The Grandest of Grand

Valentine's Day: not a fan. Don't mark it with my lover, actually - likely because he's not a fan, either.

It's not that I'm against marking love: I'm for hailing its power and beauty in banners worldwide, actually. Course, that's not what Valentine's Day often is. After all, since when did love become about grand gestures delivered in a single package bowed by dollar bills? Now, I'm not a minimalist, by any stretch: I don't carp for hours about the materialization of Christmas or the secularization of Easter (the weird business of Santa and Easter Bunny aside). And, if one day on the calendar is the best you can muster in the name of love, I won't mention Byron's grave-rolling or Barrett Browning's red red rose wilting.

There is more to love than a day, and that more is usually less in nature. I mean, dare I suggest that every kiss does not, precisely, begin with Kay (Gag on those commercials)? The older I grow, the more I see the grand gestures lying not in what you buy, but what costs you. It's in the Post-It you leave on the microwave or the laundry you fold without prompting. It's in the foot rubs and hair strokes, the secret smiles and sly glances. It's in the way you say his name or you hold her hand.

Maybe there's some wee truth to Johnny Depp's point (am I actually quoting Edward Scissorhands?!?) that the folly of youth is in claiming the idea of love without actually experiencing love.

"I think when you're young, you're hoping that this person will be the right one, the one you're going to be in love with forever. But sometimes you want that so much, you create something that isn't really there."

So, are the grand, often expensive gestures just an idea of love, an empty shell of the real deal?

Yeah, I dunno, either. And, most honestly, I wouldn't be the one to decide anyway. While listening to this little song that made it big, though, it occurred to me: simpler love is for me. It's a journey of mutual acceptance; of living big even in the small; of carving something from nothing, even in the everyday Post-It's, laundry piles, smiles, and glances.

Taking one another just as we are...perhaps the grandest of grand gestures, no?

"The Way I Am"

If you were falling, then I would catch you.
You need a light, I'd find a match.

Cause I love the way you say good morning.
And you take me the way I am.

If you are chilly, here take my sweater.
Your head is aching, I'll make it better.

Cause I love the way you call me baby.
And you take me the way I am.

I'd buy you Rogaine when you start losing all your hair.
Sew on patches to all you tear.

Cause I love you more than I could ever promise.
And you take me the way I am.
You take me the way I am.
You take me the way I am.

On A Good Day

On a good day, love isn't an emotion. That's right. I said it. Because it isn't. Or at least, it's not solely one. On a good day, it's a choice. It's pushed, pulled, and pressed by emotion, sure. But the line between nonsense and commitment is never more clearly demarcated than in the trenches of choice.

Which explains why our culture is so bent on falling in love - which is, not surprisingly, fast followed by falling out of love. Perhaps it also explains why we're so captivated by marriages lasting less time than the sell by date on a box of crackers.

Then again, it might also explain our fascination of the relationships that beat the odds. The ones that defy the capricious waters of affection to find firm ground on choice. A stand. A bit of self-control and (shudder to consider) maybe even some self-sacrifice, too.

Yeah, those are the ones the hate-bookies loathe. They're complicated. They're depleting. And they don't want for grim. They're also commendable. Satisfying. Revitalizing. They are worth it.

Here's one of mine.

We started out great. Then we derailed. Now we're back on track. Because we choose to be. Laying aside emotions leaves a door open and, when His time is just right, you might find what you're looking for has come back through it again.

This is my brother, Tim. He turns 39 today. And I celebrate that. I want him to feel hope and renewal and love and all manners of joy. Funny how choice uncorks the bottle of emotions while the topsy-truvy of emotion so rarely leads to fixed decision.

Or maybe I'm too much of a thinker. Maybe the whole thing is c*^%. But there will always be relationships, bent or broken, that need a little re-considering: I know I have a few. And if the stick of the choosing keeps the door ajar - even if it's just a miniscule crack - well, that might be just enough to let His love pour through.

On a good day.

Seconds of Happy

Yesterday, Craig and I marked 15 years of marriage together.

According to CalendarHome.com, that's 5478 days,131,472 hours, 7,888,320 minutes, and 473,299,200 seconds of story - chapter by chapter - written one memory at a time. Thanks to the beauty of blogging, I can look back to this date in 2009 and 2010 and reflect on what I felt then - which is better than the best gift because I am instantly back to a reflection frozen in time...and I find my sentiments stretch now further into the deep.

You know, we ask ourselves a great many questions about marriage today: Do we talk enough? Save enough? Spend time together? Spend time apart? Are we attracted to each other - as friends, as companions, as lovers? Are we in love? Are we even happy?

Culturally, we've never chased after the elusive concept of happiness more than we do (arguably) today. In the face of dwindling 401K's and swelling debts, diminished jobs and increased global warming, less everyday joys and more long-term burdens, we just don't feel happy. At least, not all that often. But what is happy, anyway? I mean, I'm happy when Judsen tells me he loves me - for no reason at all. I'm happy when my coffee's hot and when I don't have to make dinner. I'm happy when there's a card in the mail, addressed solely to me. And I'm happy when I wake in the morning and listen to Craig beside me...just breathing.

Like "love" and "awesome", "happy" has become one of the most overstated words in American use, so much so that we're left wondering exactly what it means at all. But when I go back to its roots, its original connotation of an in-the-moment, blissful awareness of making contact with that soul-spot now contented by an instant's happening....well, then, I think of my husband, my companion, my best friend, and my lover.

And I find that I am truly happy. 

473,299, 200...201...202...203...seconds of happy.

With the best seconds yet to come.

Where Your Story Begins

In keeping with the theme of processes describing personality, here's another to chew on.

Literally.

Since camping always means roasting marshmallows and hot dogs, we couldn't leave them out on our "faux-campout", either. But this process turned out to be one of the most hysterical of the night as our campers attempted to get their yummies done just right.

On a stick. 

Over flames.

They started with the basics

and quickly set to work on the cookin' side of things.

But, when, you're a golden-browned, slightly this side of squishy kind of marshmallow guy this

is not the result you're looking for...which results in the picture-perfect moment of spitting char flakes.

Judsen felt it strongly necessary to bun his own hot dog since we so cruelly disallowed him the opportunity to place himself anywhere near the open flames of a burning pit. (Horribly mean of us, I know).

 And when he got it just right....

 The look was pure glee.

He ate two.

Yes.

Two.

By the time the meal was over, tummies were rounder and grins bigger...

... just in time for sunset and a few rounds of Red Light, Green Light (which somehow became much funnier when Mommy played, too).

It was a day of processes that afforded golden opportunities to study and observe our children simply by dwelling with them in the moments that make memories.

It wasn't without work on our parts, sure. But what's a little sweat if you're carving out the tablets on which their their tales of home are written?

Someday, we hope they remember these tales and great love and devotion floods their very hearts. We pray they recall our devotion as it was and will always be: true and steady and standing the test of time.

Me thinks that would make a great story.

And, after all...

home is where your story begins.

My Brother Did It...

...on Christmas Day.
Which was very cool.
It's our dad's grave.
Miss him.
Which is all I have to say.

Reverse That

If I could control pain - its measure, its type, its center of impact - I'd know the remedy for it. And, so it follows, if I knew it's remedy, then I'd surely impart the cure.

But I cannot control pain. Not its measure. Nor its type. Definitely not its center of impact. I've no remedy.

But I do share a thought, one that left me thinking how often we might consider pain in this light, within these priorities, and then flippantly (and probably with a snort of disgust) quip, "Reverse that."

But consider the byzantine reflections of one C.S. Lewis:

"[...I offer] my readers my conviction that when pain is to be borne, a
little courage helps more than knowledge, a little human sympathy more
than courage, and the least tincture of the love of God more than all."
~ The Problem of Pain

So you see, if you've thought all along that the response to pain is first a stroke of courage, then a mighty dose of human sympathy, and (last and probably least) a skosh of God's love...well, perhaps we might all consider again.

And reverse that.

You Complete Me

I have Oprah issues. I'm caught in a tug-of-war between the allure of the captivating guests she hosts and the overall annoying interview habits she employs. I don't agree with her politics or even her morals (at least, not entirely). Yet, I applaud her generosity and humanitarian efforts to improve the world at large.

At times, she's insightful and funny; others, she's agenda-based, pushy, and even hijacking in her tactics ("I don't mean to interrupt you" followed by interrupting: the latter action cancels the former sentiment, no? And "Let me tell you what you really think" makes me want to zoom into the stratosphere while waving a banner of "No, Oprah. I can think for myself!")

Craig calls her the anti-Christ. I call her wildly popular with as much pop-cultural influence as President Obama has political. So, as with most such tug-of-wars, I vacillate between taking a stand and seeing the fruit in it (kind of like shouting at the tv during a sports event...I do it though I know with certainty the fellow can't actually hear me).

Now, during her final season, I'm intrigued enough once again to dip my toes in the water of my self-made controversy....what can I say? She equally fascinates and irks me. Regardless, I'm catching a show now and again thanks to the ever-gifting invention called DVR.

Last last week, Jenny McCarthy sat for a segment and addressed, in detail, her breakup with Jim Carey. It was interesting, I thought, how adamantly she claims her romance didn't define her: yet, here she was talking about it for 25 minutes of air time. Anyway, she spoke about the line from Jerry McGuire. Near the movie's end, Jerry announces to his wife, "You complete me." Yes, a famous line all around and, yes, we can all hear the hapless sighs of "Ohhhhh....how sweet!" from miles around. McCarthy made reference to the line, labeling it "a farce", to which Oprah decried, "And it has messed some women up!"

Okay, well, probably true since everything under the sun messes someone up somewhere, I suppose. They went on to speak of how no man "completes" you since "you complete yourself." Now, I don't actually agree fully with either one of those statements, but the next step in the conversation really got me going.

Oprah asked McCarthy: "Did you some part of you know this man wasn't your life partner?" to which McCarthy replied, "You know, my inner self did. That's probably why I kept my own house and controlled my own money." And the audience applauded.

It's saddens me that we see marriage as adversarial: a me-protected-against-you-protecting-yourself-against-me mentality never leads to a statement like "You complete me" because we're always encased safely within our walls of defense. I'm not a romantic, but I believe in giving my all: what's so wrong with cautiously plowing the row of love and commitment until you reap the harvest of permanent and lifelong partnership? What's wrong with casting off the reins of what defined solely "you" as he does the same for him until you've fashioned a merged life of "us"?

It seems these two notions - "You complete me" and the walls of defense - are two extremes of relationship outlook. What we really want is the healthy middle, right, since this is where real "us" lives? So why was that audience so ready to applaud separatist actions...especially in light of their context which, let's not forget, is a failed relationship (and, let me add by the way, that I think, had it been Carey keeping his house and money separate, that same audience would have accused him of having fear of commitment or readying to cheat. I'm just sayin'.)

Yes, it's good to maintain self: pursue our interests and our identity to thrive as a human being. But is it not equally critical to maintain "us", to pursue that which unites us wholeheartedly, no holds barred, all-in no matter what?

I don't know...am I totally off my rocker here?

I only know that completion is good. I believe it happens in multitudes of relationship venues and that marriage -if you have one- can be the most fulfilling. I don't want to live separate in any key relationship, celebrating how I've kept myself separate in the interest of my own protection. I want to put it all out there, living in abandonment, exercising crazy love.

I know I sometimes fall short.
I often fail.
But trying to my utmost every day is reaping profound rewards...
not the least of which is having the privilege of telling someone
"You complete me."

By Name

Yes, the official Month of Love has come to an end, but we are still basking in the remainders of its warmth. I learned a great deal about my tendency to define love according to my terms, not God's. I learned an even greater deal about the depth of my love for those who matter most, too. I learned that there's still more people to love, to learn, to value more deeply than I value myself. I learned that God is love, and I want to be a conduit of that great love. I've said it before, but I'll say it again: If you remember only one descriptor of me, let it be "She knew how to love."

In that vein, I'm executing a little exercise, here. While I think that love, God-style, goes way beyond one number of people or groups or experiences, I also think that we mustn't fall into the trap of thinking that one number of people or groups or experiences shouldn't be openly acknowledged - by name - in an embrace of gratitude for who they are and how they change us. I am thankful that, during the Month of Love, I celebrated these people and that (thank you, thank you, thank you!) they are the rock stars of my life who so graciously bestow their love, time, energy, companionship, and goodness upon me and mine.

My husband, Craig: merely thinking of who you are brings tears of gratitude to my eyes. Never would I have been so wise to pick you; never have I been more jubilant that God did it for me. You are the love of my life, baby. You. And only you.

My children, Grace, Elijah, and Judsen: if kiddos were elements, they would be my earth, wind, and fire. No doubt about it. They are the salt of my life and, without them, I'd be living a plain, dull, ordinary existence without grand purpose or living design. I gave you life. But you remind me to live.

Bee - I did not know how to be silly until you opened the door within me. Without you, the best parts of who I am as Candy wouldn't see the light of day. You make me better simply by watching you live honestly. Generously. Openly. And without apology.

Amy- your quiet courage and abiding willingness to love beyond yourself feels to me like stars I'll never reach. Yet you remind me to excel because, as your life teaches me, there's nothing better than living crazy love.

Z - you are stellar. Stellar. You're the only who is. Your wit and propensity to see within my soul using only the light of deep wisdom and unrelenting acceptance changes the landscape of me.You teach me good words like "toucas" and remind me there's nothing funnier than a smart woman who occasionally curses.

Jessi - I've known you for what seems like forever. You're the best gem of all for we've lived together, delivered Grace together, read books, gone to college, uprooted our lives, gotten married, and entered motherhood...just to name a few. And still you love me as I love you: you've earned the medal of loyalty for sure. There's simply nothing better once you've met the best.

And for all my friends near and far - some I'm knowing better and better - you all make me want to be the best version of who God's made me. You are 1 Corinthians 13. Alive and breathing. You're the Month of Love. Every month.