A Girl's Best Friend...

Almost eight years ago (it will be June 28), I got married. My husband took this skinny little band of white gold and slipped it on my hand and promised to honor, cherish, care for and love me no matter how good things were, and more importantly, no matter how bad. It was not a fairy tale wedding. I was far from a princess and he was far from a prince on a white horse. We were three months pregnant with our precious son and he was fairly newly divorced, and we were both hauling some serious baggage into the marriage. But still, that ring said it all. He promised. I promised. And so, our life together began.

A couple of weeks before that day, we sat at a restaurant in Kema, TX. He had in his pocket the engagement ring he had selected for me. It was a beautiful antique from the 1920's. It had intricate carving in the setting and displayed a shiny diamond with a rainbow deep down in the pinpoint as if it was on a pedestal. Though the engagement and the ring were just formalities, my friends oooohed and ahhhed. I had arrived. I had "the ring". No one really cared how I got it. I had the holy grail that we all idolized. We believed that the size and worth of the engagement ring symbolized how much our future husband loved us. We believed that the shinier the diamond, the more like Cinderella we would feel. We believed the whole pack of lies we had been told by society. My ring was big and beautiful but I would have traded it for anything if I could just change how I "got it". I couldn't have felt less like Cinderella.

Last weekend, my engagement ring broke. There had been a few times when the intricate carving had split and we had been able to have it soldered, but this time, it split in several areas. Because of it's age and all the soldering, it is not fixable. We can't get a new setting for the diamond immediately. It's just too expensive right now. And I am 100% fine with that. I opened my mouth and words I never would have thought would come from me came out. "Honey, this little band is the one you put on my finger when you promised. It's the real one. I'm content to wear just it for the rest of my life." And I am.

This skinny little band reminds me of the horrible first years that we had set in contrast to how good things are now. It reminds me of the night that I laid in the hospital bed after trying to nurse a screaming baby and my husband laid his hand right over my heart and begged God to please cause the milk to come in and somehow comfort me, and the Holy Spirit did (give me peace, that is -- the milk came a little later) and I was His. It reminds me of Guido helping me shower because I couldn't care for myself after a c-section, and again after I fell and tore my ankle up. It reminds me of the hard lessons he learned through a failed first marriage and he has taught them to me so that we will never see walking away as an option, and hopefully will do better than "just staying in it". It reminds me of the night where I decided to share my deepest secrets with him and I was so ashamed that I made him turn off the lights because I didn't want him to see my face as I shared, and when he turned the lamp back on, he held me and loved me even more. It reminds me of the sweetness that has begun to come in the past few years, as what was once that intense, romantic flame has softened and matured into what I know will always be my best earthly friendship "til death parts us".

I don't want my daughter to do things the way I did. But I do want her to realize that a poor man who can only give her a wedding band but loves Jesus and her and is going to be her prophet, priest, provider and protector is worth more than all the diamonds in the world. I don't know if my finger will ever wear that sparkly gemstone again. But I do know it doesn't mean I've lost my best friend. He lives in the house with me...

What SHOULD We Feel??

I'm going to divert from my "normal" entries of daybooks and fun with my children to share an entry in a devotional book I'm reading. I was talking with a dear friend yesterday who has been struggling. She shared that she felt she shouldn't be struggling, shouldn't be crying. She's sorry for her tears. I was so burdened for her. I was a bit angered also with Satan and American society. Those two things have combined to make so many of us (even those who know Christ and know that it is only through His death and resurrection we live) feel like we should be "self-made", like we should always be strong. "Do it yourself," we say, and, "pick yourself up by your boot straps and go on!" Sometimes, those things are true. We should definitely be able to fend for ourselves on some level -- that is survival.

But emotionally, God made us for relationship and we should NOT be ashamed when we need the love and support of family and friends. I am absolutely appalled by the lack of compassion our society has for those who are grieving -- we are uncomfortable with it and so we just want it to get better fast. And I have news for you: EVERYONE has a breaking point and no one is in a place to decide what that point is for anyone else or how they should feel. I read this devotional entry to my friend and hope that if any of you have hidden tears, it will help you just a bit. This is an entry from Week 1 of Nancy Guthrie's One Year Book of Hope (click the title of the book to read more about Nancy and her writings). The following is all from her. I will not make any comments at the end of it.

Your Tears Matter to God

You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book. -Psalm 56:8

I remember going up to the cosmetics counter a few weeks after my daughter, Hope, died and asking if the mascara I was considering would run down my face when I cried. The salesperson assured me it wouldn't and then asked with a laugh in her voice, "Are you going to be crying?"

"Yes," I answered, "I am." And I have. I used to rarely cry, but now tears are always close to the surface, just waiting to be released. It is as if there is a broken place inside me where tears are stored. Letting them out has been the only way to release the pressure of the pain.

Along with relief, there is also the uncomfortable loss of control that is a companion to tears, isn't there? Some see tears not only as a loss of control but also as a lack of faith. It is as if the physical manifestation of tears gives evidence of a spiritual deficiency -- that if our faith was big enough or deep enough or developed enough, we simply wouldn't be this sad. It is as if we think our grasp of spiritual realities can erase the hurts of being human. But when you've lost something or someone who is valuable to you, when you have been forced to let go of a dream or live within a nightmare -- that is something to be sad about. So let yourself be sad.

And know that God does not discount or dismiss your tears. They are precious to him because you are precious to him. In fact, when God reveals glimpses of the culmination of human history -- in a future that will fully reveal and be fully worthy of his glory -- he includes, as a centerpiece, this promise in Isaiah 25:8: "The Sovereign Lord will wipe away all tears." Picture in your mind right now the Lord of the universe reaching down to gently and lovingly wipe away your tears. He doesn't ignore them or tell you that if you really had faith you wouldn't cry. He wipes them away. And Revelation 21:4 tells us that not only will he wipe away tears, he will remove all of the sorrow that caused them. God's plan for the future is to destroy forever the evil that has brought you so much pain and then to live forever with you in a place he has lovingly prepared where there will be no more tears.

My Tear Collector, sometimes you seem so far away, it's hard for me to grasp that you are sad with me. Give me the faith to see you now beside me and to see a future in which your hand will wipe away my tears forever.

Digging Deeper
Read Psalm 56. Make a list of what Davide determined to do despite his tears.