“Life is Pain!” Reflections on FAIRness

“It’s not fair,” a good friend said to me the other day.  I hadn’t heard that in a while (my kids are all grown up and I’m more likely to say that to them than the other way around now-a-days.)  But this friend WAS all grown up and still caught deeply in the snare of FAIRness.

Perhaps it’s our culture, so enamored with giving everyone an award.  Perhaps it’s just this friend’s childlike heart.  How could I find fault with that?  Christ says unless we become like little children we cannot enter the kingdom of heaven!  

“Whoa!  Back the maturity truck up here,” my ‘friend’ Tim the Toolman Taylor would say.  “Aren’t we suppose to grow up and become mature adults, having a more civilized outlook on life than our kids?”  (Like Tim will ever grow up – insert grunts here)

I digress.

So I thought about FAIRness.  Are we entitled to FAIRness?  

Was it FAIR that my Dave had to live unhappily with me for twenty-five years before we figured out how to maybe get it right? 

Is it FAIR that Tony Campolo gets snubbed and thrown out of evangelical circles because he used a word in public that is found in scripture – twice! – but is deemed unmentionable by our whitewashed evangelical ears?  

Is it FAIR that those little children died of starvation, even though Tony Campolo risked saying the “s” word in order to bring to our attention that we care more about convention than we do about lives?  (Apparently he had a valid point.)

Is it FAIR that I got to grow up in a home with running water, good food and yummy heat all winter long?  How is it FAIR that some kids get to grow up in San Diego and never have to worry about snow, and some kids get to grow up in Haiti and never have to worry about snow, but go hungry all the time?  And running water means a very different thing there . . . (shrug) Just sayin’.

What in life is guaranteed to be FAIR?  Our parents?  I know some pretty sucky ones – and some awesome ones and some who are okay, but no one’s going to give them a prize.  My kids got read to and given all sorts of encouragement in education and music.  The kid down the street from us was lucky he graduated from high school  (or – did he?) and got a job.  Period.  Maybe he could read, but comprehension and the ability to discern truth from fiction?

Well, you’ve seen our political world.   Discerning truth from fiction is NOT even taught in our schools!  And speaking of politics, is that world FAIR?  How about if you are born in Iran?  Are there some things that are more FAIR somewhere else than they are where we are born?  Do we have some things more FAIR than others who are born in other countries?  How about states?  Is Georgia as great a place to grow up in as Massachusetts?  As California?  Texas?  Ooooooklahoma?  (Sorry, Kermit moment there)

Should we even CARE if something in our lives is FAIR or not?  

I’ve worked at a business I don’t really enjoy, with competitors who consider lying, cheating and outright dishonesty, contract breaking, you name it, to be the normal course.   Is that FAIR?  They lower their pricing below what it costs them and then wait until we squirm and go out of business and then raise the pricing through the roof.  Is that FAIR?  Should I have had to spend all those years learning how not to be anxious in EVERY SITUATION?  (It took about nineteen and a half years for me to get a passing grade on that one!).   Is that FAIR?!!

And what about the people whose spouses do not meet their needs, or become incapacitated in some way, or suffer all the time with depression or sickness?  Should they use the excuse that this situation is unFAIR and get a divorce?  What about nasty spouses?  Where do we draw the line?  I believe I know quite a few people who have used this idea (in some form or other) of unFAIRness to severe their marriage and try again elsewhere.  Always seeking the elusive FAIRness of a happy marriage.

Is it FAIR that my beautiful grandson lives in sunny California and we suffer here in the Northeast with the horrors of snow and blistering wind and temperatures lower than a puritan’s hem?  No.  I would contend that this situation in particular is beyond the boundaries of unFAIRness and should be corrected at once!  (Only because I really like my kid’s kid!)  

But it will not be corrected any time soon.  Perhaps even in my lifetime.  Should I rail against the authorities about the unFAIRness of this?  Should I petition the economists and get them to lower the cost of living (or at least of real estate) in the world of California?  Should I stomp my feet and demand that my children suffer in the Northeast with me because I want it to be so?

Some people do.  They even, sometimes, get their way.  

Does it make them happy now that their life is more FAIR?

In the immortal words of Rob Reiner and Goldman’s Westley, “Life is pain, highness.  Anyone who says differently is selling something.”  – The Princess Bride

So if life isn’t FAIR, how are we do deal with the unFAIRness?  Is railing against it a productive activity?  Complaining until we get our way?  Harboring anger deep inside at our loss or inability to overcome the unFAIRness?  Pointing our finger at those who have determined unFAIRness must touch our lives?

I think a different approach is healthier for our hearts, our minds and our souls.   Paul the Apostle said that he learned to be CONTENT in whatever circumstance he found himself in.  And I would go further to push for the idea that when we allow ourselves to be CONTENT in our circumstances, no matter how uncomfortable they may be, unhappy they make us feel, unconnected they force us to become, unfed even, if we, in ALL circumstances, lay down our call to FAIRness and accept that the Lord IS our Lord and He opens some doors and closes some doors and walks with us through life’s circumstances, good and bad, FAIR and unFAIR: when we give the fighting for FAIRness over to Him, we receive PEACE.  

I spent many years crying about my marriage, crying about my work, crying about my finances, crying about my health, etc, etc, etc.  But those difficult, unFAIR circumstances gave me the JOY of FAITH, of knowing that no matter what I do, where I find myself, how much money I don’t have, how close or far away I am from those I love, no matter WHAT – I am loved by the Lord of the Universe and He walks with me every day, every moment, through every good and bad thing.  Sometimes He delivers me from the bad things that tear at my heart, and in miraculous ways that seem incomprehensible.  Sometimes He simply holds me with the arms of the Comforter and helps my frail frame make it through.   

FAITH is worth more than getting my way and having FAIRness in my life, hands down, every time.  And by saying, “Okay, God, this is not where I would like to be, but it is where You have me to be right now, so help me make it through.  And thank you right now for helping me make it through, because I believe and trust that You will,” by doing that, I gain even more FAITH.  Because God is always FAITHful.  Masterfully so.  

BTW, being GOD and giving it all up to become a MAN, growing up with MEN, getting pushed around, spit on, beaten up and eventually allowing MEN to crucify YOU = NOT FAIR.  We deserve death, not the gift of LIFE held out to us by the God who was willing to make the sacrifice in our place, on our behalf, so that we – who could not possibly have made that sacrifice and have it count for anything but that word Tony Campolo is not allowed to say in evangelical circles – we can simply accept that gift and walk arm and arm with God and spend LIFE truly living right now, as well as eternally forever.  

Not FAIR.  But I will take it.  Because FAIR would be eternal damnation with no hope of redemption.  “I’ll take NOT FAIR for 2000, please, Alex”. 

Thank you, Lord Jesus, for not grasping after FAIRness, but giving up all that You deserve and more to choose Death, so that I can Live.  I deserve death.  We deserve death.  That’s FAIR.  So, thank you God, that life is NOT FAIR!

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A Christ’s Birth Card (in December where it doesn’t belong) (You’re welcome, Dave)

So, Christmas cards, such a wonderful old fashioned tradition.  I used to be amazing at it, though sometimes my “Christmas letter” became a January one instead.  

Wonderful things happened in our families this year.  July 1st our very first grandchild, Remington James Spaulding was born and we were thrilled to spend ten days out there just about a week after he was born.  Mom and Dad were grateful to get up, feed and change him and then hand him off and go back to bed, leaving Dave, Alyssa and me to envy whichever one of us got to hold him for the next two hours.   Just about the best “vacation” I’ve ever had!

Then October 13th my very first grand-nephew was born, Liam David Corr.  I haven’t had as much of a chance to hold him, but that’s understandable since Lisa Willson-Doe is his grammy!  ; )  Thanks for sharing Lisa!  (Oh, and Mel & Chris, too.  Right.)  ; )

Okay, I might have had a bit too much fun with that one.  

The rest of my life . . . well, Aly moved to Cali to be Remington’s nanny.  So that was great for her, hard on us.  

Spiritually I have been doing a search through the Bible from start to finish, marking down whenever music or singing is mentioned.  Had a bit of a conundrum about the word “praise” which happens a lot, but eliminated it because quite often it is referring to saying grateful adoring things to the Lord, not necessarily in a musical way.  I’m in Proverbs at the moment and not finding anything there yet about music . . . leading me to wonder certain things.  Like “Are musicians just so obviously unwise, that we aren’t even mentioned?”  OR  “Perhaps a life of music leads to folly?”  I decided to decide that we are on the creative side of wisdom and the folly/wise line runs straight through the middle depending on mostly the other factors in our personalities.  That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

Speaking of stories, I took a writing class this Fall at the Boston Public Library, which was extremely helpful and encouraging.  Nothing like reading what you’ve written off the cuff in the last fifteen minutes and have OTHER WRITERS say “Wow, that’s great!  I really liked . . .”  And the technical information was invaluable.  And has given me the impetus to write twenty-three chapters in the novel I’m currently working on.   (Okay, it was a total re-write and I stopped in the middle and wrote the last eleven chapters before going back to work the middle again, but it seems to have worked, so judge away!)  

But writing and babies aside, it has been an extremely difficult year.  Painful.  Get in an RV and just drive away painful.  Which, of course, we can’t do because we are responsible adults and people are counting on us.  But we can dream.

Dream, and pray, and wait on the Lord, trusting that He truly does delight in those who fear Him, who put their hope in His unfailing love.  (Psalm 147, verse eleven)  (Make all your verses found in rhyming places – it’s so much easier to remember where they are!)

Dave has been doing a LOT of playing both on guitar and on keyboards, as well as singing.  He is amazing at all of it, and more than just me says that and often.  He has been writing songs too.  Great songs.  The highlight of my day is when I crawl my weary aching body into bed and hear him begin to play and sing them down in the living room.  As a wordsmith he is right up there with “All Time Low.”  (One of my favorite, if irreverent, bands.)  Mostly blues songs, but he does have a few praise songs that are really cool, too.  

I say a BIG word of thanks to the really awesome people at the Newton Campus of FCC Kingston Church for allowing him to try them out on them from time to time.  They are oddly good at the one fashioned after an Irish drinking tune . . . but I digress.  (Just picture Martin Luther in your mind, lifting his humungous stein filled with beer – I mean water – and shouting, “To Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior!”)  Yes.  He did do that – and more than once!


We are hopeful (super extra prayerful) that things will change soon, get less painful, less stressful, less of a constant heartache, but we state emphatically that if they do not, we will still praise our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ because we know we are only looking at the bottom of the tapestry, where Satan likes to make our minds dwell, but He is creating the whole tapestry and making beauty from the ugly, knotty, underside.  I may not see that beauty until I see Him face to face, but I know it WILL be worth it.

And, no, I’m not mailing this to anyone (well, maybe – nope, I won’t) but to all who have enjoyed my intermittent blogging and to those who have not yet tasted of the wandering mind of Cher, thank you and ENJOY!

Merry Christ’s Birth (which Dave would like you to know is not actually in December), May the Lord Bless you richly with His wondrous lavish Love throughout the coming year.  

Please feel free to text or call us (if you have our cells,) comment, PM us, email us, or even stop by.  We would love to hear from you, get caught up on your lives and praise God together for the amazing way you make us better.

The End.

(I have to say that or I’ll just keep on writing)  (Cher, stop it!)  (Okay.  I’m done now.)(Really.  I am.) 

; )

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Week 2 of NaNoWriMo November writing contest: Overcoming Adversity (they don’t announce the winner until next Wednesday)

Mum settled into the chair and let the nurse poke and prod her skinny arm.  Her wrinkled skin hung down, swaying back and forth.  

“Are you on any special diet, Priscilla?”

“Am I” Mum exclaimed, ready to recite her litany of woe.  She counted them off on her fingers.  “I’m diabetic, so have to watch sugars and carbs.  Low blood pressure, so no salt.  Lactose intolerant, so no dairy.  And now my kidney’s – oh, my,” she looked over at me, “what’s that one?”

“Low Potassium and you have to drink a quart of water a day.  And no coffee.”

The nurse straightened, staring bug-eyed at Mum like she’d just turned into an alien with three heads.  “No wonder you’re so skinny and we can’t get you to gain weight!”

“Tell me about it,” Mum quipped, rolling her large blue eyes behind thick glasses in pale blue frames.  “And with you taking my blood every other minute, I’m iron deficient.”

The young nurse looked over at me.

“You should try cooking for her on the holidays,” I said, my heart breaking for my mother-in-law, but trying to keep things light.

“I’ll get you a list of foods to eat and foods to avoid to make it easier for you.”

The nurse left and I stared at Mum, my mouth twisted sideways in a frown.  “Like that’s going to help.”

“Circular file,” she agreed, a twinkle back in her eyes.

“What are you smiling about,” she asked.

“Just thinking about you wanting a prize for stumping the nutritionist last week.”

I’m the prize.  The booby prize.”

The doc came in, regurgitated all the things he’d said the last three times and we were soon on our way.  


“Yes, Mum?”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Right back atcha, Mum.”

“I used to look forward to retirement.  If only I’d known it would be thirty years of this!”

A couple months later, she needed surgery.  Unsuccessful.  She spent a week in a coma, five days more than the nurse had declared she could possibly last.  Everyone else had gone home for the night.  

I bent over, kissed her forehead and whispered in her ear, “It’s okay to go, Mum.  Jesus promises you there’s a banquet table in heaven and you can eat whatever you want.”  

A few minutes later she was gone.

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Week 1 of NaNoWriMo November writing contest: Wasting Time (I win! I win!)

Robert and Maria filled up the wooden porch chairs and then some.  Amelia perched on the edge of hers, so emaciated you could almost see through her.

Each had a walker set in front of them.

“Mornin’ folks,” JJ said with a smile, making his way slowly from the door.

“Gonna sit a spell this mornin’, JJ?”

“Just a bit, Maria, just a bit.  Got a new one today.”

“Don’t know why you bother with that mentoring,” Robert huffed.  “Kids don’t appreciate it.  Just wastin’ your time.  Hoodlums, all of ‘em.”

“UmmHmm,” JJ answered good-naturedly, resting half of his skinny butt on the edge of the railing.

“They don’t get that you’re sacrificing your good time for them.  Just taking advantage of you.”

A young man, his long black hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing a denim jacket with the sleeves ripped out to show a skull and crossbones tattooed on each shoulder, walked up onto the porch and the eyes of JJ’s friends grew wide. 

“Lookin’ for JJ Malone.” His voice sounded like gravel.

“Run JJ, run,” Maria whispered.

JJ chuckled.  “Jonas, how you doin’?”  

He stuck out his arthritic hand and the biker slapped his own into it with gusto, pulling JJ in for a good hug.

“How goes it old man?”

“It goes, it goes.”  JJ’s eyes sparkled.  “Folks, this is my prize student from fifteen years ago.  My very first, back when I was only a beginner at bein’ retired.”

“Looks like a huge success,” Maria observed dryly.  She and Amelia shared a look.

“See what I have to deal with here?  Folks, Jonas went from a  life of crime to his GED, then on to a master’s in Psychology.  Works with veterans now.  His niece is comin’ to get extra help so she can pass her SAT’s for college.”

He relished in the glorious speechlessness of his critics.

“Princeton, right?”

The biker nodded, beaming.  “I can’t thank you enough, JJ.  You saved my life back then.  God bless yah.  I was going from bad to worse, my brother too.”

JJ leaned towards the peanut gallery and winked.  “Wastin’ my time, huh?  No, no, you’re right.  Sittin’ here on my ass waitin’ for lunchtime’s much more important!”

He swung an arm around Jason’s shoulders and headed for the car coming up the drive.  “Let’s go meet this niece of yours.”

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A Righteous Man is OH, SO SEXY!

I grew up in a home where Christ and the Word was taught and believed.  My Dad was a minister for a short time and then became a social worker in the Massachusetts Social Services “Welfare” system because he felt he could do more for more people there.  He taught me to fight for what I believe and to hold firm even when the opposition is strong.  And my Mom, well, let’s just say that I was that kid in Sunday School that every teacher dreads because THEY knew that I knew every story the Bible told and just about every Bible verse that a Sunday School teacher would be asked to teach her little ones.  I was a force to be reckoned with when it came to questions.  I could answer every one.  And sometimes I answered differently than the teacher and I would be right.  I was scary.  Thanks, Mom!

But I grew up thinking that my home life was the norm (don’t we all?) that people don’t get close to each other, they don’t hug or (heavens!) discuss things with each other and whatever you are going through, you need to figure it out yourself because no one else is really interested.  

I am NOT saying that my parents are at fault, nor is that my premise.  This was MY take away from the circumstances within my home and others would have adapted differently.  

BUT I had always – ALWAYS – carried that princess dream in my heart, every night from the youngest of days that I can remember, my eyes would close, my body would not sleep and I would wile away those hours creating stories of my handsome prince coming to rescue me.  I did not have Disney to blame.  We didn’t even have a TV until second grade and then it was The Virginian I was allowed to watch.  Even got to stay up an extra half hour past my bedtime for it!  And at my grandparents before that on weekends there was F Troop and Hogan’s Heros and – oh my! – The Rifleman.  

I grew up with those dreams, and had many crushes, but always on the unattainable “popular” guy, who in my mind would suddenly rise to his true character and be a God fearing, evil demolishing, strong, passionate, hero like Chuck Conners.  

All this time I grew in my faith, and at sixteen I began deeply searching the scriptures and challenging God to show me – if He’s really different than all those other religions, than Buddha and Mohammed and anyone else – show me like IN PERSON, for real that He is real.  I know, I’m a “go way beyond the extra mile” kind of person.  I belonged to a group created to help young people share their faith and become stronger in it because of that sharing and we met every Friday night.  It was more popular than going out and getting drunk for a lot of young people.  It was COOL to belong to Fisherman.  And I’m pretty sure there were more than a few that had no idea who God was, but saw a large pool of available date material.

I digress.  One such Friday night one of the founders gave a compelling sermonette, and people began to confess their sins to each other and cry and hug and – you know, all the things that I’ve decided throughout my short life were not acceptable and to be avoided.  I began to cry myself, which surprised me greatly.  Then I felt pulled to go upstairs from our meeting area, so I did.  At the top of the stairs, I didn’t see anything, but I heard a voice say, “Are you for us, or against us?”

I knew it was the Lord answering my challenges and I responded eagerly, “For you!”  I continued in my journey as one who professed Christ as my Savior, but it was nothing spectacular.  I sang, wrote songs, learned how to play guitar (sort of) and then headed off to college.  Made mistakes.  Had boyfriends, whom I abandoned as soon as they seemed to be serious, the usual fair, right?  

Through it all this one boy I’d met my senior year in high school – best friends with the only boy who dumped me in a relationship, kept popping up.  We dated, broke off, dated again, broke it off, kind of dated, pretended to date, and pretty much he chased me for years.  I finally chose him on my own (I blame dementia, because I would never have that much common sense relationally on my own ever!) and we got engaged for the last time.  (Third, if you must know) And then we were married.

Well, I began our marriage with the “understanding” that I was a mature, knowledgeable, deeply committed Christian and that Hubby was not far behind.  After all, I was kind, compassionate, gentle (aka hated confrontation,) not just patient, but oh, very certainly long-suffering!, you know, the whole Holy Spirit package.  And “everyone” knew this about me.

Everyone it seems except Hubby.  To him, I was cold, dispassionate, harsh, critical and probably a little bit on the “I’m more spiritual than you” side of things.  I didn’t make him feel loved or lovable at all, and I even had nervous breakdowns every time I got the bank statement until I removed the checkbook from his unacceptable, failure stamped hands and tried with all my might to rein him in.  

I told him every day without speaking a word that he was not up to my standards, nor would he ever be, a constant thorn in my flesh.  And all the while, I thought I was being a great support, keeping house, planning meals, showing him how much I loved him by all the things I did for him.  I folded his shirts just the way he liked them folded – how much more loving could I be?!!

God had promised him he would marry me.  I am sure by the end of the first year, or perhaps by the second, he’d decided that God had had a very good joke at his expense and he would be trapped in this hell forever.  

Then I found the note.  

He’d written to God about how unhappy he was, how I would never love him and asking God how he could go on feeling so alone, so unloved, so miserable.  It broke my heart.  For the first time I realized I was hurting him!  So I began to pray that God would show me how to love him, how to be the wife that I should be.  

Two years later . . . yes, TWO.  We humans have an incredible capacity to put up with the crappiest of lives for the longest periods of time without blinking an eye, all the while crying ourselves to sleep and grumbling a lot.  He drove me out to a quiet spot and sobbed out how he couldn’t go on this way and that things had to change.  I’d been trying so hard and still I was hurting him – and badly!  And by this time I understood some of my failings and I just didn’t know how to overcome them.  They were just who I am (or so I thought – don’t ever believe that crap, God is not ever satisfied with how we think we were born and has infinite power to rescue us from ourselves!)  So I offered to him to let him divorce me.  He was horrified.  We talked and talked and I just didn’t see how anything would ever get better, but we made a pact to pray together for God to rescue us from ourselves.

That, I think, was the real key to the situation.  I had been praying on my own, and perhaps God needed those years to begin to change my heart ahead of time to be prepared for praying with Hubby to look for that kind of marriage that I knew I would never be a part of.  Years later after that, we were better, but still struggling, engulfed in the stresses of a new business, severely underfunded and abandoned by those who had agreed to work with us.  I sat in church, an unruly tear daring to escape down my cheek after we had led worship with the praise band, resigning myself to the reality that I would never have that dream marriage where people actually loved each other and felt accepted, no – more than that – fulfilled.  One.  The sermon started with, “With God there is always hope.”  I will never forget that.  In my lowest point, about to give up all hope, God had spoken directly to my heart.

I still was clueless, but God intertwined circumstances with the deepening of my faith to force me to share something I thought was insignificant that had been keeping a wall between me and Hubby.  The moment I shared it, everything changed.  THAT MOMENT.   Sure, we were still struggling, but hope was beginning to seep into Hubby’s heart as well.  

Then I got sick.  Well, we discovered my sickness.  This discovery brought doctors into my life who prescribed drugs and within a week I woke up and realized – hey!  This is how everyone else wakes up in the morning!  I’ve been depressed my whole life and didn’t even know it!  Well, the problem was much bigger than that and they don’t tell you that the drugs work for a time and then they stop.  What?!!  Oh, yea, they prescribe a lot of drugs without actually having a clue what they do and how they work, just that they work at least for a time and then you move on.  Moving on meant steroids – and I did my research on that.  Not going to happen.  God rescued me again with another drug, which continued to work, but after almost three years, I had to get off it.  

All this is to say, that much of “this is just who I am” was really me – suffering from my body not functioning properly.  Feeling tired, depressed and overwhelmed by life all the time is not really a good base for interacting with your husband and being physical.  Every day life tired me out and we were not just living ordinary every day life – we were killing ourselves to keep the business alive.  Unreal over the top circumstances piled on from work life, home life, church life (they kicked us out – not too stressful,) physical life and on and on it went.

Through all of this Hubby and I continued to see God’s hand, albeit still like infants, but there were some pureèd carrots and peas making their way into our diet.  Our faith deepened and we both longed to be better spouses, better parents and better children of God, and to our own parents.  I began to learn how to be friends with people – girls even!  There were mission trips, awesome Bible studies, leading high school sunday school, and then later learning I no longer could lead a high school sunday school, men’s and women’s retreats – loads of experiences.

But we began to feel that our faith was missing a component.  It just didn’t seem to be all that it should be.  Were we failing God?  Hubby came to me and said, “I’ve been doing my devotions and praying and I keep hearing the word, “Abiding.”  I don’t know what it means or how I’m going to figure it out, but that’s what I’m hearing.  I was ecstatic.  (see the title of this overly long post)  And so I began to pray about abiding too.

We were in a band and had an opportunity to play in this guy’s back yard.  (It’s a really really BIG backyard at the top of a mountain.)  Afterwards we were offered the opportunity to attend a small group of select couples for a “Marriage Retreat” at this man’s home – at the top of the mountain.  How could we refuse?  We got there, opened the material and I could not believe my eyes!  It was entitled, “Abiding”  There was probably more to the title than that, but that was all I could see.  I was not only floored, I could feel the excitement building inside me that God was doing something VERY, VERY cool!

That weekend, I believe, is one of those stones in our Ebenezer pile.  It’s a point, a stone, that we can look back on and say our lives changed.  We learned not only how to study the Word differently and more effectively, but we began to learn to work together to grow our spiritual lives.   I studied the Holy Spirit, feeling like the church rarely talked about it and that I had always been afraid of touching the subject for fear of “accidentally” committing the unpardonable sin.  Turns out ignoring the Holy Spirit just might BE the unpardonable sin!  

Slowly over many years we have grown together to a point where I can honestly say I have the coolest marriage ever.  I married the prince and just like in Pretty Woman, with God’s help, he rescued me and I rescued him right back.  When I see him make tough choices, when I hear him stand for his faith, when I watch as he lays down his musical “genius” to enable other fellow musicians to utilize their gifts and grow in their faith, when I see him go to someone he’s hurt or he’s been hurt by and actually work it out with them, see actual humility forming in his relationships with people – WOW! – I AM SO TURNED ON!  I don’t even know if its okay to say that in Christian circles, but it needs to be said.  Men who honor God in their lives, who take the hard road, that one less traveled, and put others above themselves and listen to the Holy Spirit, allowing Him to transform their lives . . . THOSE MEN ARE SEXY.   MY MAN IS SEXY!  

And I am so grateful that all those years ago he didn’t give up, didn’t throw me away, didn’t decide “that’s just the way I am” or accept that as an acceptable answer!  Hey!  It just dawned on me.  Maybe I will be sexy some day, too!   Maybe I AM kind of sexy now?!!  

Marriage is hard.  Two broken sin-filled people trying to find their way in the dark without a manual . . . or are they?  I think my Manual* is Alive and Well and working just fine! 

*In case you aren’t sure what I mean . . . it’s the Bible.  : ) 

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