Communal Marriage

“Marriage, to be sure, is an intimate matter, the making of a partnership that knits two people together in secret and inside ways.... But it is a pernicious myth of modernity that marriage is merely private: Marriage is also a community endeavor.”

– Lauren Winner, Mudhouse Sabbath

This past weekend, I had the honor and joy of standing beside Caitlin, my surrogate little sister, as she became a wife. As I returned home and got back into the swing of everyday life, I found myself reflecting on the above quote.

Caitlin and I grew up in a true community of friends that became family, linked through generations, and enduring through time. As I stood up at the front of the church and looked out at the people gathered to celebrate Caitlin's wedding to her husband, Greg, I was struck in a new way by the fact that marriage is not merely private. These loved ones, friends and family, were not assembled merely to celebrate; they were there to witness. They were there to bear witness to the love that Caitlin and Greg share and to be witnesses to the commitment that these lovers would make to join their two lives into one.

We are their witnesses. We are their community. We are their support, guidance, and accountability. We are the ones who will celebrate, God willing, the births of their children. We are the ones who will mourn with them in grief. We are the ones who will walk with them through it all. Their marriage will never be merely their own. We are a part of it.

Think of the weddings you have attended. Do you see yourself as a part of the community endeavour of the couples you have acted as witness for?

It is a tragic fact of modern life that we live in a culture of divorce. Sometimes we feel that there is so little we can do to fight this growing trend of broken marriages, but there is so much we can do if we are willing!

• We can counsel couples when they are dating and engaged, helping them to realize the profundity of the matrimonial covenant.
• We can pray for the marriages of our loved ones.
• We can send anniversary cards and letters to those whose weddings we have witnessed or participated in.
• We can live chastely, honoring the marriage bed.
• We can encourage married people that we know to speak positively about their spouse at all times.
• We can check in with married couples that we know, giving them opportunity to seek advice or support for their marriages if needed.
• We can choose to actively love our own spouses, living as a light to the world and bearing witness to the strength of love between Christ and His Bride, the Church.

How do you bear living witness to the communal aspects of marriage?

Sunday

Camping and Psalm 145

I will exalt you, my God the King;
       I will praise your name for ever and ever.

Every day I will praise you
       and extol your name for ever and ever.

Great is the LORD and most worthy of praise;
       his greatness no one can fathom.

One generation will commend your works to another;
       they will tell of your mighty acts.

They will speak of the glorious splendor of your majesty,
       and I will meditate on your wonderful works.

They will tell of the power of your awesome works, 
       and I will proclaim your great deeds.

They will celebrate your abundant goodness
       and joyfully sing of your righteousness.

 

The LORD is gracious and compassionate,
       slow to anger and rich in love.

The LORD is good to all;
       he has compassion on all he has made.

All you have made will praise you, O LORD; 
       your saints will extol you.

They will tell of the glory of your kingdom
       and speak of your might,

so that all men may know of your mighty acts
       and the glorious splendor of your kingdom.

Your kingdom is an everlasting kingdom,
       and your dominion endures through all generations.
       The LORD is faithful to all his promises
       and loving toward all he has made.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The LORD upholds all those who fall
       and lifts up all who are bowed down.

The eyes of all look to you,
       and you give them their food at the proper time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

You open your hand 
       and satisfy the desires of every living thing.

The LORD is righteous in all his ways
       and loving toward all he has made.

The LORD is near to all who call on him,
       to all who call on him in truth.

He fulfills the desires of those who fear him;
       he hears their cry and saves them.

The LORD watches over all who love him,
       but all the wicked he will destroy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My mouth will speak in praise of the LORD.
       Let every creature praise his holy name
       for ever and ever.

S-Word, L-Word: What's It Matter?

This is the third post in a three-part series on Ephesians 5. Please refer here and here for the previous posts.

What would Christian marriage look like if wifely submission and husbandly love really mattered? What would happen if we truly conceived of the husband as being the head of his wife as being correlative to the wife being his body? What would it be like if Christians saw wifely submission and husbandly love as daily, all-inclusive commands, not as emergency orders to be executed in dire cases of need?

Remember, neither submission nor love can ever be forced. I mentioned this in my post on submission, though I did not expound on it in my post on love due to space and scope for clarity's sake. I will reiterate and elaborate here.

In order for submission to be submission, it must be chosen by the one submitting. Otherwise, it is merely obedience or even subjugation. In the same way, love, in order to be love must be the choice of the lover, not the beloved. Love that is coerced or manipulated is not love. Note also that, submission means that the submitter is submitting to the will of someone else. No "neck controlling the head" manipulation; true submission.

I want to make one final point in this regard, and that is regarding sacrifice. If we can agree that Christ's love was sacrificial and that the husband is called to love his wife "just as Christ loved the Church," then we can agree that a husband is also called to sacrifice himself for his wife. This means that, even as he leads his wife as the head, the husband will be called upon by God to give things up for his wife, to deny himself things so that she might benefit, and to do things on her behalf that he would otherwise rather not do. This is not an abdication of headship; it is the nature of sacrifice. A sacrifice is not a sacrifice if it is something that the sacrificer doesn't mind doing. If something isn't being overcome or given up, then sacrifice has not occurred. A husband cannot love his wife sacrificially if he doesn't conciously and willingly make sacrifices.

So, wives, what will your choice be?

Couching your own ideas so that your husband thinks they're his is not enough. Submitting only when you're at loggerheads is not enough. Submitting only when he shows you love is not enough. Will you choose to live in rebellion to God's word, or will you choose to willingly and joyfully submit to your husband's God-given headship? I'm not diametrically opposed to gray areas in theology, but in this instance, there is no gray area; there is no middle ground.

And husbands, what will your choice be?

Remember as you reflect on your options that God never called any man to "become the head" of his wife. A husband is already the head of his wife by virtue of being her husband. There's no glory in being the head of your wife. That's like saying there is glory in being left-handed or being born in June. You didn't have anything to do with it; you just are. Man is the image and glory of God, but headship is not the glory of man--as a matter of fact, woman is (1 Corinthians 11:7)! It is good for a man to live out his headship in a righteous way, and God will call him to account for his, but merely being the head is no more an act of righteous obedience than being a man. Moreover, executing his headship honorably in no way supercedes or exempts the husband's specific duty to love his wife.

To put it another way, when a husband stands before the Gates of Glory, the Lord will not ask him whether or not he took charge as the head of his wife; that was never in his job description; it was his God-given title from the get-go. The Lord will ask, though, whether the husband lived up to this title and how well he executed his duty to love his wife, to what extent and to what degree. If the husband is just waiting around, proudly boasting how he'd be willing to take a bullet for his wife should the opportunity ever arise, then he's not likely to have much to say for himself. But, if he considers Christlike love to be a way of life in his marriage, then it's Christ who will have something to say on the Day of Judgment, the sweetest words any man or woman can ever hope to hear:

"Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!" (Matthew 25:23)

The L-Word

Last time, we talked about the S-word: submit. So, what about the L-word from Ephesians 5. Scratching your head? Biting your nails? "What else are wives supposed to do? Wasn't submission in everything enough?" Don't worry; the L-word isn't for wives. It's for husbands.

LOVE.

Ephesians 5:25 says, "Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her..." Verse 28 continues, "In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself."

Why isn't this emphasized more in conservative Christian circles, this command for husbands to love their wives? Don't get me wrong; I definitely think it's mentioned, discussed even, but it's not emphasized. I'm not speaking comprehensively, but from what I see on complementarian blogs, from what I heard for years in sermons at both Reform and Evangelical churches and fellowships, the emphasis is placed always on the wife's submission whenever Ephesians 5 comes up--either trying to explain it, exhort it, or evade it.

In fact, apart from when someone is quoting the Scriptures, I rarely even hear (or read) of the husband's love as being the correlative command to the wife's submission. Rather, I all too often hear that the wife must willingly submit to her husband's headship (true), and that he should in turn act as a "servant leader," which is also true but not an accurate correlative. Nowhere does the Scripture instruct the husband to "be a servant leader to his wife"--it instructs him to love her.

Maybe it's because love is a less controversial topic than submission that the husband's command to love is often overlooked or eclipsed in the longwinded rhetoric about the wife's command to submit to her husband. That could be a legitimate excuse, but it is merely an excuse, not a defense.

Perhaps it is deemphasized because we've already "heard too much" about luuhhhv as Christians¹. In a way, it might seem like the husband is just being reminded to do what all Christians are called to do: to love one another even as Christ loved us (John 13:34-35). But, then why say it at all? Why call husbands out specifically to love in this specific relationship?

By the same logic, one could argue that wives are commanded to submit only in the sense that all Christians are called to submit, since Ephesians 5:21 says, "Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ," but complementarians are the first to point out that if this were the case, then the subsequent verses on submission in Ephesians 5 would be superfluous; they wouldn't mean anything. But, all Scripture means something. So, the wife must be called to submit to her husband in a particular way. So, too, is the husband called to love his wife in a particular way, and Ephesians 5 explains how.

THE HUSBAND IS CALLED TO LOVE HIS WIFE...

1. "...just as Christ loved the Church..."
2. "...and gave Himself up for her to make her holy..."
3. "...as [his] own bod[y]..."
4. as he loves himself (Ephesians 5:28)

When the husband's command to love his wife is discussed, it is usually in the context of point #2, so I will begin there. Conservative Christian husbands are instructed these days that they can show his Christlike love for their wives by being willing to die for them. It's a tall order--a fact that is pointed out ad nauseum whenever the subject is raised. Quite frankly, though, this sort of talk always made me feel like the men got off pretty easy.

I mean, wives are called to submit "in everything." If my husband's only correlative obligation is to take a bullet for me on the off-chance that someone attempts to murder me in cold blood in his presence, then I'm thinking I got the thin end of the wedge. Fortunately, this isn't what Scripture is saying. As you can see from looking at Ephesians 5 carefully, being willing to die for his wife as Christ died for the Church is only one aspect of the husband's duty to love his wife.

Did Christ show His love for us only on the Cross? Did Christ love us only by dying in our stead? No. He sacrificially loved day in, day out, in little things as well as major ones. This is point #1 in the above outline, and it's directly related to point #3. Let's take a look at just one illustrative passage from the Gospels.

Mark 6 tells us that, after preaching all day long so that He never even had a chance to eat, Jesus asks His disciples to sail off with Him so they can all rest. But, the crowds follow them and when the boat docks, Jesus "has compassion on them," ignores His own very real hunger and fatigue, and continues to preach some more. Not only that--he has more compassion for their hunger than His own. He takes what little there is and feeds the Five Thousand.

Think about it. These people adored Jesus! They were willing to go without meals and outrun a boat to chase him around a lake just to hear Him talk. Scripture does not tell us so, but it's no stretch to imagine that these people probably would have been happy to give Jesus the couple of fish and few loaves of bread they could scrounge up among them. Something else the Scripture doesn't mention? The people don't tell Jesus that they're hungry. He has compassion on them and takes notice not only of their expressed desire to hear His teachings but also of their unmentioned hunger. This is the way Christ loves: He loves our spirits and our bodies; His love is attentive, active, tangible, and sacrifical. Now that's what I call a tall order.

Finally, let's take a look at point #4. At first glance, this is pretty much just a reiteration of the Golden Rule. As we've already discussed, though, all Scripture means something, which means that the husband's command to love the wife as he loves himself has a unique meaning for this unique relationship. I am not a Bible scholar, and I will not presume to say that I hold the monopoly on wisdom for this point, but just as a contribution to dialogue, I will offer my thoughts on what I think the uniquness of this command relates to.

I think what we're seeing here is a picture of the indissolubility of marriage. Whoa, is that ever a foreign concept in our modern no-fault-divorce era. Ever wonder why Orthodox Christians (Roman Catholic, Eastern Othodox, etc.) don't allow divorce? It's because these faiths recognize as Christ and His apostles taught that we, as human beings, can't allow divorce. Mark 10:9: "Therefore, what God has joined together let not man separate."

If we really understood that the husband was the head of his wife and conceived of the wife as the body of her husband, then we would understand just a little bit more why St. Paul calls marriage a "mystery." The husband and wife are "one flesh." You can't separate a head from a body. You can't separate a body from a head. If you do, the result (decapitation) is gruesome and deadly. Divorce is decapitation.

This the fourth reason that a husband is told to love his wife and it is, perhaps, the most compelling. If the husband fails to love his wife as the body to which he is the head, then he is literally harming himself. If he divorces her or induces her to divorce him, then he is literally harming himself. Conversely, if a husband does love his wife as Christ loves--attentively, actively, tangibly, and sacrificially, even unto death--then he is literally blessing himself as he blesses her.

¹ For the record, I don't think we can ever hear too much about love; I'm merely borrowing some of rhetoric I often here that men are tired of the grace part of the Gospel and more interested in the "hard stuff"--as if loving our enemies, loving others as ourselves, and loving God with all our being were not the hardest and most central commands of Scripture! Also for the record, I don't think the Complemetarians who use this rhetoric are anti-love, either, but they should understand just how their rhetoric can be easily misconstrued.

Feast of St. Thomas More

St. Thomas More was a brilliant man: a lawyer, a philospher, a writer, a statesman, advisor to the King, and for a time, Chancellor of England. He was a family man: a devoted husband and a loving father who wrote tirelessly to his children when away; he was firm about his desire to reside at his family's private residence rather at court. A Renaissance humanist, More was a champion of education, in particular, the education of women, whom he (at the time quite radically) believed to be men's intellectual equals.

Most notably, Thomas More was a man of faith, of unswerving devotion to our Lord, unwavering loyalty to the Catholic Church, and of unassailable integrity.

I admire St. Thomas More ardently, and I have always drawn great inspiration and encouragement from his life and (I am sure) from his prayers. So today, on his feastday, I want to share with you two glimpses into the man, the martyr, the saint.

A Prisoner's Prayer

Sir Thomas More wrote the following prayer while imprisoned in the Tower of London for refusing to deny his conscience. He was imprisoned by King Henry VIII, whom he had advised from youth and who had always been his friend. It was under Henry's orders that More was first bereft of visitors, then his possessions, and finally his life.

Give me the grace, Good Lord, to set the world at naught. To set the mind firmly on You and not to hang upon the words of men's mouths.


To be content to be solitary. Not to long for worldly pleasures. Little by little utterly to cast off the world and rid my mind of all its business. Not to long to hear of earthly things, but that the hearing of worldly fancies may be displeasing to me.


Gladly to be thinking of God, piteously to call for His help. To lean into the comfort of God. Busily to labor to love Him.


To know my own vileness and wretchedness. To humble myself under the mighty hand of God. To bewail my sins and, for the purging of them, patiently to suffer adversity.


Gladly to bear my purgatory here. To be joyful in tribulations. To walk the narrow way that leads to life.


To have the last thing in remembrance. To have ever before my eyes my death that is ever at hand. To make death no stranger to me. To foresee and consider the everlasting fire of Hell. To pray for pardon before the judge comes.


To have continually in mind the passion that Christ suffered for me. For His benefits unceasingly to give Him thanks.


To buy the time again that I have lost. To abstain from vain conversations. To shun foolish mirth and gladness. To cut off unnecessary recreations.


Of worldly substance, friends, liberty, life and all, to set the loss at naught, for the winning of Christ.


To think my worst enemies my best friends, for the brethren of Joseph could never have done him so much good with their love and favor as they did him with their malice and hatred.


These minds are more to be desired of every man than all the treasures of all the princes and kings, Christian and heathen, were it gathered and laid together all in one heap.


Amen. 

Martyrdom

The following scene from Showtime's hit series The Tudors depicts the martyrdom of St. Thomas More. Despite the series' penchant for over-dramatization of historical events, this event is remarkably accurate.

Please note that, due to the violent nature of St. Thomas' martyrdom, this video is not for young readers.

St. Thomas More, pray for us.

The S-Word

Those of you who hang around sites like this one or LAF, for which I am a contributing writer, have come across a little word that crops up several times in Ephesians 5 and which is sometimes disparagingly termed by Feminists and Christians alike as the S-word:

SUBMIT

Ephesians 5:22-24 and 33 makes no bones about it: a wife is commanded by her Maker and Redeemer to submit to her husband "in everything." This command is not relegated, as some have claimed, to the rare occasion when push comes to shove. "In everything" does not mean "as a last resort," or "on the off chance that you just can't seem to come to a mutual decision." No, Scripture is plain as day: "Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything" (Eph. 5:24). Period. No qualms. No qualifiers.

The only exception to this rule is when the husband explicitly commands his wife to do something contrary to the law of God. In such cases, the wife would be compelled to follow God's authority, which is greater than her hsuband's. However, even in households where the husband is an unbeliever, this happens a whole lot less frequently than we wives care to admit. We love to throw around that "exception" card. We think it lets us off the hook. We like to get off the hook. But, Scripture doesn't let us off the hook. Wives are commanded to submit the their husbands "in everything," day in, day out, in little things as well as major ones.

Scripture is not relative. Every husband is the head of his wife.

"In truth, headship is a spiritual reality. Like manhood, it's a gift from God...Manhood is an aspect of male adulthood that cannot be taken away.So too headship is an aspect of husbandhood. Manhood can be obscured,and headship can be denied. But neither is elusive, and neither can be taken away. A man is a man plain and simple. And for as long as a man is married, the husband is the head of his wife." (Sarah Sumner, Men and Women in the Church p. 168).

This headship is not dependent on the wife's submission; it is not even dependent on the husband's own understanding or execution of that headship. The husband does not establish his headship. God does. The wife does not bestow or convey headship. God does.

So, a wife's submission is not dependent on her husband's ability to lead, on his spiritual maturity, on his willingness to love her as Christ loved the Church (Ephesians 5:25), or even on the status of his salvation. It is dependent on his relationship as her husband.

It is important to note, too, that while submission is required because of the husband's headship, the husband can never force his wife to submit. In a sense, he can't even command his wife to submit, because God has already done that. And, in order for submission to be submission, it must be willed by the one who is submitting, in other words by the wife. Otherwise, it is not submission; it is merely obedience or even subjugation. Submission is a choice. It is the wife's choice alone to make. In this sense, then, her husband cannot lead her, though he is her head; she must lead herself into submission¹.

¹ I first conceived of it in these terms by reading Men and Women in the Church by Sarah Sumner, which I paraphrase here (p. 170). However, I think Dr. Sumner would be the first to advocate that this concept does not belong to her but to the public domain, since it is, by her own assertion, merely stating that which is expressed in God's Holy Word. This is the reason I cite her contribution only in a footnote, rather than within the text.

Father's Day Sunday

The mug I gave to my Daddy on Father's Day 1987. I was three and he was happy.

The years marched and I yielded to spring breaks and heavy-bellied summers. God willing, autumn will come and winter. My father lived in winter, but he never lived to let his grandchildren run sticky hands in his snow-white hair. He didn't live long enough to have white hair, only a speckling sprinkling of gray just beginning, the seasons just starting to change again. He stopped. Aborted. Ran so hard from living that now there is nothing left to change. So I change in his stead, in his absence, with sticky precious hands caressing my hair.

I drink tea from a mug whose message still rings true.

It has been twenty-three years. In one month--a breath, a beat--my daughter will turn three. Three, like I was when he was happy. And I am happy, and I am sad.

With so many things shattered, the mug is not. Nor the memories. My tea is hot. I sip in steam with sunshine pouring in, and I know the comfort of warmth and seasons past and seasons still to be. I read the mug again, remember, whisper small and sad the words of a three year old in her proud Daddy's arms. I said it with a mug, and I'll say it again and always and for ever.

I love you, Dad.

Proverbs 31 Reflections: Verse 15

"Woman Baking Bread" by Jean Francois Millet

"She gets up while it is still dark;

she provides food for her family

and portions for her servant girls."

In my neck of the woods, dawn is highly dependant on the time of year. For example, these days the sun peeks over the horizon around 5 AM. In the short December days, however, it doesn't come up until as late as 8:00. The Book of Proverbs was not written by a Seattlite, though, so I decided to check out what the hours of daylight look like in the Holy Land. It seems that in Israel, the sunrise usually occurs sometime between 6 AM and 6:30 AM all the year round.

If we go by the sunrise in Israel, then we can assume that the Proverbs 31 Woman was getting up sometime before 6:00 on a daily basis, probably closer to 4:30 or 5:00, as she would have to be sure that hot bread was coming out of the oven around dawn when the men would eat before heading out to work the land.

In this day and age, it can be tempting to say, "No way. I'm just not an early riser. I'm a night owl. I work better at night."

Granted, in this technologically advanced age, we have access to nighttime as never before. Our rooms can be flooded with light and we are able to stare at any number of screens at any hour of the day we choose. Nightlife in cities and elsewhere beckons, and even within the walls of our own homes, duties and pleasures and interests and time wasters sing their siren song once the sun sets and the children are finally asleep. Who wouldn't want to be a night owl? I am convinced, however, that this is not how the Lord intended things to be.

Scripture connects the night with two things: sleep and sin (1 Thessalonians 5:5-8). Do you think there aren't enough hours in the day? Read these words of Jesus. Yes, I know they are metaphorical, but the metaphor is still true and applicable.

Dawn, on the other hand, is a time for obedience (Genesis 19:15), action (Genesis 44:3), the beginning of work (Nehemiah 4:21), worship (Psalm 57:8, Psalm108:2), supplication (Psalm 119:147), deliverance (Daniel 6:19), learning (Jonah 4:7, John 8:2), and nourishment (Acts 27:33).

Dawn is a precious time, particularly for a wife and mother whose daylight hours are nearly all claimed by duties, responsibilities, and activities--not only her own, but also those of her household. Dawn is a precious time for these women, women like me, but I know as well as anyone that rising early can be hard. I need an inordinate amount of sleep--at least 7.5 hours, preferably 8, and in pregnancy as many as 12 every single day--in order to thrive. I know what a sacrifice it can be to look at the hour I need to wake in order to get up before my husband and children and start my day off with obedience, with action (usually a jog around my neighborhood in the pale dawn light), with work (making a hot breakfast for my family, perhaps starting a load of laundry), with worship, with prayer and supplication, with learning (reading Scripture or a devotional study), and with nourishment (both physical and spiritual, for both myself and my family). But that is what I am called to do, and let me tell you, the days on which I rise early are blessed days. 

Proverbs 31 is not a "command" chapter; the Proverbs 31 Woman is the "Ideal Wife," someone to emulate, not someone to obey. Not everyone can do things the way she does. There are those who have to work night shifts, who must stay awake with a sick child, or who suffer from insomnia. There are also times when forgoing sleep for the purpose of a vigil or prayer is appropriate and good; we see evidence of this in Scripture and in the lives of the saints. These exceptions, however, should not negate a healthy normative rule of "early to bed, early to rise."

You may be a night owl now. Would it surprise you to know that I was, too, at one time? Back in high school, when my classes didn't start until 8:30. Oddly enough, it was in college, when most of my peers were partying until dawn and sleeping until noon, that I reshaped my sleep schedule so that I could retrain myself to be an early bird. Sometimes, I would have to go to bed at 9 PM so that I could wake up early enough to run my daily mile, shower, eat breakfast, and do my morning devotional before my first class. This wasn't easy, considering I often had rehearsals right up until 9:00. I still made it work, and oh! I cannot tell you what blissful, joyful, productive, blessed days those were!

These days, my husband and especially my children have more of an impact on my bedtime than I do, and I don't always make it down in time to rise before dawn. Besides, getting up before dawn these days (before 5 AM) would be a little excessive. But, it is my goal to get up sometime between 6:00 and 6:30 each morning so that I can begin my day well, offering up what is to come to my Lord who has preserved me through the night.

"What Will Be"

“What Will Be”
by Bethany Hudson

We will go away from here.

You will grow apples from seed.
Bring them to me.
I’ll lay them to rest
in blankets of crust
with a dusting of cinnamon,
pinch of nutmeg,
some vanilla,
six tiny pats of butter.

On a June morning
before night dew
entirely sublimates
in summer glare,
I will go to the garden,
cut a bowl of peonies
to place on the table
at your elbow.
You will raise your eyes to me
and smile.
It will be enough
and good.

Smell of sweet hay on the air,
the both of us covered in dust and dreams,
I’ll amble, belly swelling, barefoot
to greet you on the porch
with cups of sweet tea.
The glass pitcher sweats.
You and I sweat.

What once was will be.
I will claim what was for me.
And you’ll in turn claim me.

It will be good
and enough
and good.

Comments? Critiques? Fashion tips?

What do y'all think of the new design and layout? Anything I can improve?

A Gift

A confident hand, large for a boy just become man, proffered in the dry heat of a Los Angeles July on Figueroa Street. A chance meeting mapped to the moment by Providence.

"Hi, I'm Brian Hudson. I'm from Idaho."

I notice the hiking boots with Navy Surplus socks pulled up and backpack strapped across the chest, the small iron cross hanging from a leather cord around his neck. I notice farmer-tanned arms, strong with building houses down in Mexico for a summer. Fingers blistered playing guitar in the streets of Rosarito, worship hymns around the campfire. Blue eyes alight with ambition and kindness. I knew then that he was something rare, a Gentle Man.

On brains and guts, he'd come here on a bus and scholarship and on prayer. This homegrown boy from Idaho, this gentle man blooming with confidence and anticipation who was raised on his Daddy's work ethic and his Mama's grit and on the faith he took for his own at seven years old and wrapped himself in like skin and filled himself with like air.

Some might say he came on dreams, too, but I know better. He never was a dreamer. He was too cautious for that, and in a way, too strong. His brain was always wired to override his heart. Or maybe it was due to a combination of ethic and grit and an iron will that I was powerless not to admire. And, yet here he was living out his dream. Because his head had wrestled long with what was in his heart, and they came out in agreement, and his hands worked hard and his mind was sharp and the grit his Mama gave him from birth married to his Daddy's nose-to-the-grindstone, self-made determination. And because he was being Led by stronger Hands than his.

I put my hand in his that day, and I shook it, and one month later, we were dancing, giddy grown-up children learning love and life side-by-side. The long and short of three years saw those same hands challenge and conquer and mold and make, and then they offered me a promise, diamond-strong and white-gold-pure. I offered it right back in covenant. Though we were young, I had no misgivings, because this gentle man was no dreamer, and his heart cried out to mine, but his head gave the final say, and he took my hands in his and wed me.

In barely a breath, those hands led me North and danced me into motherhood, and I have seen them challenge and conquer and mold and make. And we're dancing still, if we have grown a bit.

This past week, he gave me a gift. Some people might laugh to hear a new sink called  a gift, and the act of installing it with two hands, a box of tools, and the aid of YouTube videos may seem insignificant to some. But, to me it is testimony.

Of a Grandpa's work ethic

and a Grandma's grit

Of a farmer boy's hands

and a brilliant mind

and an iron will

and a love strong and pure

and a covenant

blessed by Hands
even stronger and gentler than his.

Sunday

Horatio Spafford was a 19th century Job. Once a prosperous lawyer, Spafford was financially ruined by the Chicago fire of 1873. Only two years before, he lost his one and only son. A few years after the fire, Spafford contrived to take his wife, Anna, and their daughters to Europe. He sent Anna and the girls on ahead. There was a collision at sea, and their ship sank in the Atlantic. Anna was the only member of the family to survive, and she sent Spafford a telegram: SAVED ALONE.

Spafford set sail to meet his grieving wife. On the way, the captain of his ship pointed out the place where the S.S. Ville du Havre had sunk. Spafford, it is said, turned, went to his cabin, and wrote the words of the timeless hymn "It Is Well With My Soul."

To choose praise in the face of grief, rather than despair. Is this not the very definition of courage?



When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to know,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life,
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

But Lord, 'tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul.

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.

- Horatio Spafford

Blessings, from my home to yours.

Birthday Brownies for Bethany

Our family is going camping this weekend with friends, and my 26th birthday also happens to fall right smack dab in the middle of the trip. Yeah, you like how I actually told you my age? That's going to come back to bite me in a few years' time when y'all dig up this post and do the remedial math to work out my age then.

Or maybe not. Perhaps I will come to wear wrinkles and gray hairs and four decades with pride. I certainly hope so, though I am still far too young and idealistic to do more than hope.

Anyway...

This camping excursion wasn't exactly to celebrate my birthday; it just happened to fall that way. Still, celebrate we must. I wanted to keep things simple and not overburden myself, as this is the first time we will be going camping with the children. So, rather than attempt to maneuver a cake or even cupcakes (can't you just picture the tears as pudgy little hands drop a frosting-topped treat in the dirt at the campsite?), I decided to bake some Raspberry Brownies to take along--with candles, of course.

If you're interested, two small changes will make the above recipe, which is delicious in itself, a superlative one: replace the white sugar with brown, and stir a tablespoon of Chambord into the jam. Use homemade jam, if possible. There's no need to use expensive chocolate for this recipe, so the addition of Chambord does not make them unreasonably costly, though they certainly taste like they are!

For easy packing, pre-cut, wrap in aluminum foil, and place in a gallong freezer bag. Now you don't have to bring along that sharp knife you were worried about the kids finding. ;-)

* The Bookworm's Library has been updated: Honey in the Horn by H.L. Davis and Summer Cooking by Elizabeth David

Mourning Three Months Later

It's been exactly three months since my father's death. Through this time, I have felt myself bathed in prayer as I never have before--at least never so consciously. I know that many of you reading this are the reason for this, and I cannot thank you enough. God is good all the time. All the time. And, I am blessed, and I am grateful.

Three days from now, I will celebrate my twenty-sixth birthday. Last year, my father flew out to celebrate my twenty-fifth and, the following day, my son's Baptism. It never crossed my mind that he would not be living the following year.

Three months into grief, and what have I found? I have learned that grief is a wave you must ride, whatever form it takes, and that God will hold you up, whatever it brings, and that He will guide you back to the shore in His time. I have been disillusioned, and I have found meaning. I have been wounded, and I have found healing. I have been battered and burdened, and I have found peace. I have grieved, and I have found myself in Jesus' arms.

God is good all the time.

Many of my friends and family have requested that I share the eulogy I read at my father's service. I think today is a good day for me to revisit the words I spoke when the grief was fresh. If you feel it will bring you any healing or blessing, then I invite you to share this reflection with me.

* * *

On the evening of March 9th, my husband, Brian, said to me, “This is just so tragic. Who will be able to write the eulogy?”

 Without missing a beat, I said, “I will.” And, as those of you who know me well might imagine, my difficulty has been not in finding the words to say but in keeping them few.

What do you say in the wake of a suicide? You say, “I’m sorry.” And, you never think it’s enough, and it never is, and yet it always is. You say, “I’m sorry.” You say, “I love you.” You say these things not only because they are true but because they are the things my dad would say if he could speak to us now.

My father has always been a sort of wonderful paradox for me. He was a man who alternately dreamed of travelling the world and of moving to a little house in the country to raise chickens. He was the life of the party, but he always went to bed hours before anyone else. He was a kind and compassionate person. He was also the world’s most infamous practical joker, many of his jokes being quite cruel. He loved people deeply. He also hurt people deeply. It is okay to say these things. It is okay to see the bad, as well as the good. We will celebrate his life, but there are also questions left unanswered, wounds that left unhealed, and in order to mourn Dad, we must face these darker things if we are to truly be able to celebrate.

But, let’s celebrate first. I know you all have your favorite memories of my father. His infectious laugh. His goofy sense of humor. Fishing trips. Business trips. Family trips. Holidays. Birthdays. Wedding days. Ordinary days. I would like to share with you a very few of my favorite memories of my dad.

I remember his hands. How they were so dry that sometimes, they would just start to bleed for no reason at all. I remember how rough they were. These are hands that I loved very much. That would soothe me to sleep, that would hold me when I was sick or sad, that would grip my own little hands as I rode on my daddy’s shoulders so that I could see above the crowds.

My first memory ever is actually of my dad. I was probably two or three years old. I was wearing a Care Bear nightshirt, and it was twilight. My father and Greg Russell, actually, and I were out in our sailboat. I was in the galley playing Cinderella. My father was trying to talk to Greg, but whenever I ran to him and begged him to play with me, he would spout off a line from the movie, and, delighted, I would scamper back to the galley, secure in the knowledge that my Da loved me more than anything.

Another favorite memory of my father is also from a time at the Thousand Islands. When I was little, my dad would wake me up before sunrise and carry me to the front dock in my pajamas. We would sit on the orange glider and rock and watch the sun come up. Afterwards, he would carry me back to bed. I don’t think we ever spoke. We never needed to.

I remember making Eastman House rolls with my dad, possibly the most complicated yeast dough recipe ever created. It took hours and hours. He was so proud. I was so happy he wanted to share it with me.

I remember when Dad’s company made it on the cover of Forbes magazine. And how I accidentally left a pop can on the copy my mother meant to have framed for him!

I remember the look of pride on my father’s face the day I got cast in To Kill a Mockingbird, my first professional show. I think he was prouder about that than about Forbes.

I remember dancing with him on my wedding day, and how I cried and cried and cried, and how he cried, too.

I remember telling him, on the day we found out the gender of our first baby, that he was going to have a granddaughter. He cried then, too. And, he cried when she was born. And he cried again at the birth of our son. And he came out to meet them and to attend their baptisms. And it was then that I became so hopeful. He was so full of joy when he held my babies.

I remember, so vividly, a trip he made out to see us last year. Sophia had just started to be able to remember who her grandparents were between trips, and she was enamored with him. At naptime, she wanted Grandpa to read her a story, and she chose A Lion in the Night by Pamela Allen. He sat down on the floor, and Sophia sat just in front of him, and he wrapped his arms around her and he read the book, an old copy of mine, and he said, “I remember. I remember this now.” It was more than the story. For the first time in a long time, I remembered, too, and for the first time in a long time, I had my Da back.

I will spend my life sharing memories, with you, with my children. And though I also have painful memories of my father, particularly in recent years, I am grateful to have so many good ones. I only wish there were time for more.

But, as I said, in such a tragedy, there must be something not less but more than the celebration of a life. There is also the reconciling of a life that was taken in such a sad and violent manner. Brian and I often spoke over recent years of how we could love my father better. We tried to reach him, but we never could. I am sure many of you felt the same way. All the while, I watched my father’s life unravel and I saw, at every turn, the hand of God reaching out to him, but it seemed that God could not reach him, either. I believe now that my father was just in too much pain to reach back.

Several months ago, I asked Brian, “How far down does he have to go? How far until he scrapes the bottom of the barrel and looks up and finally sees God reaching out for him?” And, then he met Veronika, and I hoped, we all hoped, that he was coming back from the darkness. I prayed that he would be able to take God’s hand in the broad daylight now, and not in the dark bottom of the barrel. I still hope that, at the very end, Dad found himself in the loving arms that had been reaching, reaching all these years.

Many of us are feeling bewildered, shocked, and we call into question just how well we knew Don Carlberg. He could be very open and outgoing, but he was also a fiercely private and even secretive man. No one can truly know all that is in a person's soul, but there are two people whose relationships with my dad might give us a little more perspective. My mother knew my father, I think, better than anyone. They met when they were nineteen. They were best friends for over thirty years, and even after their divorce, my mother saw into his soul in a way that few people could. I think, perhaps, this is why she had such profound compassion for him. Veronika had the unique privilege of knowing my father as he wished he could be. The great tragedy is that I think that these two Dons, the man that he was and the man that he wanted to be, were always the same man, and he was the only one who didn’t know this. I hope that, now, he is being made whole.

I am sorry that my children will never know him. I am sorry that he was so sad, so broken, so lost, and in such pain and in such darkness. I am sorry that I cannot go to him now and wrap my arms around him and tell him, "I'm sorry. I love you. It will be alright." I am sorry that there is nothing left to make alright, that it is over. It seems incredible. It is surreal. Repeatedly, I imagine what it must have been like, that morning. I will not share those thoughts with you. They are too horrific and too private, but I will say that, even in through the anger and hurt I feel, the only words that flash through my mind with those images are, "I love you. I love you, Da."

The last time I spoke to my Dad was about a week before he died. I called him. I'm glad I called him. The last thing he said to me was, "I love you. Give my love to Brian and Sophia and James." And my last words to him were, "I love you, Dad. Bye." And, for this, how can I not be grateful?

Many of you know that my relationship with my dad has not been easy in recent years. I know that his relationships with many of you have seen their ups and downs, as well. Now, perhaps, we know a little better why this was, though it does not make it any easier, and I wish desperately, so desperately for time, for years and healing and a restoration and an absolution that will never come. I wish that he were not dead, and that it had not happened in this horrible way. But, I am profoundly grateful that I chose to love him until it hurt and even beyond the place of pain, that I forgave him while there was still time, and that I told him--and told him repeatedly--that I loved him. I know that many of you can say the same, and for that, we are blessed. And for that, I thank you.

And, so, I have only one more thing to add. Daddy, I love you. I forgive you. I miss you. Good-bye.

Proverbs 31 Reflections: Verse 14

"Lady with a Milk Pitcher" by Johannes Vermeer

"She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar."

From my understanding, this verse is not primarily referring to the importance of going a long way to get what you need. The merchant ships brought high quality provisions that could not be gotten or produced locally. It wasn't the distance that matter, it was the type and quality of the goods themselves.
 
Of course, we cannot just go out and buy quality everything. Nobody has unlimited resources, and most homemakers are accutely aware of exactly how unlimited their resources are. Sometimes, buying the cheapest option is the wisest (or only) option. Often, though, it is not.

There is an old saying that goes, "Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without." Think about it: If you are not purchasing for cheap consumption and really plan on use things up or wearing them out, then it is advisable to purchase quality items in the first place. You may have to make what you have "do" in the meantime, while you're saving up for your purchase, or you may have to (or choose to) do without certain things.

I think there's one more bit of advice that goes well with the above saying, though it doesn't fit into the meter or rhyme: Make it yourself! Many of the things you might pay top dollar for quality for (a loaf of excellent bread, for example) can be had for a small fraction of that price by making it at home with your own hands. Note that this is not true of everything: You can often get quality clothing at thrift stores for much less than it would cost to make, for example.

And, remember that it's not always about frugality--or about quality. It's about good stewardship and a thankful heart. The most admirable homemakers I know are able to cheerfully, creatively, and gratefully put together a home with quality goods, making what they can and taking care that their hard-earned acquisitions be enjoyed thoroughly until they are used up or worn out. In the interim and the dry spells, they make do or do with out, still with joy, creativity, and gratitude.

There is something to be said about those far-off merchant ships, as well. We don't have to join a caravan to bring our provisions from afar, though. We don't even have to leave our living rooms, half the time. That's the beauty of the internet. What are some of your favorite online resources for quality, affordable homemaking purchases?

A Simple Lesson in Living Well

"Bread and water can so easily be toast and tea." - Unknown

Sometimes we're faced with lemons and the option of making lemonade or simply feeling sour. But most of the time, we don't have a citric castastrophe, and our choice is less about making good from bad and more one of making better out of alright. Like using an old jam jar as a vase for wildflowers. Or taking a lazy summer day and some PBJs and making a picnic out of it. 

So, share. What little extra steps do you take to make your everyday life richer?

Sunday

Love will hold us together...

...we're not alone!

The Might of Mercy

"Magdalen" by Murillo

 

Schindler's List is my favorite movie. I know; I think I'm weird, too. Be that as it may. In the movie, there is a scene in which Oskar Schindler tells Nazi Commandant Amon Goth a story to explain what he calls "real power."

"Power is when we have every justification to kill...and we don't."

"You think that's power?" the drunken Amon asks dubiously.

"That's what the emperors had," Schindler continues. "A man stole something, he's brought in before the emperor, he throws himself down on the ground, he begs for mercy, he knows he's going to die. And the emperor pardons him. This worthless man, he lets him go.... That's power, Amon. That is power."

The Church today has a lot to say about the mercy and the grace of God--and well it should! But, sometimes I wonder if we have forgotten the awesome might of this mercy. For God is not only merciful; He is also powerful. In fact, it is precisely because of His great power that His mercy is so incredible.

If we deserved mercy or if we did not need it, it would not be mercy at all. Sadly, this is how some people within the Church would like to peddle mercy. It is more politically correct; it is certainly more comfortable. One thing it is not is mercy.

Mercy, to be mercy, must be undeserved. We must realize that we are the "worthless man" before the Emperor. We must recognize our own sin--not our "shortcomings" or "weaknesses" or "fall-outs from our difficult childhoods" or any other euphemism--our SIN. It is a good thing to recognize that we are sinners. It does not make us downtrodden or repressed or neurotic. It frees us. Because it is truth. And, only when we recognize the depth and weight of our own sin can we truly throw ourselves before the throne of God. And, it is only on our knees that we will know MERCY.

Mercy will lift us up and wash us clean and make us totally new.

Not because we deserve it.
Not because that's what God has to do when we throw ourselves on our knees.
Not because God must grant us mercy.
Not because God "accepts" our sin or does not call it sin.
Not because mercy can be earned through contrition.

Grace is not cheap.
Grace cannot be bought--cheaply or otherwise.
It is a gift.

A mighty gift.

Jesus understood this. When He told us to turn the other cheek. When He walked to Calvary in silence. When He forgave those who betrayed and beat Him. When He was crucified. When He took a contrite, broken traitor named Peter and accepted his love and gave him a great Commission. Jesus knew that submission is not weakness, for submission, like mercy, can never be forced. If it is, it is not submission. It is oppression. Likewise, mercy that is not a choice is no mercy. It is justice. Or it is a demonstration of disdain or neglect.

But mercy...real mercy is powerful.
Mercy is what we need because justice would destroy us.

Let us remember that we are the "worthless man." Yes, worthless. Only in light of this will we know the rapturous joy of the centurion soldier who said, "I am not worthy--but only say the word!" (Matthew 8:8). Only by recognizing ourselves as sinners in the Presence of Holiness can we know what mercy is. That is power. That is beauty. That is grace.

Keeping Birthdays Simple

It can be terribly tempting to go overboard on our little ones' birthdays. After all, we want them to know and feel how very special they are. These days, so many parents are throwing such elaborate parties for their little ones, we don’t want to feel like Scrooge McDuck. We also don’t want to disappoint the exuberant grandparents, aunts, cousins, and friends who want to show their own affection for our little ones.

Nonetheless, it is my conviction that, especially in the early years, simple is best for children’s birthday celebrations. It’s easier on Mom and Dad and much more enjoyable for the child himself.

Here is what we do to keep things simple for our children’s birthdays:

1. Set a modest budget for presents and stick to it! Additionally, you can request that loved ones stick to one gift—or even make a request in invites for “no presents—just your presence!”

 

Here is a wooden xylophone James received from his Grandma. Gifts from Mama and Daddy, godmother, aunt, and grandparents were similarly simple. On the invitation for his party, we asked friends to bring potluck dishes rather than gifts, so they still felt that they were participating, but James was not bogged down with toys, which would likely have overwhelmed him completely.

2. Preferential Treatment. Let your child choose one special event for the day--or even a small one, like which playground to play at. Shotgun (if he or she is old enough) in the car. The main course for dinner. You get the idea. Nothing says, “You’re special” like having your preferences acquiesced to for one special day of the year.

James isn’t really able to make many decisions of his own yet (though he has plenty of opinions!), but I did make his favorite breakfast: orange-chocolate chip pancakes. I also made some fresh squeezed orange juice to go with it.

3. A few simple traditions. Don’t go overboard. Just one or two special things that you can easily do year in and year out with each and every child. The simpler, the sweeter. These are precious childhood memories in the making.

My children always get to lick the spoon/bowl when I make their birthday cake. Here is James licking the chocolate cream-cheese frosting off the spatula after I iced his cake.

Brian and I also write birthday letters to our children for their birthdays. We tell them what this past year of loving and guiding them has been like, the traits and virtues we love most about them, and what we are most looking forward to in the year to come. We also share with them our hopes and prayers for their lives. When they are eighteen, we will put all the letters into a special book to give to them when they leave home.

4. Limit the guest list. Remember that children can be easily overwhelmed—and so can moms and dads of little ones! On James’ birthday, we mainly celebrated as a family (just me, Brian, and the kids), though we did invite our dear downstairs neighbors up to sing “Happy Birthday” and share the cake.

 

 

We also had a small party this weekend. James is blessed to share his birthday with his Grandpa, my father-in-law, who lives just a few hours away. Since their birthday is always right around Memorial Day weekend, it also gives us a convenient long weekend to go visiting. So, we spent Memorial Day in picturesque North Idaho where we were able to celebrate with my in-laws, James' godfather, and a few other dear friends.

My in-laws got a delicious DQ ice cream cake with a special inscription for the Birthday Buddies. We provided grillables & fixins and beverages, and we asked each guest to bring a side dish to pass. $5 worth of decor from the dollar store brightened the room and completed the preparations.

 

We had planned on a barbecue in the park, but were rained out the last minute. James’ godfather generously offered his house as an alternate location, and since the party was so simple, it was no trouble at all to transport the event there. We grilled on the porch, and everyone had a great time chatting, eating, and play Rock Band!

5. End early. On James’ actual birthday and the day of the party, we worked around our normal schedule. This meant that the party ran from noon-3 and ended promptly so we could get the guest of honor home for his afternoon nap. It can be tempting to party as you would for a different event, but remember that between the attention, the extra faces, and the sugar, your birthday child is likely to need his naps more than ever, and a little downtime for the whole family is the best thing to ensure a Happy Birthday for all.

And, that is all the humble advice I have to offer thus far. Please feel free to chime in with more suggestions of how to make children’s birthdays special yet simple.