidelines, wishing that we could put out the fire, we can have faith in the One Who Sits. He watches this necessarily painful refining with perfect eyes, and will never allow the fire to consume more than is absolutely necessary. You see, He wants us to be perfect, like He is, and the pathway to perfection always passes through the refining fire. He knows. He went there before we did.
No matter how hot the fire gets, it is comforting to know that Someone is watching, ready to rescue and heal when His purposes have been accomplished. For some trials, this may not happen in this life, but we know the healing will eventually come. I know it's simplistic, but this simple faith really can make all the difference--my wife and I know this from experience now. With such faith casting present hurts into an eternal light, we really can have peace, even in the midst of trials.
How long will the peace last? my wife and I asked ourselves five years ago. Now we know the answer: As long as we have faith in Him.
It was about five years ago. My wife and I were talking about how incredibly blessed we felt in our lives. It seemed like every opportunity was open to us, that every aspect of our lives was proceeding according to our plans, even that every person we loved was doing well. In general, we felt that everything was, well, just perfect.
We both wondered aloud why we were so blessed, why it seemed that there had not been any major trials in our lives for several years. The idea that we didn't need any trials, to facilitate more personal growth, was so obviously foolish that we never even considered it. So then, was it that God knew we weren't strong enough to handle any trials? That didn't seem likely either. We knew so many of our good neighbors, just ordinary people like us, who seemed to have heaping portions of trials on their plates, much more than the Recommended Daily Allowance called for, and they were handling it. We were sure we could too.
This line of thought finally culminated in the question that had been simmering on the back burners of our minds for a while: How long will the peace last?
Well, needless to say, it wasn't long before the trials came. Big ones. Hairy ones. Nasty ones. Scary ones.
I should be careful not to be flippant about these trials. They have been major tests of our faith, our strength, and our resolve. They have stretched us in ways that we never could have imagined. They have brought us to tears frequently, and brought us to our knees in the most excruciating anguish we have experienced yet.
And to date, none of the direct causes of these trials were events involving my wife or me, or our children. The biggest share of these hardships was, and is still, borne by other members of our family: our parents and our siblings. I'm not talking about trials of their own choosing, either. These are not the consequences of carelessness, or foolishness, or rebelliousness. They are just the incredibly difficult things of life, which often seem to fall like anvils out of the blue.
These trials are still personal to us, but they are also trials of sympathy, of sitting helpless on the sidelines, watching people we love beyond description suffer in ways we that reach beyond our comprehension.
And so we worry, we lose sleep, and we drive ourselves crazy trying to figure out some way--any way--to help. But the harsh reality is, no matter how badly we want to, there's simply no way that we can bring someone back from the dead. There's no way that we can take away the suffering caused by brutal cancer treatments. There's nothing we can do to re-engineer genetic tendencies towards depression. And there's no way for us to heal deep emotional wounds caused by former abuses heaped upon the innocent heads of those we love.
When faced with this reality, it is sometimes tempting to despair at our helplessness--or our non-helpfulness, as the case may be. I'll admit that there were times, after exhausting what little ingenuity I have, that in frustration I have taken the easy way out and simply driven the thoughts of my suffering loved ones from my mind.
But far more often, my wife and I have been driven to our knees, our hearts poured out in prayer to that God who is our Parent and to Whom we belong. If we are frail, foolish, and feeble in our abilities, then He is Strength, Wisdom, and Power. If we don't know how to help, then surely He does. If we are too selfish to expend our last drop of focus on behalf of another, then He is ever-focused on us--all of us--and never on Himself.
Having been a parent now for eight and a half years, I understand a little about the love a father has for a child. There is no doubt in my mind that I would give my life for one of my children if that's what it took. And that's exactly what our Savior, the Father of our salvation, has done for us.
Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.... (Isaiah 53:4)
But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. (Isaiah 53:5)
He has borne our griefs, and our sorrows, and we can be healed. We can be healed! Made whole. As if nothing had ever happened. As if everything was going according to our best plans. At peace. Perfect. Healed.
His grace extends to us, to heal every hurt, and fix every problem we have, though not always according to our preferred schedules:
And he shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver: and he shall purify the sons of Levi, and purge them as gold and silver, that they may offer unto the Lord an offering in righteousness. (Malachi 3:3)
This scripture has been well-known to me for a long time; it's the text for one of the chorus numbers in Handel's Messiah, which I have sung numerous times. My understanding is that the sons of Levi can also represent the Lord's chosen people in our time and land, His sheep who follow Him today.
A refining fire is placed upon those who choose this discipleship. And for most of us, this fire most often takes the form of trials, whose purpose is to purge all weakness, all imperfection, and all impurity away, that we may offer up to the Lord the offering of our righteousness.
All this is essential to understand, but there is more to this verse than that. Until someone pointed it out to me, I had overlooked one very important word, a word that adds a new depth of meaning to this refining process: "sit." The Lord sits as a refiner and purifier of silver. One who refines silver sits and watches the refining process, so that at just the right moment, when the last particle of imperfection has been burned away, the cleansed product can be promptly removed from the fire. The one who sits and watches ensures that refining lasts only as long as is absolutely needed, and no longer.
He does this for us, personally. He does not delegate, though He invites us to watch with Him.
So when my wife and I are sitting on the sidelines, wishing that we could put out the fire, we can have faith in the One Who Sits. He watches this necessarily painful refining with perfect eyes, and will never allow the fire to consume more than is absolutely necessary. You see, He wants us to be perfect, like He is, and the pathway to perfection always passes through the refining fire. He knows. He went there before we did.
No matter how hot the fire gets, it is comforting to know that Someone is watching, ready to rescue and heal when His purposes have been accomplished. For some trials, this may not happen in this life, but we know the healing will eventually come. I know it's simplistic, but this simple faith really can make all the difference--my wife and I know this from experience now. With such faith casting present hurts into an eternal light, we really can have peace, even in the midst of trials.
How long will the peace last? my wife and I asked ourselves five years ago. Now we know the answer: As long as we have faith in Him.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Wife Rule #46: Mother's Day Rules!
Late last night my wife remarked, "I love being a mother! I'm glad tomorrow is Mother's Day."
Hear, hear!
I love Mother's Day too. I am fully aware that there are many (perhaps even most) mothers out there who end up feeling guilty in one way or another on Mother's Day. If you are one of those mothers, or if you happen to love Mother's Day like my wife, then this Wife Rule is for you.
Let's establish some Mother's Day rules to make the day a little more pleasant for all of us. First rule: Mother's Day is for gratitude, not guilt. Say it with me, ladies: "GRA-TI-TUDE." Not guilt. Three syllables. Not one. Got that?
"But how can I feel gratitude," you ask, "when every other mother out there is perfect and I'm not? When they all cook like Rachel Ray and decorate like Martha Stewart and sing like Mary Poppins and nurture like Mother Theresa and sew like Betsy Ross and raise children like Abraham Lincoln, the Pope, and David Archuleta, and the only thing I have in common with any of them is that I sometimes feel like I'm doing hard time behind bars in this horrible, cramped, Camp Cupcake of a life that I live and WAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
Quick, somebody call the waaaaaaaambulance. Stay with me. Breathe, breathe, easy, good. Gratitude, not guilt, remember? Let's all be grateful that Martha was eventually released. See, that feels better, doesn't it?
Okay now that we're done hyperventilating, let's move on to the second rule: Mother's Day ain't about you, sweetie. What? you respond in that tone of voice. You husbands out there know the tone I mean. The you-bought-me-a-table-saw-for-my-birthday-and-now-I'm-going-to-use-it-to-open-your-thick-skull-and-see-if-we-can't-find-some-common-sense-in-there-somewhere tone of voice. The tone of voice Miss Piggy always takes just before she karate chops another Muppet out of the scene.
But I'm serious about this rule; it's essential to get this. You see, Mother's Day is a Universally Applicable Holiday; that means that it's important to everyone. "How can that be when not every female out there is a mother?" you point out. "Much less, the more obvious problem that about half of everyone out there are males, and will never be mothers, due in part to the fact that they would never survive the pains of childbirth, yet they whimper and whine when they get a common head cold, the big babies?"
Those are good questions. But they're really irrelevant. Except for the one about us being babies. See, all of us were babies at one point, and that means that all of us have a mother. Get it now? While Mother's Day may very well be about you to the rest of us, for you, Mother's Day is to honor and remember your own mother.
In saying this, I'm not just trying to get out of buying my wife a present, either. What I'm trying to do is to get all of us in the proper frame of mind to enjoy the sermons at church today about great mothers, and for you mothers out there, to enjoy any recognition given to you by your own admirers. Because in remembering your own mother, you can begin to understand exactly why you deserve the praise too.
I'm sure that not every mother out there is perfect, and it follows that not everyone in the world is anxious to honor their mothers today. But if you have at least one ounce of gratitude for any aspect of your present condition of living in this world, perhaps you can see that without her, there wouldn't be any you. And getting you here wasn't any tiptoe through the tulips, either. Just ask her; she'll tell you all about it.
And that brings me to the third rule: motherhood is next to divinity. There isn't any higher, holier calling in life than to join with God in the creation of life. There is no more selfless act of love than to willingly walk through the valley of the shadow of death, literally laying your life on the line, for the sake of giving life to another. On Memorial Day and Veteran's Day we honor our war heroes, those who risked everything for our freedom. On Mother's Day we honor the unsung heroes we each have, who quite literally put themselves in just as much danger, just as much pain, and gave just as much a sacrifice, as those who fight for our lives on foreign soil. Our mothers own the home front.
Thankfully, like our veterans, most of our mothers survived childbirth. But for those who did, the sacrifice of life has just begun. Their sacrifice is an ongoing battle, constantly pitting their own comforts and desires against the tender cords of love that pull them out of selfishness and bind them to their children. Several years ago, my wife's mother got a startling glimpse into the sheer scope of these maternal bonds when her mother-in-law, over seventy years of age and somewhat crippled with the effects of diabetes, announced that despite the considerable pain involved, she was determined to get up and get to the local ball court, because "my boy has a basketball game, and I'm going to watch." Never mind that her boy was over 50 years old.
Yes, our mothers offer their very lives, imperfect as this offering usually is, for us.
It is so similar to the offering made by the Son of God, in so many ways. The life-giving blood that nourishes and protects an unborn child against disease reminds us of His atoning blood's power to spiritually nourish and heal. This blood binds the mother and child together as one, just as the blood of His covenant binds us to Him. The sanctuary of water that houses the unborn child reminds us of the waters of baptism, both a tomb and a womb we enter into, in order let our sinful life end and come alive again spiritually. The act of birth, so intense with pain, reminds us in some small way of He who trembled because of pain and whose sweat was as "great drops of blood falling down to the ground" (Luke 22:44) as he prayed for us in Gethsemane and bled for us at Golgotha.
Considering all that mothers do, is it any wonder that He has used the imagery of motherhood so many times to teach us of the tender, patient, loving attitude he has towards us, His children?
So today, on Mother's Day, I hope you'll join with me in honoring the mothers in our lives. Let's stick to the rules. My wife always does, and she loves Mother's Day. If you're tempted to cheat, just remember what Mom always says: If you can't play by the rules, then there's too many cooks in the kitchen, or something like that. Well, you know what Mom always says anyway. Today, it's your job to remember her.
Hear, hear!
I love Mother's Day too. I am fully aware that there are many (perhaps even most) mothers out there who end up feeling guilty in one way or another on Mother's Day. If you are one of those mothers, or if you happen to love Mother's Day like my wife, then this Wife Rule is for you.
Let's establish some Mother's Day rules to make the day a little more pleasant for all of us. First rule: Mother's Day is for gratitude, not guilt. Say it with me, ladies: "GRA-TI-TUDE." Not guilt. Three syllables. Not one. Got that?
"But how can I feel gratitude," you ask, "when every other mother out there is perfect and I'm not? When they all cook like Rachel Ray and decorate like Martha Stewart and sing like Mary Poppins and nurture like Mother Theresa and sew like Betsy Ross and raise children like Abraham Lincoln, the Pope, and David Archuleta, and the only thing I have in common with any of them is that I sometimes feel like I'm doing hard time behind bars in this horrible, cramped, Camp Cupcake of a life that I live and WAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
Quick, somebody call the waaaaaaaambulance. Stay with me. Breathe, breathe, easy, good. Gratitude, not guilt, remember? Let's all be grateful that Martha was eventually released. See, that feels better, doesn't it?
Okay now that we're done hyperventilating, let's move on to the second rule: Mother's Day ain't about you, sweetie. What? you respond in that tone of voice. You husbands out there know the tone I mean. The you-bought-me-a-table-saw-for-my-birthday-and-now-I'm-going-to-use-it-to-open-your-thick-skull-and-see-if-we-can't-find-some-common-sense-in-there-somewhere tone of voice. The tone of voice Miss Piggy always takes just before she karate chops another Muppet out of the scene.
But I'm serious about this rule; it's essential to get this. You see, Mother's Day is a Universally Applicable Holiday; that means that it's important to everyone. "How can that be when not every female out there is a mother?" you point out. "Much less, the more obvious problem that about half of everyone out there are males, and will never be mothers, due in part to the fact that they would never survive the pains of childbirth, yet they whimper and whine when they get a common head cold, the big babies?"
Those are good questions. But they're really irrelevant. Except for the one about us being babies. See, all of us were babies at one point, and that means that all of us have a mother. Get it now? While Mother's Day may very well be about you to the rest of us, for you, Mother's Day is to honor and remember your own mother.
In saying this, I'm not just trying to get out of buying my wife a present, either. What I'm trying to do is to get all of us in the proper frame of mind to enjoy the sermons at church today about great mothers, and for you mothers out there, to enjoy any recognition given to you by your own admirers. Because in remembering your own mother, you can begin to understand exactly why you deserve the praise too.
I'm sure that not every mother out there is perfect, and it follows that not everyone in the world is anxious to honor their mothers today. But if you have at least one ounce of gratitude for any aspect of your present condition of living in this world, perhaps you can see that without her, there wouldn't be any you. And getting you here wasn't any tiptoe through the tulips, either. Just ask her; she'll tell you all about it.
And that brings me to the third rule: motherhood is next to divinity. There isn't any higher, holier calling in life than to join with God in the creation of life. There is no more selfless act of love than to willingly walk through the valley of the shadow of death, literally laying your life on the line, for the sake of giving life to another. On Memorial Day and Veteran's Day we honor our war heroes, those who risked everything for our freedom. On Mother's Day we honor the unsung heroes we each have, who quite literally put themselves in just as much danger, just as much pain, and gave just as much a sacrifice, as those who fight for our lives on foreign soil. Our mothers own the home front.
Thankfully, like our veterans, most of our mothers survived childbirth. But for those who did, the sacrifice of life has just begun. Their sacrifice is an ongoing battle, constantly pitting their own comforts and desires against the tender cords of love that pull them out of selfishness and bind them to their children. Several years ago, my wife's mother got a startling glimpse into the sheer scope of these maternal bonds when her mother-in-law, over seventy years of age and somewhat crippled with the effects of diabetes, announced that despite the considerable pain involved, she was determined to get up and get to the local ball court, because "my boy has a basketball game, and I'm going to watch." Never mind that her boy was over 50 years old.
Yes, our mothers offer their very lives, imperfect as this offering usually is, for us.
It is so similar to the offering made by the Son of God, in so many ways. The life-giving blood that nourishes and protects an unborn child against disease reminds us of His atoning blood's power to spiritually nourish and heal. This blood binds the mother and child together as one, just as the blood of His covenant binds us to Him. The sanctuary of water that houses the unborn child reminds us of the waters of baptism, both a tomb and a womb we enter into, in order let our sinful life end and come alive again spiritually. The act of birth, so intense with pain, reminds us in some small way of He who trembled because of pain and whose sweat was as "great drops of blood falling down to the ground" (Luke 22:44) as he prayed for us in Gethsemane and bled for us at Golgotha.
Considering all that mothers do, is it any wonder that He has used the imagery of motherhood so many times to teach us of the tender, patient, loving attitude he has towards us, His children?
So today, on Mother's Day, I hope you'll join with me in honoring the mothers in our lives. Let's stick to the rules. My wife always does, and she loves Mother's Day. If you're tempted to cheat, just remember what Mom always says: If you can't play by the rules, then there's too many cooks in the kitchen, or something like that. Well, you know what Mom always says anyway. Today, it's your job to remember her.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Wife Rule #45: You Can't Argue With The Truth
My wife has a certain talent for making powerful logical arguments. They are irrefutable because they are The Truth, and The Truth is even strong enough to confound a four-year-old's logic. As an illustration of this ability, I recently heard the tail end (ha ha) of the following exchange:
Scott (calling from the bathroom): "Mom, will you [muffled request blah blah blah]?"
My Wife: "No."
Scott: "But Mom, I don't want to!"
My Wife: "But it's your bum."
Scott: [silence, as The Truth seeps slowly in]
So Scott is learning the inconvenient reality that I learned early on in our marriage: my wife always speaks The Truth. And when faced with The Truth, there's just not much you can say back.
Scott (calling from the bathroom): "Mom, will you [muffled request blah blah blah]?"
My Wife: "No."
Scott: "But Mom, I don't want to!"
My Wife: "But it's your bum."
Scott: [silence, as The Truth seeps slowly in]
So Scott is learning the inconvenient reality that I learned early on in our marriage: my wife always speaks The Truth. And when faced with The Truth, there's just not much you can say back.
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