The late summer sun was setting by the time my son’s football practice wrapped up. While the boys grabbed a quick snack, a group of moms lingered nearby chatting and catching up. I tried to appear engaged in the conversation but couldn’t stop big yawns from sneaking out of my mouth.
“I need Starbucks bad,” I said.
My friend Page looked at me like I was nuts. “Sam, it’s 8:30pm, you want coffee now? Do you have some work to catch up on tonight or something important to do?”
I nodded my head, “Well, sort of-my husband.”
As soon as the words came out, I groaned, because the ladies all started laughing. And then I had to join them. Because the truth is, by Friday night I’m ready for bed at sundown.
With three kiddos, one being a baby who still wakes me up, work, writing, ministry, kids sports, and so on…I’m barely holding my head above water at any given moment.
I blushed and then admitted to them, “Ok, who am I kidding? If my husband is going to get some action tonight, I need a triple Americano, thank you very much!”
***
A recent study by the Edinburgh Sleep Centre asked both men and women if they had to choose between a night of passion or a full night of sleep, which one would they pick? The answer, not surprisingly, was sleep.
The study, of more than 8,500 people, saw 79 per cent admit they preferred the thought of extra sleep to a night of passion. Only 12 per cent of those surveyed said they got eight hours sleep most nights, even thought 40 per cent believed they couldn’t function properly without it.
Personally, I think it’s the wrong question to ask. The human condition has a natural hierarchy of needs; food, water, shelter, and then sleep. A person can survive without sex for awhile (my husband excluded), but they won’t make it too long without sleep. And the reality is, most of us, in this country and in Britain are running so hard and fast that we are ridiculously exhausted and clearly sleep deprived.
So, it’s not that we don’t like sex, but we’d like our sex so much better if we weren’t zombies when we had it. And if we got more sleep, we’d probably feel like having more sex.
(Which brings me back to caffeine, an important job to do, and big yawns)
I went ahead and ordered a tall Americano with the best of intentions, (I mean I really do love my man) but by the time we got home after going out to dinner, put the kids to bed and finally made it to the bedroom, both of us were snoring within two minutes.
I admit it, I love Facebook. I am a total media geek addicted to the social realm. I tweet, link, post and blog mostly on a daily basis. Usually all this talky talk is a good thing, except for when it’s not.
Let’s just say, intent and interpretation can have a vast chasm between them.
On Saturday evening, as the blessed second day of July came to a close, I decided to thank all my friends and family for my lovely birthday wishes.
So, I took a silly picture of the baby and me and posted it to Facebook. My status comment said, “Thank you, thank you for all the birthday blessings! Thirty-nine never looked so good.”
Now, just for clarity I was in jammies. No makeup, no hair styling, just a darling baby and a blissful mommy with a heart full of gooey emotions.
My husband glanced at my post and commented, “Umm, that seems sort of vain,”
“Huh?” I replied.
“Well, it could be interpreted you think you look pretty hot for thirty-nine.” Tim suggested. “I don’t think you mean that, but some people might.”
My eyes filled with tears and spilled over onto my cheeks. “That’s not what I meant at all!
What I meant to say was –turning thirty-nine isn’t as daunting as I thought it would be. My life is bubbling over with precious riches like my toddler, tween and teenager. I don’t feel old; I feel twenty-nine with ten extra years of wisdom.”
“Ok” he said. “I understand your intent but other people might not.”
I lurched for my laptop and angrily deleted my post. I thought about trying to reword it but all my attempts sounded pathetic.
“Umm, yeah… I don’t mean I look hot for thirty-nine. I mean, I don’t look bad, actually, I think I look pretty good for birthing three kids, but I didn’t mean –aren’t I hot? But, if you think I’m pretty, that’s ok too, because it’s nice to feel attractive, but I wasn’t looking for a compliment or trying to brag all over Facebook like I’m some sort of diva.”
I admit I’m vain, but not that vain.
Right. Delete seemed to be the best option.
Over a yummy margarita and chips on Sunday at Casa Ranchera (yes it’s my favorite restaurant); I shared my Facebook tale with some of my closest friends, relative newlyweds who are beginning the journey of navigating marriage.
The husband laughed with a knowing look of insight and said-“Facebook causes more arguments than anything. We spent a whole counseling session over a misunderstanding regarding a picture my wife posted. “
He thought the picture portrayed him in an unflattering and possibly angry light. She thought it was funny. Then he really did get angry and she got hurt.
Bamm! $150 bucks on Facebook therapy.
I’ve learned the hard way, as in some counseling sessions of my own, not to write about my husband or post on my blog without his approval (as a pastor he doesn’t approve of the humor or shock value in some of the stuff I find hysterical, like an occasional well placed bad word, his unedited opinions and anything remotely sexual.
Social media inevitably leads to social conflict.
The beauty (or maybe the detriment) of Facebook is that it reflects ordinary life, with all the misunderstandings between men and women. But the old petty arguments are now magnified in front of five hundred of our closest friends. What used to be an annoying slip of the tongue now morphs into a media fiasco.
Maybe in this new social planet, some things are simply better left unsaid, at the very least edited, or if it’s really funny…maybe worth a little squabble.
It’s official! I am obedient. The receipt below show’s my sincere desire to listen to God after six months of blowing him off. I know none of you would ever cover your ears and sing “La La La La, I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you…” and then do exactly what you know in your heart is defiant, but then again, I probably am the only big sinner around these parts.
So, of course it’s over something silly, my stubborn as Balaam’s Ass streak, but it has been a real stumbling block in my faith. Over Christmas, our family splurged and bought memberships to 24 Hour Fitness.
Our goal was to get healthy together and do some mom/dad/kid bonding with dumbbells. But, part of negotiating this deal with my husband included me canceling my membership to LA Fitness, which is close to my office, but nowhere near our home.
I promised hubby I would do it, but then I didn’t. I procrastinated, I put it off, I secretly liked my cushier gym and hoped Tim might forget his request.
But he didn’t forget and constantly questioned me over, and over, and over. And in response, I would quietly change the subject, defer gracefully and try to look sheepishly cute. We both knew I was being a mule and while Tim was kind enough to not force the issue, God on the other hand was not.
Now I have been a gym-rat for the last twenty-five years. Working out is my thing, my big stress reliever and what I consider to be a healthy coping mechanism (alongside copious amounts of prayer, girlfriends and an occasional margarita).
But ironically, since Christmas I have been thwarted in a million ways to find the time or energy to drag my sorry butt through the gymnasium doors. Kolby has been sick, then not sleeping, and church busyness has been overwhelming.
Lunchtime at my office was always my escape. I could sneak away and catch a run or lift weights and come back to the office sweaty, smelly and happy (possibly TMI).
But all of sudden, as lunch approached, a crippling fatigue would permeate my body and I would find writing to be a much easier endeavor. I actually started to run, for about a week, and then I broke my foot.
It was one thing after the next and I was getting sorely peeved by the non-stop obstacles in my path. It would have been easy to write off my lack of motivation to go to the gym as normal laziness, but this time it seemed like God was trying to get my attention.
On Easter Sunday, during cleanup of the worship service, I accidently kicked a large (lifesize) wooden cross while carrying the baby and a chair. I didn’t see it and wham-delerious pain.
A week later, I was chasing the baby in the church sanctuary when the lights were dim and hit the offering box hard, with the same foot. This time, my whole foot swelled up and turned black.
When I went for x-rays, they confirmed my foot was indeed broken, but it was the cross that had been the culprit, the offering box merely did it in.
Clearly, God was speaking. Maybe the donkey didn’t talk, but the pain in my foot communicated a message. I just didn’t know what it was.
One morning, I decided to test my wobbly foot with a stroll and confessed my frustration to the Lord. And the response I got was humbling, to say the least.
Me praying, “Lord, I’m so bummed…(wah, wah, wah).”
God to me, “Sam, have you ever considered that when you defy your husband you defy me?”
And this was the moment of epiphany. Truth illuminated the boulder of pride lodged in my selfish heart and tears streamed down my face as I lifted up my hands and sincerely repented. (Now don’t forget I am out walking in Ladera Ranch with a stroller)
It was one of those shameless moments in life where I simply wanted my heart to be right with God, and could have cared less if people passing by thought I was a nut.
When I arrived home, I immediately got on the horn and called LA Fitness. Ultimately, I had to go to the gym and cancel in person because, as easy as it is to sign up, they make you go through a thousand hoops to cancel.
When I shared the story with hubby he got very excited and laughed in delight. “Doesn’t if feel good to obey your husband?” he asked.
“Sort of,” I replied. ” But, I don’t really think this was between us.”
I thought to myself how hard submission is, even to a wonderful man. It doesn’t come naturally. But the reward is the sweet serenity of walking in obedience to God.
Receipt for Membership Cancellation
Today’s Date: 6/2/2011
Customer #: 1xxx04
Membership Barcode #: xxxxxxx
Member Name: Samantha Adams
Dues: Too much!
Final Billing Date: 5/15/2011
This confirms cancellation of your membership. This membership will expire on 7/14/2011 and includes application of your pre-paid dues at the time of enrollment. The member is entitled to use of the club through that expiration date. If you have a balance due, it will automatically be charged to your account on file with us, on or after your next regular scheduled billing date, pursuant to the authorization you previously provided.
If you have any questions regarding this notice, please call your local club during normal business hours.
Every time I hear another story of a wayward husband powerful man out finagling instead of legislating, I am sickened, but sadly not surprised. It seems rather par for the coarse these days. The more surprising revelation is a leader with integrity.
Not that Arnold let me down, because I never really bought into the family man façade to begin with. (Though I am so sad for Maria and the kids). Arnold is and was a player. The “gropinator” was clearly operating within his wheelhouse. (Yeah, I know that was mean, but it’s my opinion) This is a guy addicted to fame, fortune and chasing the adrenaline hit. The $2000 suit doesn’t clean up his propensity to lust. But seriously now, isn’t that part of his appeal?
I heard a guy on the radio this morning suggest, “A man is: how he treats his wife.” (If I knew who you were Mr. AM Radio man I would give you a full attribution). I thought his statement was brilliant.
Because in the end, our lives are defined far more by what we do than what we say, and lip service aside, I’m tired of all the Kool-Aid trying to clean up the acts of all the bad boys out there. (Yes, I’m talking to you Tiger)
Another study recently came out suggesting those in high management positions have a greater risk of cheating (discussed on KIIS FM this morning). Maybe it’s a confidence thing? A big ego tied to a powerful position? I guess you don’t get much higher than a governor, unless it’s a launch pad to the job of president? This whopper of a secret makes even Newt Gingrich and President Clinton look tame. Late night TV pundits were claiming it was harder to catch Arnold than Osama Bin Laden.
So, back to the male integrity dealio. The media would make you think all guys are philandering jerks, but I disagree. And, I’ve never been more grateful for all the guys in my life who treat their wives as a treasure. So today, I celebrate you…the Good Guys! (Do I sound like a beer commercial?)
Here’s to the faithful husband’s and dad’s out there that aren’t climbing the corporate ladder but manage to make all their kid’s baseball games (with the team snack). Here’s to the men who wake up at 5:30am on Mother’s Day to stand outside Pavilions and buy their wives’ a card, some flowers and eggs for breakfast(that’s for you honey), and here’s to the man who’s quiet actions speak MUCH louder than his charisma.
Three cheers for all the faithful husband’s and dad’s!
We love you just the way you are and you don’t need a Speedo and muscles to win our hearts.
People are prone to memory lapse, some more so than others (hint, hint honey). We lose the car keys, the iPhone” (ok maybe I hid it), and leave our sunglasses everywhere but on our face.
But often in the marriage realm, we forget something even more important…the person we are, or better yet, who we were before life moved into fourth gear.
Long ago, in a seminary class filled with very spiritual people (ok…not so much), I learned how personalities operate differently under stress. There is our natural personality, the person we are when life is good, and then the shadow personality, the person we are when life gets overwhelming. Looking back, I guess it was one of those red-light warnings suggesting the life of a minister might not be all sunshine and roses.
It seemed like once my husband and I were outnumbered by kids, then deluged by work stress and ministry, this shadow personality started to emerge in full force. It wasn’t an obvious body snatching, but a more subtle transformation amidst a whirlpool of snotty noses, interrupted sleep and a leaky church roof.
Slowly, we lost the best parts of our personality in survival mode. It wasn’t intentional, but it was there, in the unspoken sighs and the little comments like; “Remember our Honeymoon?” (translation “Remember when you used to be fun?”)
When my husband approached me and said we needed a mini-retreat desperately, it was as if God’s voice broke through the busyness cloud and shouted, “Go for it! You are not the job, a mommy martyr, or the pastors wife…you, my darling girl are Mine.”
Deep down, buried under layers and layers of stress, I vaguely remembered underneath all the burdens I carry, there is a whimsical and frisky girl who loves romance, goofy humor, and spontaneity with her man.
“Ok,” I said, faking nonchalance, “When do we leave?”
After two days and two nights with the in-laws, which included one of the best gifts of all…sleep, we were ready and rejuvenated enough to venture out on our own for a whole twenty-two hours of freedom. We got lucky on Priceline and scored a beautiful resort room for a fraction of the cost.
I was shaking in my flip-flops with excitement when we pulled up to the glamorous Hyatt Grand Champions Resort in Indian Wells.
Now I knew the expectations of this mini-retreat. My husband’s idea of vacation is unlimited sex, (sorry to shock all of you who think pastors are celibate) and my idea of vacation is unlimited rest, but I figured somewhere in between the yawns and negligees, we could find a nice compromise.
But a funny thing happens when a woman cuts the cord from her kids, even for just a short period of time. Without the backpack of motherhood weighing me down, I literally felt lighter. My spirit rejoiced in being with my husband and the walls which often separate began to crumble.
When I glanced over at him, he didn’t look like the demanding “horn-dog” I secretly make him out to be when overwhelmed. He looked handsome and content to simply be with his wife and go on an adventure. Maybe it wasn’t just physical?
And all of a sudden, a wave of appreciation rolled over my heart. I saw my husband’s love for what it is…tender and gracious. I could see adoration in his eyes. And so, my heart turned a proverbial corner and leapt with joy and longing for the man God had given me to care for.
As we headed to our room, my emotions crashed around in a crescendo of desire for my husband. Unbeknownst to him, I pilfered his “intimate” agenda. Like Marvin Gaye said best, “Let’s Get It On” played on my internal iPod as we headed to the room. He didn’t know then what my little smile insinuated.
The rest of the story is private, though I can say we both have stupid smiles plastered on our face three days later. But, more importantly, I learned a few things from our mini-retreat that I don’t want to forget.
First, my husband’s overwhelming need for intimacy is not an issue in our marriage. The issue is the busyness in life that becomes overwhelming, and makes even good things, like intimacy, a chore. (That being said, we do need to have realistic expectations dear…)
I also need to remember the man I married, and conversely the woman he proposed to still exists, even during stress and extreme exhaustion. Sometimes I just need a little coaxing, or better yet a crash course (AKA “vacation”) in remembering my identity when the darkness of life turns my light into a mere shadow.
And sadly, I had almost forgotten what it felt like to just be me; without a baby pulling on my leg, writing deadlines, or my son’s never-ending pile of athletic paraphernalia needing to laundered right “now.” I’m so glad my husband loves me enough to help me remember that the girl he married is just a vacation away.
My baby said the word “uncle” today. That’s pretty good for a ten-month old tyke, if I do say so myself. But, ironically, she didn’t say it to my brother, and my husband only has one sister. The momentous words were directed specifically towards my ex-husband, now known as “Uncle Bert.” Welcome to our dysfunctional family.
If “sin” is missing the mark, than “divorce” is a rupture of the spirit. No one gets married anticipating an excruciating dedomiciling, but life happens, choices are made, and sometimes the best couples separate. Our sin nature permeates what God intended to be a beautiful symbol of the relationship between Christ and the Church. The only problem with this lovely metaphor is that people, in all their flaws and selfishness, are part of the equation.
And so we screw up that which was meant to be Holy. Families are ripped apart. Children blow out and bitterness sets in. The lovely bride of Christ is alone, scared and forced to forge ahead into a wilderness of singled exile.
But after the drama recedes, the settlements are fought over, and the custody battle reasonably determined…the fragments of a family must be reassembled. Two roads can be taken-either the road to more disparateness or the less traveled road to what I like to call “functional dysfunction.”
Right before I remarried, my then fiance and I were urged to attend blended family counseling. So, off we trotted to hear words that didn’t settle so well in our self-righteous little paradigm. Because I was the abandoned spouse, my demeanor towards my ex was patronizing at best. I had anger buried deep in my heart and my hostility was only fueled with every poor decision my ex-husband made.
But the counsel we received forced us to reconsider, reflect and move in a counter-cultural direction. We were told that our relationship with my ex-husband would determine our relationship with the children. Our love for their father would be an indirect method of communicating love to them. And that every natural tendency to push him away would only end up shooting us and our children in the foot.
Thus followed a year of moving towards the very thing I wanted to run from. I stopped arguing, stopped sniping, and moved at my ex-husband with brotherly love. When he lost his car, my husband and I made a committment to help drive him to our kid’s games and practices so he could continue coaching our son in football. Leaving work early three days a week to pick up my ex-husband did not come naturally. Every trip was laced with prayer and surrender, but God was moving and my heart slowly softened. As my husband drove him home some night’s after practice, their relationship grew stronger as well.
Later that year, my ex-husband remarried and his wife invited us for a shared Father’s Day celebration. It was a sweet acknowledgement that the war had ceased and two broken pieces were fusing into one reconstructed family, albeit … larger and messier than before.
Now, almost three years later, we have established what I like to call a good working relationship in the parenting realm. We think of my ex-husband as our brother, and care for him like he is a part of the family. Accepting the good and bad as we would any sibling ,and loving the way Christ loves us, without restrictions for our frailties.
I can honestly say my heart has changed, slowly and unwillingly at times, but the process has allowed me to walk free of the burden that so heavily weighed me down for years. And so our new baby, the child of my second marriage, has a new “Uncle” and a big confusing family that someday we will have to explain.
“Sweetheart, your sister’s daddy is your uncle.” Yeah, I can’t wait for that conversation.
But, in God’s economy it seems to make perfect sense!
My interest has been peaked, like most Americans, as the passengers of the Carnival Splendor cruise ship, finally disembark in San Diego Harbor after a four-day ordeal of being stranded at sea and then towed back to shore. One comment in particular caught my eye chronicling a pair of traveling Honeymooners because my own husband and I celebrated our Honeymoon in a similar fashion.
Here is what the bride’s father– Paul Patrick, who purchased the trip as a gift to the newlyweds, had to say about their interrupted vacation.“They’re hungry, very hungry and very eager to get off this ship,” Patrick said. “You can’t ruin a honeymoon, but this came close.” He added: “My son-in-law wishes he’d brought his fishing pole. What else can you do four days on the sea?”
Now, I don’t debate that they are hungry, I mean eating spam sandwiches pretty much stinks, but I do have an issue with the next line. What else can you do for four days on the sea? Ummmm… how about have sex?
Now that might sound crass, but if the couple had walked down a road of purity before marriage, their “ruined” trip might have been a fantastic reason to stay in bed and revel in the joys of intimacy, designed by God for marriage.
Oh, it’s such a sad story. The poor husband wishes he had brought his fishing pole to fight off boredom. When my husband and I traveled to the Mediterranean for our Honeymoon and cruised the seas on the Norwegian Jade for 12 days, we did some fishing all right, and strangely enough it didn’t involve any fish (though there was a fantastic sushi bar on the Jade that we enjoyed). After waiting for almost a year and a half to be sexually intimate, we practically skipped down the aisle and into each other’s arms.
This is the difference between shacking up, premarital sex, and all the compromise the world tells you is great…it steals the joy of true intimacy. It robs the bride and groom of a night to remember. It makes four days at sea with your beloved… a yawning bore.
I can always tell the difference at weddings. It’s obvious to me if the bride and groom have had premarital sex. It’s all about the “event” for the jaded bride, it’s a rite of passage, and a big hoopla over the details. For the couple who choose to be pure, it’s all about the relationship. You can tell in their eyes, their smile, their posture…they have waited for a true treasure and they will celebrate and protect something so valuable.
I know the difference. My first marriage started and ended in compromise. But, the next time, God was gracious and gave me a second chance to walk down the path of purity, restoration and healing. When I married my darling husband, a Godly man and a pastor, I knew he loved me for my heart and not for how I made him feel physically. Our relationship, though by no means perfect, stands on a foundation of trust.
So, though I am truly sad for the vacationing Honeymooners whose trip was derailed, when my husband and I slip away for our next cruise, the “Please Do Not Disturb Sign,” will proudly hang on our door!
