It's been a long month for my bride and I. As soon as school started back, our lives started going haywire, but the beginning of October hit like a truck. My bride has fibromyalgia, which means she is in constant joint and muscle pain. In her case it's usually her back and neck, but it's really everywhere. Stress adds to it, too, but even when she's relaxed she hurts. She usually pushes through every day and keeps going through the rest of her life regardless, so when she has to stop for not feeling well, I have to take notice.
A month ago I got a call at home on a Friday. It was the school nurse where my bride teaches and my daughter attends. I found out that my dear wife was hit with sudden abdominal pain, nausea, and a heat flash. After a visit to the doctor and some follow-up we were able to pin down some causes, but the pain is ongoing still. To add to that, last week she got the flu and after a visit to the emergency room, some shots and two IV's, she was given orders not to work for a week and to stay home. She did.
Needless to say we've been....um....separated for about a month. Thursday she finally felt well enough that all the buildup from the past few days, a result of a month's worth, got the best of us and we risked it. We couldn't wait until Friday. So Thursday night was passionate and amazing. We were unusually animalistic and literally couldn't get enough of each other! Pardon my imagery here, but I couldn't be deep enough and she couldn't be filled enough. Even after several orgasms on her part and a very strong one on my part, I just wouldn't go down, which surprised us both and we took as much of an advantage as we could.
Friday morning I still had to take our little girl to school and had to pick her up on an early-release day. We decided to take advantage and have a breakfast date, followed by some Christmas window shopping for our daughter. We got home around lunch and my wife had to make an important call and I told her I was going to take a nap on the couch before going to pick up our girl. A while later, my wife comes walking into the living room with a determination I rarely see. She immediately walked over and unzipped my pants so she could get to work. That led to an amazingly heated session on the living room floor. Before we could finish I had to go pick up our daughter. We had family night and were too tired to begin round two.
Until this morning. More relaxed, but just as passionate, we were able to spend more time together before getting breakfast. We are back on track it seems. We are under no delusion that our passionate weekend will be the norm from here on out, but we are certainly back in bed. We didn't like being derailed, but it was unavoidable and no fault of our own.
Do I have a point to this? Somewhat. Mostly I'm just excited about it, but I also want to encourage any of you who are going through a dry spell that if you can change it, to take steps to do so. Don't let a month turn into two, then six, then more. Make a move. If you can't change it, maybe you just need to ride it out and wait for a break, but pray for a break. Watch for your break and when it comes, jump on it. Your wife is your only legitimate sexual outlet. Take advantage of that and enjoy it as you can.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Batman in Flip-Flops
It's Halloween. Or Reformation Day, if you prefer.
Today my wife is sick again. Or still. I'm not sure which. But I am sure that she is too sick to go with our daughter to trick-or-treat. Our little girl wanted to go to the mall this year, which we had never done, and that's exactly what we did. We turned off all the lights in the house except the lamp by my bride's bedside, and drove to the mall.
Our daughter was a cat tonight (we have a rule about dressing scary, which is fine with her) and enjoyed her costume. For the next couple of years it will join her other dress-up clothes and costumes in the guest room closet. We'll see her in those cat ears and tail for months to come. But tonight she was one of countless creatures, super heroes, princesses, soldiers, pirates, and teens wrapped in foil.
Seriously. As we got out of the car to cross the parking lot toward the mall, we walked the entire way behind four high school girls with aluminum foil wrapped around their waists. And that's it. My daughter asked me what they were supposed to be and I answered the best way I could.
"Burritos."
Once inside we joined the throngs of kids and adults draped in costumes in a broad range of details. Some went all out in homemade costumes complete with make-up and accessories (sickles, wands, fake blood, etc.). Others bought costumes at their local Wal-mart, and still others simply wrote something on a t-shirt.
Batman was an odd mix of all three. His head was covered in a good mask and his costume was outstanding, higher quality than Wal-mart, lower than studio. He had a nice-looking utility belt, detailed and sculpted muscles, winged gloves, full cape...and flip-flops.
Why flip-flops? Granted, our little black cat was wearing white sneakers, not exactly puss-in-boots; but Batman in flip-flops? So close yet so far away. I know it was only a costume and it served its purpose, but for us, fellow grooms, we don't get that luxury.
What I mean is, we have to pay attention to details. If we are to be husbands, we are to look like husbands. We are to love our wives, display that love head to toe; honor our wives, alone and in front of others; protect our wives, from others and sometimes even ourselves; desire our wives, initiating and receiving strong sexual intimacy; and I could go on. I read an article in the new Runners' World magazine I just received and in it there was a man who ran a 50-mile race in street shoes (or dress shoes) because he had failed to pack his running shoes for the race! He finished the race without injury, but imagine how much better he could have run had he been wearing the right shoes.
Fellow grooms, let us pay attention to the details of our roles. We cannot be a cheap knock-off of a "real" husband. Even if we aren't quite studio-quality, we can at least give 1oo% with what we've got. Even the man who ran in street shoes finished the race, and Batman got his candy tonight, even in flip-flops. But your family is not make-believe and flip-flops just won't do.
Today my wife is sick again. Or still. I'm not sure which. But I am sure that she is too sick to go with our daughter to trick-or-treat. Our little girl wanted to go to the mall this year, which we had never done, and that's exactly what we did. We turned off all the lights in the house except the lamp by my bride's bedside, and drove to the mall.
Our daughter was a cat tonight (we have a rule about dressing scary, which is fine with her) and enjoyed her costume. For the next couple of years it will join her other dress-up clothes and costumes in the guest room closet. We'll see her in those cat ears and tail for months to come. But tonight she was one of countless creatures, super heroes, princesses, soldiers, pirates, and teens wrapped in foil.
Seriously. As we got out of the car to cross the parking lot toward the mall, we walked the entire way behind four high school girls with aluminum foil wrapped around their waists. And that's it. My daughter asked me what they were supposed to be and I answered the best way I could.
"Burritos."
Once inside we joined the throngs of kids and adults draped in costumes in a broad range of details. Some went all out in homemade costumes complete with make-up and accessories (sickles, wands, fake blood, etc.). Others bought costumes at their local Wal-mart, and still others simply wrote something on a t-shirt.
Batman was an odd mix of all three. His head was covered in a good mask and his costume was outstanding, higher quality than Wal-mart, lower than studio. He had a nice-looking utility belt, detailed and sculpted muscles, winged gloves, full cape...and flip-flops.
Why flip-flops? Granted, our little black cat was wearing white sneakers, not exactly puss-in-boots; but Batman in flip-flops? So close yet so far away. I know it was only a costume and it served its purpose, but for us, fellow grooms, we don't get that luxury.
What I mean is, we have to pay attention to details. If we are to be husbands, we are to look like husbands. We are to love our wives, display that love head to toe; honor our wives, alone and in front of others; protect our wives, from others and sometimes even ourselves; desire our wives, initiating and receiving strong sexual intimacy; and I could go on. I read an article in the new Runners' World magazine I just received and in it there was a man who ran a 50-mile race in street shoes (or dress shoes) because he had failed to pack his running shoes for the race! He finished the race without injury, but imagine how much better he could have run had he been wearing the right shoes.
Fellow grooms, let us pay attention to the details of our roles. We cannot be a cheap knock-off of a "real" husband. Even if we aren't quite studio-quality, we can at least give 1oo% with what we've got. Even the man who ran in street shoes finished the race, and Batman got his candy tonight, even in flip-flops. But your family is not make-believe and flip-flops just won't do.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
BARNY UP!
This is kind of a sequel to the blog "The Hardest Thing I've Ever Done" from a few weeks ago. I've been thinking about it a lot and have had several opportunities to re-address it recently. Today I'm going to do so.
Last year I embarrassed my wife and daughter at school. I didn't mean to and it turned out that they didn't mind it too much, especially after getting positive comments from other teachers. The truth is, almost everyone on staff at that school knows me. My bride is in her third year teaching there, and my daughter is in her third year of attending. I spend a lot of time volunteering and helping out, even other teachers. During pre-planning (the two weeks before school starts) I spend a lot of time rearranging furniture for several teachers who don't have anyone to help them out during the day.
So, again, they know me.
Last year the principal retired after nearly 40 years, 30 of them as principal of that school. The new principal is in her first year as principal after serving a few years as assistant principal. This school also has a new assistant principal. Needless to say, things are much different and the teachers, parents, staff and volunteers are all learning to make the adjustments.
A few weeks ago, my bride came home and told me that they weren't sure they would have "reading celebrations" anymore. Reading celebration is one day each nine-week grading period when students are awarded their points for reading and testing on select books. They are awarded ribbons and medallions in increments. They pool the classes in by grades, filling half the gym with first graders and the other half with parents who came to cheer for their child over their accomplishment. Parents would clap and cheer and some even made signs. I would take my lunch hour and drive to the school to see my daughter receive her awards as she stood in front of all the other kids in her grade and their families. And I would cheer and clap appropriately. At first.
After a couple of these I realized that my daughter could see me (as could my bride who taught the same grade at the time), but she couldn't here me cheer for her. I decided I would remedy that soon enough. And so I did. At the next celebration I let out a deep, loud-as-I-could cheer (the kind that made "The Waterboy" Adam Sandler say, "You sound like a big choo-choo train."). My wife covered her face and shook her head, but my daughter tried her best not to smile. She loved it. The next celebration, she loved it even more, even expecting it this time. And the teachers thought it was great.
You know who didn't apparently? A few other parents. Apparently there's an appropriate amount of encouragement and support to show your child on an accomplishment, and I had shown too much. My wife informed me of it this year and said, "I don't care if you do it, but apparently there have been some complaints." Listen, I'm there for one person. I didn't make signs, blow an airhorn, or paint my body with my daughter's name. I just cheered louder than someone else. And apparently it hurt their feelings. Boo-hoo.
I don't know what this year will hold and what policies will be in place limiting my enthusiasm for my child. I can't control that other parents can't or won't be there for their child. I feel bad for them, I really do. I think every child should have someone there for them if at all possible. But I don't like being discouraged from lifting my kid up or being publicly proud of her. I'm not a jerk, I'm really not. But we all have to realize that equal opportunity does not produce equal results. If someone wants to out-cheer me, then cheer louder, don't tell me to calm down!
I coined a phrase last night when I was teaching the students. I didn't plan for it; it just came out and I think it's pretty good. We were talking about Saul after his conversion, and upon his return to Jerusalem, the othe believers didn't trust him. They still had him pegged as someone who was going to turn them in for being believers in Jesus (read Acts 8-9). One man stood beside him and vouched for him, a guy named Barnabas. Because of Barnabas, Saul was able to stay and to become a part of the early Church before beginning his ministry of teaching the Gentiles about Jesus. In case you don't know, the name Barnabas means "Son of Encouragement".
We all need to be a Barnabas to someone, gentlemen. Our wives and kids need a Barnabas. When no one else will encourage them, Barny up! When we are told to calm down about praise for our families, Barny up! When we hear people bashing another man, Barny up! When our friends and co-workers are facing difficult times, Barny up! And often, when we ourselves feel defeated, Barny up!
So Barny up, fellow grooms! Be an encouragement to another and do it without shame or apology.
Last year I embarrassed my wife and daughter at school. I didn't mean to and it turned out that they didn't mind it too much, especially after getting positive comments from other teachers. The truth is, almost everyone on staff at that school knows me. My bride is in her third year teaching there, and my daughter is in her third year of attending. I spend a lot of time volunteering and helping out, even other teachers. During pre-planning (the two weeks before school starts) I spend a lot of time rearranging furniture for several teachers who don't have anyone to help them out during the day.
So, again, they know me.
Last year the principal retired after nearly 40 years, 30 of them as principal of that school. The new principal is in her first year as principal after serving a few years as assistant principal. This school also has a new assistant principal. Needless to say, things are much different and the teachers, parents, staff and volunteers are all learning to make the adjustments.
A few weeks ago, my bride came home and told me that they weren't sure they would have "reading celebrations" anymore. Reading celebration is one day each nine-week grading period when students are awarded their points for reading and testing on select books. They are awarded ribbons and medallions in increments. They pool the classes in by grades, filling half the gym with first graders and the other half with parents who came to cheer for their child over their accomplishment. Parents would clap and cheer and some even made signs. I would take my lunch hour and drive to the school to see my daughter receive her awards as she stood in front of all the other kids in her grade and their families. And I would cheer and clap appropriately. At first.
After a couple of these I realized that my daughter could see me (as could my bride who taught the same grade at the time), but she couldn't here me cheer for her. I decided I would remedy that soon enough. And so I did. At the next celebration I let out a deep, loud-as-I-could cheer (the kind that made "The Waterboy" Adam Sandler say, "You sound like a big choo-choo train."). My wife covered her face and shook her head, but my daughter tried her best not to smile. She loved it. The next celebration, she loved it even more, even expecting it this time. And the teachers thought it was great.
You know who didn't apparently? A few other parents. Apparently there's an appropriate amount of encouragement and support to show your child on an accomplishment, and I had shown too much. My wife informed me of it this year and said, "I don't care if you do it, but apparently there have been some complaints." Listen, I'm there for one person. I didn't make signs, blow an airhorn, or paint my body with my daughter's name. I just cheered louder than someone else. And apparently it hurt their feelings. Boo-hoo.
I don't know what this year will hold and what policies will be in place limiting my enthusiasm for my child. I can't control that other parents can't or won't be there for their child. I feel bad for them, I really do. I think every child should have someone there for them if at all possible. But I don't like being discouraged from lifting my kid up or being publicly proud of her. I'm not a jerk, I'm really not. But we all have to realize that equal opportunity does not produce equal results. If someone wants to out-cheer me, then cheer louder, don't tell me to calm down!
I coined a phrase last night when I was teaching the students. I didn't plan for it; it just came out and I think it's pretty good. We were talking about Saul after his conversion, and upon his return to Jerusalem, the othe believers didn't trust him. They still had him pegged as someone who was going to turn them in for being believers in Jesus (read Acts 8-9). One man stood beside him and vouched for him, a guy named Barnabas. Because of Barnabas, Saul was able to stay and to become a part of the early Church before beginning his ministry of teaching the Gentiles about Jesus. In case you don't know, the name Barnabas means "Son of Encouragement".
We all need to be a Barnabas to someone, gentlemen. Our wives and kids need a Barnabas. When no one else will encourage them, Barny up! When we are told to calm down about praise for our families, Barny up! When we hear people bashing another man, Barny up! When our friends and co-workers are facing difficult times, Barny up! And often, when we ourselves feel defeated, Barny up!
So Barny up, fellow grooms! Be an encouragement to another and do it without shame or apology.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Have an Affair? Really?
Apparently there's been an advertisement out for a couple of years, but I just found out about it this week. It's advertised in towns where I don't live and on stations I don't watch and at events I don't attend. But I heard about it this week. And it's absolutely ridiculous. Apparently there is a company who shall remain nameless by me, but will be obvious with a quick search, whose sole purpose is to match unhappily married adults with other unhappily married adults for one-night-stands and probably some short flings.
"Groom," you may be saying, "How do you know that they aren't just a dating site where married folks lie about their marital status for flings?" That's a good question. I'm sure that happens on any of the myriad dating and "hook-up" sites available. I don't like most of the sites (I have my doubts about all of them, but I also admit ignorance to many things online-dating), but this one is specifically created and administrated for the purpose of organizing adultery. Don't believe me? Here are their ads:
"Life is short. Have an affair."
(On a video spot interspersed with a couple rolling in bed, kissing: "These people are married. But not to each other."
In an interview on CNN (interesting that it was CNN and not FOX where the journalist/host had this attitude), the CEO was grilled by the host about breaking up marriages and families, having no conscience or morals, etc. Wow! Harsh words coming from CNN toward someone who is not a conservative (not to bash CNN at all; this just stood out as so surprising to me because of the sternness of the rebuke). This company makes millions off this service, advertises it proudly and makes no bones about the purpose of their company. Hundreds of thousands of people have joined to take advantage of what they have to offer.
I'm going to tell you something that no one else knows, and this is only because of the anonymity of this blog. I'm an affair survivor. When my bride and I were separated for several months because of a job transfer, I returned on a surprise visit and rather than greet me with excited hugs and kisses, she hugged and kissed me tentatively and started crying. After talking for a while she admitted to a single act of indiscretion, but did not give details. After a short conversation about it, I forgave her completely. I can't explain it myself, but I was moved with such compassion and a spirit of forgiveness I can only attribute to God, that I actually held no grudge or doubt or bitterness. Divorce or counseling never came up. In fact, no one else in our family, friends, or anyone else knows of our experience. We've shared the experience of "friends" and the story of grace and forgiveness that "they've related to us," but never one of personal experience.
That was eleven years ago. Fast forward to this past spring. My dear bride was in a state of depression for a couple of weeks. Finally we were able to talk about it where she opened up and told me that she still felt guilty for what she had done and that I forgave her without getting the details, not knowing just what she had done. I asked if this had been bothering her the entire time and she said it had. I assured her again that I had indeed forgiven her that day and haven't really thought about it since. Then I told her this: "Pretty, when you didn't want to tell me what you had done, I went ahead and imagined the full extent. What I forgave you for was everything you possibly could have done, not only what you actually did." She felt better and we prayed together again and as far as I know that's the end of it. If it comes up again, I 'll deal with it.
Let me make a very clear demand here for my readers. I want no credit for going above and beyond. I already explained that my forgiveness and compassion came from God, not from my own strength of character. I want glory to go to God and want none for myself. My second demand is that no one thinks badly of my wife. In reality, this was before she was a believer. We didn't know it at the time (that's another story), but it's true. Even if she had been a believer, it was not an intentional act on her part. I am making no excuse for what she did, but neither did she. From that day on, we avoided her workplace where it happened, at her request, and I have never had any fears about her doing it again.
But here is how it affects us now, eleven years later. Primarily she doubts me. Although I have not done anything that I know of to allude to the fact that I'm unhappy with her or that I want another, her own act of indiscretion has clouded her perception to view the possibility of my acting against her in a similar manner. She is jealous of other women, even my new doctor. As a result of her one-night-stand, my character is in question, but she also still carries guilt for what she did to me.
So who wins? If forgiveness is offered that freely from a single unplanned act, and there is still overwhelming guilt more than a decade later with no additional fuel, then how can a planned, paid for, carefully chosen affair, be good for marriage? The simple fact is, it can't.
When surveyed about the legitimacy of the business, people on the street were split in their opinions. Some said it was fine, others were unsure and some were outright upset at the prospect of the enterprise. However, when asked about how they would feel if their own spouse used the service, it was almost universally negative and anger-inducing.
Groom, protect your bed. Protect your heart. Protect your marriage. To quote an old saying, "Dance with the one who brung ya."
"Groom," you may be saying, "How do you know that they aren't just a dating site where married folks lie about their marital status for flings?" That's a good question. I'm sure that happens on any of the myriad dating and "hook-up" sites available. I don't like most of the sites (I have my doubts about all of them, but I also admit ignorance to many things online-dating), but this one is specifically created and administrated for the purpose of organizing adultery. Don't believe me? Here are their ads:
"Life is short. Have an affair."
(On a video spot interspersed with a couple rolling in bed, kissing: "These people are married. But not to each other."
In an interview on CNN (interesting that it was CNN and not FOX where the journalist/host had this attitude), the CEO was grilled by the host about breaking up marriages and families, having no conscience or morals, etc. Wow! Harsh words coming from CNN toward someone who is not a conservative (not to bash CNN at all; this just stood out as so surprising to me because of the sternness of the rebuke). This company makes millions off this service, advertises it proudly and makes no bones about the purpose of their company. Hundreds of thousands of people have joined to take advantage of what they have to offer.
I'm going to tell you something that no one else knows, and this is only because of the anonymity of this blog. I'm an affair survivor. When my bride and I were separated for several months because of a job transfer, I returned on a surprise visit and rather than greet me with excited hugs and kisses, she hugged and kissed me tentatively and started crying. After talking for a while she admitted to a single act of indiscretion, but did not give details. After a short conversation about it, I forgave her completely. I can't explain it myself, but I was moved with such compassion and a spirit of forgiveness I can only attribute to God, that I actually held no grudge or doubt or bitterness. Divorce or counseling never came up. In fact, no one else in our family, friends, or anyone else knows of our experience. We've shared the experience of "friends" and the story of grace and forgiveness that "they've related to us," but never one of personal experience.
That was eleven years ago. Fast forward to this past spring. My dear bride was in a state of depression for a couple of weeks. Finally we were able to talk about it where she opened up and told me that she still felt guilty for what she had done and that I forgave her without getting the details, not knowing just what she had done. I asked if this had been bothering her the entire time and she said it had. I assured her again that I had indeed forgiven her that day and haven't really thought about it since. Then I told her this: "Pretty, when you didn't want to tell me what you had done, I went ahead and imagined the full extent. What I forgave you for was everything you possibly could have done, not only what you actually did." She felt better and we prayed together again and as far as I know that's the end of it. If it comes up again, I 'll deal with it.
Let me make a very clear demand here for my readers. I want no credit for going above and beyond. I already explained that my forgiveness and compassion came from God, not from my own strength of character. I want glory to go to God and want none for myself. My second demand is that no one thinks badly of my wife. In reality, this was before she was a believer. We didn't know it at the time (that's another story), but it's true. Even if she had been a believer, it was not an intentional act on her part. I am making no excuse for what she did, but neither did she. From that day on, we avoided her workplace where it happened, at her request, and I have never had any fears about her doing it again.
But here is how it affects us now, eleven years later. Primarily she doubts me. Although I have not done anything that I know of to allude to the fact that I'm unhappy with her or that I want another, her own act of indiscretion has clouded her perception to view the possibility of my acting against her in a similar manner. She is jealous of other women, even my new doctor. As a result of her one-night-stand, my character is in question, but she also still carries guilt for what she did to me.
So who wins? If forgiveness is offered that freely from a single unplanned act, and there is still overwhelming guilt more than a decade later with no additional fuel, then how can a planned, paid for, carefully chosen affair, be good for marriage? The simple fact is, it can't.
When surveyed about the legitimacy of the business, people on the street were split in their opinions. Some said it was fine, others were unsure and some were outright upset at the prospect of the enterprise. However, when asked about how they would feel if their own spouse used the service, it was almost universally negative and anger-inducing.
Groom, protect your bed. Protect your heart. Protect your marriage. To quote an old saying, "Dance with the one who brung ya."
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
The Hardest Thing
This weekend I did the hardest thing I've ever done. Let me give you some background. There is nothing at all impressive about me. I'm an average guy with my average goals and dreams. I look average (how I got such a hot wife, I'll never know), I have an average build, I got average grades in school, etc. But God had drawn me to do some things that to some seem, well, not extraordinary, but certainly impressive. I joined the cub scouts in third grade and had achieved the rank of Eagle Scout when I was thirteen. God had chosen my career path by the time I graduated high school and now, at 40 years old, I'm still on it. I went to college and graduated in four years, having declared my major my freshman year. The next week I started in the career (call) which had been set for me. There I met my wife. Three years later we married and moved away to continue my education. We both worked full-time and went to school full-time. For a couple of reasons I had to push to graduate a semester early with my masters degree. My bride graduated from college the next semester, and we were debt-free.
For the next several years we worked in our respective fields. A few years ago we were called to a new location where my future is being shaped again, this time in pursuit of a second masters degree. In the meantime I am learning more and doing more about my health as both my weight and my genetic makeup are starting to catch up with me. A few weeks ago it was determined that I had a couple of minor, but genetic health issues that will require low-dose medication probably for the rest of my life. All of that leads me to the topic of my blog today: the hardest thing I've ever done.
I've posted before about my pursuit of weight loss and becoming generally more healthy. As a result, I've started taking up exercise and I've worked to modify my diet (which, with my newly-discovered medical issues, both are crucial). Because I get bored easily, I needed to find some variety in my exercising. I stumbled across an event at the local YMCA where I exercise, called a duathlon. I asked about the duathlon, giving me a goal to charge my workouts, and was informed that they didn't do that anymore. Instead, they had a triathlon in the spring called a "sprint" triathlon. Don't be fooled, you don't sprint at all. The "sprint" consisted of a 300-meter swim, a 10-mile bike ride, and a 5-kilometer (or 3.1-mile) run. In between each event were timed transitions where you prepare for the next event. In other words, once you start, there is no time-out, no break, no half-time. It is you against the clock.
I thought about it and started checking to find out more about this. This was in October, a year ago. While we were in a bookstore, I went to the sports section and found several books that would be good, but one stood out: "Guide to Finishing Your First Triathlon." I picked it up, looked through it and read the comment by the author, "Anyone can do triathlon." I found my bride, with my book in my hand, and told her, "Pretty, I'm going to do a triathlon."
"Uh huh." Without even looking up from her book.
Fast forward to spring and I finish the triathlon, learning a lot, overcoming my concern about being seen in spandex, and just trying to have a good time. It was fun when it was over.
Fast forward to last weekend. I trained hard for this day and wanted to see if I could do it. I hadn't trained to the level I knew I should have, but the rest of my life takes precedence over my training. I soon realized I was in over my head when I saw scholarship college triathlon teams, armed forces triathlon teams, and heard the word "Olympian" thrown around a few times. But I had paid my entry fee, received my number and had everything with me. Oh, yeah, why were there so many of these high-level athletes there? Because this was a champioship qualifying event. Did I mention I was in over my head? As it turns out, the bigger the triathlon, the better the athletes. Let me give you a rundown on the event:
First was a swim (the swim is always first; I guess because no one drowns if they pass out on the run). The swim was 1500 meters (0.93 miles). After the swim came a 40-kilometer bike ride (or 24.85 miles), rounded out by a 10-kilomter (6.2-mile) run. I did my best on every leg of the event, pushing as hard as I could while still preserving some energy for the remaining portions of the race. I drank water and Gatorade, and ate pieces of an energy bar I had stuck onto my bike frame. As the race dragged on, the crowd grew thinner and thinner, indicating how far I was falling behind. When I FINALLY crossed the finish line, just a few minutes before cut-off, I was wiped out. A couple of days later I got my official race results indicating that I came in last place, the last person to finish the race and still have completed it legally. Yay.
But it was the hardest thing I've ever done. This four hours of my life was grueling and exhausting. By the time I got back the "provided lunch" was gone. It was for the best. I rested a little bit trying to get ANYTHING into my body that could be used for fuel or fluids. After about 20 minutes I finally loaded my stuff into my car and headed home. About 10 minutes into the ride, I vomited all over myself and the interior of my freshly-detailed car. That's the first time that had ever happened to me. I'd never done so much physical exertion that I actually dehydrated, malnourished, and puked. I'm framing the shirt with my puke stains on it.
Why did I tell you this? Just to let you know how BAD I am and not to mess with me.
Just kidding. Don't hit me. Actually, it was to give you some encouragement, gentlemen. And to encourage you to encourage. Unfortunately for me, my bride was unable to attend the race with me. She did ask me, but I told her not to feel pressured, and for her, it was a good thing with everything she ended up facing over the weekend. For me, however, it was brutal. I had no idea how much cheering can make a difference. Those words of encouragement, the cardboard signs, and hearing your name being cheered on can give huge boost.
On the final mile of the run, there were only a handful of us left. There was one young lady who kept trading positions with me as we would each walk a little, then run a little. In that last 200 yards, her husband was there, and as her crowd of support cheered her on, her husband ran out, took her hand and they ran across the finish line together. That will be a cherished family photo. As I followed behind them, just doing what I could to finish, all I heard was the beep of the timer, the click of a camera, and a young man saying, "Here's some water, sir."
No cheer, no calling my name, no one to hug me or give me a high-five. There were no signs with my name on them, and even the announcer who usually announces the finishers, was doing the awards ceremony with the rest of the crowd. It was practically silent. What could easily have been a celebration to ward off a sense of personal defeat, was conspicuously absent. Immediately, my brain turned to my analysis of my performance, taking on the role of criticizing what I didn't do rather than celebrating what less than 600 people in the state accomplished that day.
So, husband and father, whether you are racing side by side, holding the hand of your bride, or are calling out to them over the phone or from the sidelines, your encouragement is critical. Your family needs to know that you are cheering them on, letting them know that you believe in their abilities and in the realities of their dreams. When your wife has a bad day at work or with the kids, does she know that you think she's the greatest? That she's doing a good job and that you appreciate her for it? When your child does well on a test or project or when they even have the courage to try out for a team or club, do you make it clear how proud you are that they even TOOK A SHOT at it? I don't think the lyric of a song holds true any more than these words when a parent or spouse is silent:
"One is the loneliest number."
For the next several years we worked in our respective fields. A few years ago we were called to a new location where my future is being shaped again, this time in pursuit of a second masters degree. In the meantime I am learning more and doing more about my health as both my weight and my genetic makeup are starting to catch up with me. A few weeks ago it was determined that I had a couple of minor, but genetic health issues that will require low-dose medication probably for the rest of my life. All of that leads me to the topic of my blog today: the hardest thing I've ever done.
I've posted before about my pursuit of weight loss and becoming generally more healthy. As a result, I've started taking up exercise and I've worked to modify my diet (which, with my newly-discovered medical issues, both are crucial). Because I get bored easily, I needed to find some variety in my exercising. I stumbled across an event at the local YMCA where I exercise, called a duathlon. I asked about the duathlon, giving me a goal to charge my workouts, and was informed that they didn't do that anymore. Instead, they had a triathlon in the spring called a "sprint" triathlon. Don't be fooled, you don't sprint at all. The "sprint" consisted of a 300-meter swim, a 10-mile bike ride, and a 5-kilometer (or 3.1-mile) run. In between each event were timed transitions where you prepare for the next event. In other words, once you start, there is no time-out, no break, no half-time. It is you against the clock.
I thought about it and started checking to find out more about this. This was in October, a year ago. While we were in a bookstore, I went to the sports section and found several books that would be good, but one stood out: "Guide to Finishing Your First Triathlon." I picked it up, looked through it and read the comment by the author, "Anyone can do triathlon." I found my bride, with my book in my hand, and told her, "Pretty, I'm going to do a triathlon."
"Uh huh." Without even looking up from her book.
Fast forward to spring and I finish the triathlon, learning a lot, overcoming my concern about being seen in spandex, and just trying to have a good time. It was fun when it was over.
Fast forward to last weekend. I trained hard for this day and wanted to see if I could do it. I hadn't trained to the level I knew I should have, but the rest of my life takes precedence over my training. I soon realized I was in over my head when I saw scholarship college triathlon teams, armed forces triathlon teams, and heard the word "Olympian" thrown around a few times. But I had paid my entry fee, received my number and had everything with me. Oh, yeah, why were there so many of these high-level athletes there? Because this was a champioship qualifying event. Did I mention I was in over my head? As it turns out, the bigger the triathlon, the better the athletes. Let me give you a rundown on the event:
First was a swim (the swim is always first; I guess because no one drowns if they pass out on the run). The swim was 1500 meters (0.93 miles). After the swim came a 40-kilometer bike ride (or 24.85 miles), rounded out by a 10-kilomter (6.2-mile) run. I did my best on every leg of the event, pushing as hard as I could while still preserving some energy for the remaining portions of the race. I drank water and Gatorade, and ate pieces of an energy bar I had stuck onto my bike frame. As the race dragged on, the crowd grew thinner and thinner, indicating how far I was falling behind. When I FINALLY crossed the finish line, just a few minutes before cut-off, I was wiped out. A couple of days later I got my official race results indicating that I came in last place, the last person to finish the race and still have completed it legally. Yay.
But it was the hardest thing I've ever done. This four hours of my life was grueling and exhausting. By the time I got back the "provided lunch" was gone. It was for the best. I rested a little bit trying to get ANYTHING into my body that could be used for fuel or fluids. After about 20 minutes I finally loaded my stuff into my car and headed home. About 10 minutes into the ride, I vomited all over myself and the interior of my freshly-detailed car. That's the first time that had ever happened to me. I'd never done so much physical exertion that I actually dehydrated, malnourished, and puked. I'm framing the shirt with my puke stains on it.
Why did I tell you this? Just to let you know how BAD I am and not to mess with me.
Just kidding. Don't hit me. Actually, it was to give you some encouragement, gentlemen. And to encourage you to encourage. Unfortunately for me, my bride was unable to attend the race with me. She did ask me, but I told her not to feel pressured, and for her, it was a good thing with everything she ended up facing over the weekend. For me, however, it was brutal. I had no idea how much cheering can make a difference. Those words of encouragement, the cardboard signs, and hearing your name being cheered on can give huge boost.
On the final mile of the run, there were only a handful of us left. There was one young lady who kept trading positions with me as we would each walk a little, then run a little. In that last 200 yards, her husband was there, and as her crowd of support cheered her on, her husband ran out, took her hand and they ran across the finish line together. That will be a cherished family photo. As I followed behind them, just doing what I could to finish, all I heard was the beep of the timer, the click of a camera, and a young man saying, "Here's some water, sir."
No cheer, no calling my name, no one to hug me or give me a high-five. There were no signs with my name on them, and even the announcer who usually announces the finishers, was doing the awards ceremony with the rest of the crowd. It was practically silent. What could easily have been a celebration to ward off a sense of personal defeat, was conspicuously absent. Immediately, my brain turned to my analysis of my performance, taking on the role of criticizing what I didn't do rather than celebrating what less than 600 people in the state accomplished that day.
So, husband and father, whether you are racing side by side, holding the hand of your bride, or are calling out to them over the phone or from the sidelines, your encouragement is critical. Your family needs to know that you are cheering them on, letting them know that you believe in their abilities and in the realities of their dreams. When your wife has a bad day at work or with the kids, does she know that you think she's the greatest? That she's doing a good job and that you appreciate her for it? When your child does well on a test or project or when they even have the courage to try out for a team or club, do you make it clear how proud you are that they even TOOK A SHOT at it? I don't think the lyric of a song holds true any more than these words when a parent or spouse is silent:
"One is the loneliest number."
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Naughty Little Mattress Monkey
Does that title scare you? I understand. It would scare me, too, if I didn't know the story behind it.
So here it is.
My bride loves to get cards for me and for our daughter. She feels bad if she sends a gift or card that will be late for someone's birthday or for Christmas. My personality lends itself to shrugging my shoulders and saying, "At least we did something." So, since she is generous with card- and gift-giving, that means she also puts thought into the cards she gets. She loves when I get her a card because it means I thought about her. I don't often do cards or gifts, so for me to do that means a lot to her. When she gets me cards they are often sweet, sometimes funny, but never sexy.
Until my last birthday. Last year, nearly a year after I started really making moves toward making her my priority and toward pursuing her sexually with persistence, I got my birthday card from her. On the front of the card were cartoon pictures and words describing me with all kinds of good qualities, innocent as anything. I was her ...(hero, handyman, etc.). But then I opened up and there was the phrase, "and my naughty little mattress monkey."
Wait. What?
That's right. My sweet and innocent bride who teaches six-year-olds and sits beside me in church and dresses conservatively, bought me a card with the phrase "naughty little mattress monkey." When I read it, my eyes got wide and I shot her a look and she started cracking up, then got her "sexy look" going. It was going to be a good night, I could tell.
Fast forward a full month to Christmas Eve. For the first time in over a decade, it was going to be just the three of us for Christmas. My mother and brother were coming over on Christmas day, my brother flying in from out of town, so my bride and I decided that we would have our own little "unwrapping party" of our own. My job, as host and man of the house, is to play Santa. Every Christmas Eve after church we will have light snacks and read the Christmas story before gathering in the living room to unwrap our gifts. Our little girl always gets the first one, then we try to cycle through as best we can.
Since it was just the three of us, we cycled through with our daughter getting more than either of us (which she does anyway), and then we send her to bed, holding some of our presents to each other for after our little girl is asleep. So we began with our last few presents each, my bride telling me which ones I should open in which order. Every time I would get close to the one in the green foil bag with red and green tissue, she would tell me, "That one's last." Our best presents are always last.
When all the presents left were for my mom and brother, my bride got up and walked over to the tree, took the green bag and handed it to me with a kiss. As we sat back down, she looked a little nervous. I was excited to find, after I pulled out the tissue, a new set of Christmas lingerie. That's right. My bride had gone by herself to buy lingerie, a first in our marriage.
"I'll be happy to try that on for you in a few minutes if you're not too tired." She laughed when I said it. Okay, I kid. That was her comment to me as I stared with an idiot grin, looking back and forth at my gift and the wrapper. "There's more in there," she smiled, bringing me back to the task at hand. I reached in and found a sampler pack of massage oils and personal lubricants (Note: just because they are all in the same kit does NOT mean they are all suitable for lubricants. Ask me how I know.).
It wasn't long before I was unwrapping my gift from her new gift-wrap. Just a few weeks ago, she again went off on her own and bought new lingerie, some that we have been discussing for several months. I was surprised and excited and I have thoroughly enjoyed her purchases, as you can imagine.
But what about us, gentlemen? What do we do for gifts for our brides? Do you do thinks specifically because you know that she will enjoy them? Do you take the initiative to get her something that is entirely for her? Let me be honest. I really don't think the lingerie my bride wears is all that comfortable. Some of the things she wears are, such as the bras and panties that she gets for all-day wear. They are still attractive, but are also extremely practical and comfort is taken into account. But there are things she wears that are just for me. Like her Christmas gift.
But on my side, I've made some purchases just for her. Do I feel a little silly? Sure, sometimes. Am I self-conscious? Probably no more-so than she is. Even in my everyday underwear, however, I've made some changes. I have gradually transitioned from traditional briefs to comfortable-yet-attractive-for-my-bride microfiber boxer-briefs. I've tried boxers and colorful briefs and even cotton boxer-briefs, but this is first time I have found underwear that is comfortable for me and attractive to my bride. I pay more than I would like, but she's worth it.
Now, even this morning when she's not feeling well, she walks by me as we get ready for our day, and she grazes my crotch or my butt with her hand. Sometimes she grabs or squeezes, but she almost always touches. That's an important connection for us.
Fellow groom, may I encourage you to look at your wardrobe and see if your choice of attire, from underwear to outerwear, flatters your bride? Would you be willing to stop making excuses for your old sweatshirt and get a new shirt that she likes? Sure you can keep a few old clothes for maintenance around the house, yard, and car, but I'm sure there's a lot of stuff you can get rid of. Even if you're a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy, like I am, there are a lot of t's that you can remove and replace. My bride likes me in t-shirts and jeans. She likes me even better when the t-shirt and jeans I wear look good. And even though no one knows what's under our clothes, we both know, and that's who we dress for. Each other.
Is your bride worth dressing up for? You know she is.
So here it is.
My bride loves to get cards for me and for our daughter. She feels bad if she sends a gift or card that will be late for someone's birthday or for Christmas. My personality lends itself to shrugging my shoulders and saying, "At least we did something." So, since she is generous with card- and gift-giving, that means she also puts thought into the cards she gets. She loves when I get her a card because it means I thought about her. I don't often do cards or gifts, so for me to do that means a lot to her. When she gets me cards they are often sweet, sometimes funny, but never sexy.
Until my last birthday. Last year, nearly a year after I started really making moves toward making her my priority and toward pursuing her sexually with persistence, I got my birthday card from her. On the front of the card were cartoon pictures and words describing me with all kinds of good qualities, innocent as anything. I was her ...(hero, handyman, etc.). But then I opened up and there was the phrase, "and my naughty little mattress monkey."
Wait. What?
That's right. My sweet and innocent bride who teaches six-year-olds and sits beside me in church and dresses conservatively, bought me a card with the phrase "naughty little mattress monkey." When I read it, my eyes got wide and I shot her a look and she started cracking up, then got her "sexy look" going. It was going to be a good night, I could tell.
Fast forward a full month to Christmas Eve. For the first time in over a decade, it was going to be just the three of us for Christmas. My mother and brother were coming over on Christmas day, my brother flying in from out of town, so my bride and I decided that we would have our own little "unwrapping party" of our own. My job, as host and man of the house, is to play Santa. Every Christmas Eve after church we will have light snacks and read the Christmas story before gathering in the living room to unwrap our gifts. Our little girl always gets the first one, then we try to cycle through as best we can.
Since it was just the three of us, we cycled through with our daughter getting more than either of us (which she does anyway), and then we send her to bed, holding some of our presents to each other for after our little girl is asleep. So we began with our last few presents each, my bride telling me which ones I should open in which order. Every time I would get close to the one in the green foil bag with red and green tissue, she would tell me, "That one's last." Our best presents are always last.
When all the presents left were for my mom and brother, my bride got up and walked over to the tree, took the green bag and handed it to me with a kiss. As we sat back down, she looked a little nervous. I was excited to find, after I pulled out the tissue, a new set of Christmas lingerie. That's right. My bride had gone by herself to buy lingerie, a first in our marriage.
"I'll be happy to try that on for you in a few minutes if you're not too tired." She laughed when I said it. Okay, I kid. That was her comment to me as I stared with an idiot grin, looking back and forth at my gift and the wrapper. "There's more in there," she smiled, bringing me back to the task at hand. I reached in and found a sampler pack of massage oils and personal lubricants (Note: just because they are all in the same kit does NOT mean they are all suitable for lubricants. Ask me how I know.).
It wasn't long before I was unwrapping my gift from her new gift-wrap. Just a few weeks ago, she again went off on her own and bought new lingerie, some that we have been discussing for several months. I was surprised and excited and I have thoroughly enjoyed her purchases, as you can imagine.
But what about us, gentlemen? What do we do for gifts for our brides? Do you do thinks specifically because you know that she will enjoy them? Do you take the initiative to get her something that is entirely for her? Let me be honest. I really don't think the lingerie my bride wears is all that comfortable. Some of the things she wears are, such as the bras and panties that she gets for all-day wear. They are still attractive, but are also extremely practical and comfort is taken into account. But there are things she wears that are just for me. Like her Christmas gift.
But on my side, I've made some purchases just for her. Do I feel a little silly? Sure, sometimes. Am I self-conscious? Probably no more-so than she is. Even in my everyday underwear, however, I've made some changes. I have gradually transitioned from traditional briefs to comfortable-yet-attractive-for-my-bride microfiber boxer-briefs. I've tried boxers and colorful briefs and even cotton boxer-briefs, but this is first time I have found underwear that is comfortable for me and attractive to my bride. I pay more than I would like, but she's worth it.
Now, even this morning when she's not feeling well, she walks by me as we get ready for our day, and she grazes my crotch or my butt with her hand. Sometimes she grabs or squeezes, but she almost always touches. That's an important connection for us.
Fellow groom, may I encourage you to look at your wardrobe and see if your choice of attire, from underwear to outerwear, flatters your bride? Would you be willing to stop making excuses for your old sweatshirt and get a new shirt that she likes? Sure you can keep a few old clothes for maintenance around the house, yard, and car, but I'm sure there's a lot of stuff you can get rid of. Even if you're a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy, like I am, there are a lot of t's that you can remove and replace. My bride likes me in t-shirts and jeans. She likes me even better when the t-shirt and jeans I wear look good. And even though no one knows what's under our clothes, we both know, and that's who we dress for. Each other.
Is your bride worth dressing up for? You know she is.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
All My Yesterdays
I have a Facebook account...
"Gee, really, Groom? You're a real pioneer."
Shut up and let me finish. I have a Facebook account that I got so I could talk to an old friend. When I searched for him online I discovered his FB and had to have my own in order to contact him. So I signed up and we chatted. I know, weird that he didn't deny my request. I would have. In fact I have two FB pages and I've sent requests from each one to the other and they both got denied. What can I say, I'm hard on myself.
Anyway, after about three days I get a message in my e-mail that I have a friend request. It turns out it was one of my old college buddies who found me on there. When I visited his page I found a bunch of my old college friends and since then I have either requested or sent requests to about 300 friends.
And my old friends would never do anything to hurt me, right?
Uh...yeah. Right.
Two days ago, one of my friends hurt me. They hurt me bad. Cut me deep. "Oh, Groom, I'm so sorry," you may be saying. "What did they do? What tragedy could possibly befall you from someone who claims to be your friend?"
They posted an old picture. Woe is me!
It's from the early '90s, one in which my hair was firmly gelled with the "wet look", my shirt was all the way buttoned without a tie, and frankly I had a little bit of a mullet. It's true. So I commented on the picture that my fashion sense was evidence of original sin. Oh, yeah, it was ugly. Okay, I was ugly. Still am, but now I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm unattractive. Back then, when I was 20, I really thought I looked okay. But deep down I knew the truth, and as I've matured, that truth has set me free from the bondage of my self-deception.
Fortunately, as far as I know, pictures like that are innocuous and display only how I looked during that time in my life and the fashion of the time. The picture was taken with me and one of the girls I was friends with. So I can look at all my yesterdays through two lenses:
1. The lens of humiliation and embarrassment. I was skinny, a little out of style, not especially bright, seriously goofy-looking, and only a mediocre student. All those things added up to a time in my life that for several years made me the butt of jokes. I was picked on, teased, occasionally roughed up, and mostly lonely. I kept to myself in high school, as a rule except to my few friends, and dreaded going to work with the same people who abused me in school. But after I graduated I made several good friends while in college.
2. The lens of blessing and abundance. Because I was so rejected at school, I was amazed that some students at a church welcomed me in. It was through these friendships that I came to know about how much God loved me and that He was trustworthy. As a result of the love that I felt, I surrendered to whatever God wanted for me. As a result, He has taken "what the locusts" have eaten and has replaced them. I went from being rejected and lonely and without a life purpose, to being overwhelmed with friends, given a career where my hurts have borne compassion, and given a bride who could have chosen any number of suitors, but chose me and has stayed with me through poverty, crisis, unemployment, and the physical results of my aging.
Every once in a while I will be faced with the insignificance of my life. It's a fight that will last for a few days. I look at how little I've done and what little difference I've made. I am challenged with the failures and shortcomings of my life. I'm in a job that brings neither glory nor wealth. My name will likely never be recognized outside my little circle of friends. If I published my name on this page, every one of you would say, "Who?" This battle usually comes immediately after a failure: something I forgot to do, or a goal I was unable to meet.
But then the Lord has to remind me that He created me for His purpose, not mine. And I'm reminded of the illustration of the pebble in the pond. Even the smallest of pebbles when dropped into a still pond, will make ripples that will continue on indefinitely. My blog may never be quoted to another. My conversations may be kept private. My prayers may only be whispered alone in my office or from my bed. But the impact my life makes, in whatever way, good or bad, does impact others.
Some of the people on my Facebook friends list are people I haven't seen in twenty years, yet they remember me. They laugh at things we did together and they recall some impact I had on their lives, no matter how insignificant. Maybe I'm part of a story they tell their friends or families that bring laughter. Maybe they quote me in an illustration to their Sunday school classes or from the pulpits as they preach. I don't know and I don't ask. But I quote them. I share their stories. And I see and hear the laughter from the people I share it with. And it makes me feel good.
Fellow groom, don't consider your life insignificant because you only have a cubicle instead of an office. Don't consider your life pointless because you can only afford a tiny apartment instead of a large family home. Don't count yourself as nothing because things didn't go the way you'd hoped. Your life is causing ripples that will touch far beyond what you can see. Look at your life through the lens of blessing and abundance instead of embarrassment and humiliation. That lens is foggy anyway.
"Gee, really, Groom? You're a real pioneer."
Shut up and let me finish. I have a Facebook account that I got so I could talk to an old friend. When I searched for him online I discovered his FB and had to have my own in order to contact him. So I signed up and we chatted. I know, weird that he didn't deny my request. I would have. In fact I have two FB pages and I've sent requests from each one to the other and they both got denied. What can I say, I'm hard on myself.
Anyway, after about three days I get a message in my e-mail that I have a friend request. It turns out it was one of my old college buddies who found me on there. When I visited his page I found a bunch of my old college friends and since then I have either requested or sent requests to about 300 friends.
And my old friends would never do anything to hurt me, right?
Uh...yeah. Right.
Two days ago, one of my friends hurt me. They hurt me bad. Cut me deep. "Oh, Groom, I'm so sorry," you may be saying. "What did they do? What tragedy could possibly befall you from someone who claims to be your friend?"
They posted an old picture. Woe is me!
It's from the early '90s, one in which my hair was firmly gelled with the "wet look", my shirt was all the way buttoned without a tie, and frankly I had a little bit of a mullet. It's true. So I commented on the picture that my fashion sense was evidence of original sin. Oh, yeah, it was ugly. Okay, I was ugly. Still am, but now I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm unattractive. Back then, when I was 20, I really thought I looked okay. But deep down I knew the truth, and as I've matured, that truth has set me free from the bondage of my self-deception.
Fortunately, as far as I know, pictures like that are innocuous and display only how I looked during that time in my life and the fashion of the time. The picture was taken with me and one of the girls I was friends with. So I can look at all my yesterdays through two lenses:
1. The lens of humiliation and embarrassment. I was skinny, a little out of style, not especially bright, seriously goofy-looking, and only a mediocre student. All those things added up to a time in my life that for several years made me the butt of jokes. I was picked on, teased, occasionally roughed up, and mostly lonely. I kept to myself in high school, as a rule except to my few friends, and dreaded going to work with the same people who abused me in school. But after I graduated I made several good friends while in college.
2. The lens of blessing and abundance. Because I was so rejected at school, I was amazed that some students at a church welcomed me in. It was through these friendships that I came to know about how much God loved me and that He was trustworthy. As a result of the love that I felt, I surrendered to whatever God wanted for me. As a result, He has taken "what the locusts" have eaten and has replaced them. I went from being rejected and lonely and without a life purpose, to being overwhelmed with friends, given a career where my hurts have borne compassion, and given a bride who could have chosen any number of suitors, but chose me and has stayed with me through poverty, crisis, unemployment, and the physical results of my aging.
Every once in a while I will be faced with the insignificance of my life. It's a fight that will last for a few days. I look at how little I've done and what little difference I've made. I am challenged with the failures and shortcomings of my life. I'm in a job that brings neither glory nor wealth. My name will likely never be recognized outside my little circle of friends. If I published my name on this page, every one of you would say, "Who?" This battle usually comes immediately after a failure: something I forgot to do, or a goal I was unable to meet.
But then the Lord has to remind me that He created me for His purpose, not mine. And I'm reminded of the illustration of the pebble in the pond. Even the smallest of pebbles when dropped into a still pond, will make ripples that will continue on indefinitely. My blog may never be quoted to another. My conversations may be kept private. My prayers may only be whispered alone in my office or from my bed. But the impact my life makes, in whatever way, good or bad, does impact others.
Some of the people on my Facebook friends list are people I haven't seen in twenty years, yet they remember me. They laugh at things we did together and they recall some impact I had on their lives, no matter how insignificant. Maybe I'm part of a story they tell their friends or families that bring laughter. Maybe they quote me in an illustration to their Sunday school classes or from the pulpits as they preach. I don't know and I don't ask. But I quote them. I share their stories. And I see and hear the laughter from the people I share it with. And it makes me feel good.
Fellow groom, don't consider your life insignificant because you only have a cubicle instead of an office. Don't consider your life pointless because you can only afford a tiny apartment instead of a large family home. Don't count yourself as nothing because things didn't go the way you'd hoped. Your life is causing ripples that will touch far beyond what you can see. Look at your life through the lens of blessing and abundance instead of embarrassment and humiliation. That lens is foggy anyway.
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