The Day I Wore My Wedding Dress, part 2

The other Saturday the husband and I did something that felt strange, but familiar. We donned the wedding garb again, and our good friend Jayne sewed me back into the dress, and a new hairstylist, Kelly, came to the house and swept my hair up in a flash. We recreated the bouquet and such with silk flowers. We looked like we did just 9 months prior, except for the weight the husband has dropped. It sort-of transported us to the day we said "we do," the day everything changed from flying solo to sharing everything.

We decided to pose for some wedding portraits at a local botanical conservatory, and I have to tell you I wasn't excited about it. It felt like -17 below outdoors, and I was nervous about getting in the place with the dress and all intact. But we braved the weather, and in the end, we had more fun than I could have anticipated.

There we were, all dressed up in finery, but without the "what ifs" of the wedding day. Without the nervous jitters, without the questions, without the feeling that we were about to drop off a cliff for an exhilarating jump. There is nothing wrong with comfortable. The truth is that feeling of comfort and security is warm and bright, relaxed and freeing.

And it happened to show on our faces. Except I'm not really showing you our faces here. Just teasing you with the beautiful hand shot. If you really want to see the rest of the photos when they come in, at least five people will have to comment on this blog post to say so. I don't want to drag out this wedding experience for a year, people. So you'll have to let me know if you're interested. Because the last thing I want to be is the one that forces people to fawn over countless wedding photos.

Fuhgetaboutit. And don't even think for a minute I'll post the kissing shots. Even I have some public schmaltz limits. But I will say this--ask me anyday, David, and I would happily marry you all over again.

The Case of the Too-faint Fingerprints

A couple of months ago, I went to the local state police post for a visit. Nothing unusual, just getting fingerprinted for a criminal background check. Said background check is required for me to teach water aerobics as a backup at a local school pool. I was quasi-interested in the fingerprinting process and was happy to learn they still do fingerprints the old fashioned way--with an ink roll and paper. In fact, the whole process made me feel like a human being. No computers or technology to mess it up. Standing in that room, getting my fingers pressed down on the ink pad, it felt like it could have been 1950 or something. It could have been my grandmother there, plunking down her slender fingers on the inky blackness.

The technician said my prints were "fine and detailed," and I almost said "thank you" in return. Anyhoo, that done and my $10 check in the mail with the fingerprint card, I figured it was a done deal. I was relying on the system to do its work.

I joked with my mom about us being on pins and needles and biting our fingernails regarding my background check. I laughed about whether I would pass. Then I quickly forgot-about-it. Until I got a checked off form in the mail and my fingerprint card back saying the fingerprints were too faint, and I would have to get them retaken. Ooook. I thought. It will be another month or two before this gets squared away, I can feel it.

But yesterday, I finally stopped in at the police post and explained that the prints weren't sufficient. And an officer (who may have been wounded in the line of duty, walking with a cane) led me back to the fingerprinting room. "Idiots," he said. "They could have run these through their computer and darkened them."

And he grabbed another paper, and quickly started the process of ink to skin, fingers to paper, quick as a wink. But when I asked him if he would then mail said fingerprints back, he said no, that was my responsibility. I said, oh, I just figured since I didn't make the mistake, I wouldn't have to do that. And he said, no, you do. And unfortunately, not once did he say, "I'm sorry for our mistake," which would have gone a long way. Not a big deal, in the end. But it got me thinking...

We are in a world of hurt today. But despite that hurt, despite some grave ignorance, misjudgments, and shirking of responsibility, we don't have anyone owning up to the failures of our government. No one that I can see is standing up and saying, "I'm the problem. As a congressperson, I bowed to pressure from my constituents and didn't lead the way to better regulation and fiscal responsibility. In fact, I voted for deregulation." "I'm the problem. As an adviser to the President, I miscalculated how bad the economy was, not doing my research, and didn't advise him well." "I'm the problem. In my quest to help others make the almighty dollar, I ignored suspect mortgage and trading practices and turned a blind eye."

And just once, I would like to hear someone really powerful in our government stick it to us as well:
"You, also, are the problem. For too long, you have lived as if possessions define you, gathering more when you don't have money to pay for them, to help you feel more fulfilled and alive. You also took on a mortgage that you knew would put you in a difficult situation financially, because you wanted a bigger house. Your credit cards helped you redecorate your house, but you don't have peace living in it, because you owe. But these aren't the only ways you are cheating yourself. You cheat yourself when you don't offer your employer your attention and energy while you work, and you cheat your employer, too. In short, government needs to correct its errors, but you do as well. You need to cultivate the integrity and frugality to live without baggage, to live and give to others simply and honestly."

And the first step for all of us, is admitting our part in the problem, acknowledging, then correcting our course. I sincerely hope our government will do the same.

The Ever-Fabulous Pink Sweats

I don't like to attach myself to articles of clothing. I'm more of a scour-the-closet-every-six-months-and-visit-goodwill kind of gal. An organized closet is the sign of an organized mind, I always say. Honestly, I have no patience for ratty tshirts or holey undergarments. If it outlives its usefulness or attractiveness, it must go.

But as with any complex woman, there are exceptions to my rule. Or one exception in particular. Enter my ever-fabulous pink sweats.

I think I must have bought them at least two years ago at a secondhand shop. I saw them hanging there, all cute and girly, and looking infinitely comfortable, and I scoffed at the thought they would fit mwwwaaaa. I mean, at 5'3 1/2" I'm classified as a petite, so regular pants NEVER fit. Except that when I checked the tag, these cute little aeropostale ever-fabulous pink sweats were a short! Eureka. I was smitten.

And I do mean smitten. I took those pants home, washed 'em, and was rarely seen at home without them. They became comfort personified, especially as my dad was passing away, and as I entered a new relationship with David. And the more David visited me in Michigan, the more he noticed how many times I changed into those fabulous pink sweats.

And eventually he said something any guy falling in love should try: "I really love you in those pink sweats." So he was a keeper. And of course, so are the pants! They fit like a hand in a glove should feel, and to keep that perfect fit, I wash them in cold and never dry them in the dryer. Never.

Yes, I'm obsessive about this one thing. And now the husband has a bargaining chip when it comes to his 15-year-old shirts, extra old army stuff, or completely outdated pants. "But I like these kinda like you like your pink sweats, honey!" And I laugh every time and shake my head and put on my ever-fabulous pink sweats.

Because I'm just so tickled that I spent about $3.50 on something that defines comfort for me. And now I'm sharing them with you, friends. A photo, that is. You can't have the actual pink sweats no matter how much I love ya. But you can order some almost-like-Suzie's-fabulous-pants pants in a lovely shade of petunia. Just not for $3.50. Sorry about your luck!

Aero Athletics Knit Pant

My husband has no issues

One day, early on in our marriage, my husband shared with me that he has no "issues." It took me by surprise, because c'mon, everyone has a few issues, right? But I had to admit, of all the people I know, David might be the one with the fewest issues of all.

He's a middle-born, easygoing, likeable, personable, loyal, dependable, hard-working, Jesus-following man. And he really doesn't care what people think about him. Nope. He got over caring what people thought about him while he was single for 42 years.

So I was hard-pressed to even find an area where he's unhealthy at all. Quirky, yes, at times, but aren't we all? Very early on in our relationship, I grew used to the idea that he would give a running commentary on anything he drove by. I knew within a few months, too, that he was a goofball of the highest sort. Always trying to play a joke on someone.

The only thing I could even come up with, really, is his competitive nature. And as a firstborn, I can relate. Except we "compete" for entirely different categories. He would like all of you to know that his cholesterol, after our healthy eating, is down to 133, for instance; his wife's is at 144. I could really care less.

I'm more concerned with beating him at Scrabble on a regular basis. Which, going into the marriage, I thought was doable. Since he doesn't take to reading the same way I do--and he really isn't in to writing. I was soooo wrong. He's a great Scrabble player, and at this point, we are 2-1, his lead.

So all I'm trying to say is, I married a man who has few issues to contend with. Which makes me a little jealous of his issueless life sometimes, but hey, I'm also grateful. He's not vanilla in the least--he knows what he likes and he loves to trying a bevy of new things, so we're cool.

But every once in awhile, he will send me little signals. And they are really delightful. One of the first non-verbals I noticed was the way, when I laid down across the small "snuggler" couch in the living room with my feet up, he would sit down in front of the couch, which is not really a comfortable place to sit. But he was telling me that he wanted to be near me, so I would reach out and put my hand on his shoulder, and he has repeated this small action several times.

The other day, another non-verbal cue to David's inner world came my way. I noticed, while my husband was making the bed, that he put the blanket over the comforter in our guest bedroom. And I thought this was a little strange, to be honest, because the comforter is very pretty. But the truth is, the husband often lies down in that bedroom, and what I eventually realized, is that the comforter is a bit too feminine for his tastes. So he started covering it up with a blue sort-of-plaid blanket, which made him feel so much better. It was a subtle way of adjusting his environment. But it really wasn't passive-aggressive at all. It just was. And that is the point, friends. David just is.

It's his wife who provides the drama that keeps his world spinning.

A beautiful arrangement indeed.

God created man--and a woman to face him

"Uh-oh." Have you ever realized that your perspective is out-of-alignment with the truth, with reality? When you do, depending on the subject matter, you face a bit of a crisis. You have to realign your thinking and your beliefs with what really is. And it can hurt like...well, it hurts.

One night three or four months ago, I hit the culmination of my crisis point. To be honest, I was sobbing, inconsolable. The husband didn't know what to do with me. And this is why.

Although I was grappling hard with why God created women in the first place and what kind of role they are to play in ministry and otherwise, the husband doesn't have a problem with this at all. He sees women as equals and believes they can do anything. And that I can do anything God calls me to do.

So, you see, it was me with the problem. Should women be pastors or elders or deacons--and should they even minister to men at all? I mean, I was sometimes taught that the Bible keeps us in silence and subjection, to be honest. I was taught that we are subordinates. I also happened to be encouraged to do a lot of things in relationship to calling and career, but at the end of the day, I was not supposed to assume that I could spiritually speak to males as their equal. I even asked the question once to a pastor, and he shut me down fast. Put me in my place, so to speak.

So imagine my consternation when I started to discover the Bible doesn't really teach women to be silent or not to be pastors or teachers. Oh, dear. And here's the crux of my weeping: I was facing these two problem New Testament passages and wondering why in the world Paul would tell women to be quiet, then encourage them to prophesy correctly later on. Why, upon closer examination, were there so darn many women leaders in the OT and NT if Paul and God really wanted them to be silent and in subjection? I mean, none of it made sense, and it was tormenting me.

I found comfort in a book titled Lost Women of the Bible by Carolyn Custis James. A book I'll be leading a Biblestudy with come February. Ms. James takes us back to the garden--to the creation of an ezer cegenedo--a woman. When correctly translating, and it is tricky to translate, it means a "strong helper" and a "warrior." Even a "rescuer."

Not exactly the same meaning as a "helpmeet," eh? What if you, my female friends, are supposed to rule over the earth with Adam, if you are supposed to make God's Kingdom come alongside him, "facing him," as his equal partner? What then? Well, that would mean a blessed alliance, that Ms. James' refers to. That would unleash the full power of who God has created us to be, in relationship to each other, and for his kingdom.

That would change a lot of things, wouldn't it?

What if??

Some of you will be tempted to rant and rave over this. You will be discombobulated, as I was. And that is OK. We are all on our own journey to discovering who we are, who God has created us to be. But before you reject what I've just shared, the deep ponderings of my heart, I urge you to think more deeply. Here's a link to an excellent online paper "Ezer Cenegdo: a Power Like Him, Facing Him as Equal" by Joseph Coleson, copyright 1996. Yes, it's from the Wesleyan Holiness Women Clergy site. But no matter your denomination, don't let it dissuade you. Give it an honest read, and see if you don't come away having uncovered profound biblical truth that has been there all along, staring us in the face.

http://whwomenclergy.org/booklets/power_like_him.php

Yes, God created man, and a woman to face him, to join him. It's time to get on with the charge God gave to both women and men, both created in his image. Imagine if our church services and our teaching and our preaching were led by a blessed Alliance of men and women, and we started to hear from both genders, reflecting the totality of God's image? Imagine what if...

Places Remembered, and Miracles, Too

The husband and I are home after our jaunt in Michigan for New Year's. We are glad to be here, although sad to leave the company of good friends.

Something wistful and sweet happens each time I traverse up to my friends' cottage in northern Michigan, near Traverse City. I remember the sweetness of earnest talks and shared laughter. But this year the joy and warmth were more vibrant than ever.

Jack, miraculously, survived a heart attack on Easter Sunday this year. You might remember that for awhile things did not look good...at all. He was healthy and fit, when whammo, he collapsed. And frankly our hearts were broken. But we left room in our prayers for a miracle. Oh, yes.

What you are about to read is the entire truth:

Jack fell over at home sometime around 9 am; that night, after visiting the hospital, weeping giant tears, and grabbing my Bible for comfort, I haphazardly traveled through the Psalms. And, no lie, this is what I found in Psalm 41!!

 1 Blessed is he who has regard for the weak; 
       the LORD delivers him in times of trouble.
 2 The LORD will protect him and preserve his life;
       he will bless him in the land
       and not surrender him to the desire of his foes.
 3 The LORD will sustain him on his sickbed
       and restore him from his bed of illness.


And if anyone knows Jack, you know he has regard for the weak and is one of the faithful that follows hard after Jesus, no matter what. So, against the odds, I prayed this prayer this Scripture for Jack, and I kept praying. I can't tell you how desperately.

And around Tuesday, he started showing signs of life. I mean, he was still gravely ill, but he was still in there. And by the end of the week, he was asking the pastor how other people at church were doing. And God restored him from his sickbed! Not only that, but only four measly weeks later, he walked me down the aisle at my wedding!! We had so many reasons to cry that day.

Oh, the relief and joy, after losing my dad, of having Jack by my side that day. I was dazed and amazed, remembering him lying in the hospital bed, unresponsive, and hooked up to a million tubes. But God chose to answer our bold prayers. And we know there is reason God has allowed Jack to stay with us.

And we were just so grateful this New Year's. I was so thrilled to be with friends who know me. I was just remembering how faithful God has been. I was drinking in the gladness of the ability to have deep spiritual conversations with Jack and Lahree. And wouldn't you know, the topic of heaven came up more than once. And we were reminded of everything we have to look forward to, and of how short our time on this patch of earth is.

Do me a favor in 2009: pray boldly. Keep the hope alive that God wants to respond to your prayers, even if the request seems huge. Don't back away--trust that he has good things in mind and pray as if your life depends on it. Perhaps someone's life truly does, eh?

I still believe in miracles. Do you?