We practice forgiveness. One of my favorite quotes comes from Frederick Buechner: “Of the seven deadly sins, anger is possibly the most fun. To lick your wounds, to smack your lips over grievances long past, to roll over your tongue the prospect of bitter confrontations still to come, to savor to the last toothsome morsel both the pain you are given and the pain you are giving back—in many ways it is a feast fit for a king. The chief drawback is that what you are wolfing down is yourself. The skeleton at the feast is you.”11 My brother Tim likes to put it more simply: “Not forgiving is like drinking rat poison, then standing around waiting for the rat to die.”
We travel together. Whenever possible, Ramona goes along with me on a trip. Sure, it costs money, and I haven’t had a window seat in years, but I’d like to grow old with someone who doesn’t just share my money, she shares my memories.
We left no alternatives. The first three years of our marriage were miserable. Until I got a divorce. A divorce from loving myself and seeking my own way. I was reading the book of Galatians one night when I stumbled on the verse, “I no longer live, but Christ lives in me” (2:20), and the most profound thought hit me: If I am dead, and Christ lives in me, can my wife see Him there? (Here’s a tip: If you want to have a miserable marriage, don’t read the Bible.) Finding the right person, I have since discovered, is less important than being the right person. The happiest married people I know discovered early on that the “better” comes after the “worse.”
We pray together. This was one of Ramona’s first wishes for our marriage. And after reading that Bible verse, I came to honor it. We’ve since discovered that couples who pray together regularly report “the most satisfying marriages of all.”12 Lately, Ramona and I have been thanking God at night for His amazing grace. For taking two selfish kids who hardly knew how to spell love and pulling them close to Himself and to each other.
On our way to the hotel I turned on the radio to hear Huey Lewis singing, “I’m happy to be stuck with you.” I tapped my toes (this irritates my wife when I’m driving) and smiled. But glue or chains don’t hold a marriage together. A hundred tiny threads do. Threads like trust, commitment, kindness, humility, gentleness, respect, and finding the laundry hamper.
As we checked in, I told our hostess the significance of this day. Her eyes grew wide. “Wow,” she said, “that’s a long time with one person!”
“Yes,” I replied with a grin, “but it would have been a whole lot longer without her.”
When you see a married couple walking down the street,
the one that’s a few steps ahead is the one that’s mad.
HELEN ROWLAND
A happy marriage is the world’s best bargain.
O. A. BATTISTA
I once wrote a humor quiz for a marriage magazine, shoved it under my parents door, then waited to hear what would happen. Moments later I heard Mom say in the tone she used on me as a child just before I got in trouble: “Philip.” Then she started to giggle. Dad snickered several times, gave two audible cackles, and was still grinning when I came to retrieve it ten minutes later.
Through the years, Mom and Dad have not modeled the perfect marriage for their children, but they’ve shown us how to laugh, how to celebrate, and how a happy marriage is the union of two good forgivers.
By the way, the following quiz is for married couples only, so if you are not in that category, you should skip ahead to the next chapter (assuming you aren’t curious and will follow my directions willingly). The first part is…
For Guys Only
How much do you know about the state of your marriage and the gal you wake up beside each morning? How she thinks. What makes her tick. And why “Fine” isn’t good enough when she asks how your day went. Take this quiz and find out.
The movie your wife will most want you to rent on your next anniversary is:
Lethal Auto Combat 6 in 3D.
Something with foreign people talking foreign with words at the bottom.
Anything so romantic you won’t care if you see the end of the movie.
The thing your wife loves whispered in her ear is:
Quotations by Homer.
Quotations by Homer Simpson.
Sweet somethings.
For your tenth anniversary, the gift your wife will want more than anything is:
That plaid Barcalounger for two with his and hers cup holders.
What? We have an anniversary? When?
Chocolate, flowers, and your undivided attention (to her, not the chocolate).
How would you describe yourself as a father?
What? We have children?
I spend time with my kids when I can find them.
I’m working on it.
How often do you have marital relations?
When I say so, woman.
We haven’t had the relatives over since the Thanksgiving Jell-O Fiasco.
I’d love to answer that question, but my wife and I haven’t seen each other in an hour and a half.
Your wife asks you, “What were Humphrey Bogart’s famous words to the lovely Ingrid Bergman in the romantic film Casablanca?” You respond:
“Go ahead, make my day.”
50 Ways to Keep Your Lover
Morning kisses.
Evening walks.
Leave flirtatious messages on his or her voice mail. Be sure to dial correctly.
Ladies: Don’t vacuutm during football games.
Ladies: Don’t vacuum during football games.
Men: Don’t eat onions unless she does.
Love when you don’t feel like it.
Read together.
Laugh together.
Accept blame.
Share entrees.
Be nice.
Lower your expectations.
Never purposely embarrass each other.
Never equate success with stuff.
Hold hands.
Ride bikes.
Ladies: Tell him you like him better with less hair.
Men: Tell her you like her haircut.
Window shop.
Give backrubs.
Trade footrubs.
View infidelity for what it is: poison.
Take marriage seriously. Work at it.
Visit iTunes together and download music from your dating days.
Remember your first date.
Laugh together.
Cry together.
Be givers.
Make good, positive friends and keep them.
Be accountable.
Learn to talk.
Ladies: Don’t subsist on romance novels.
Guys: Guard your heart.
Say sorry.
Say thank you.
Encourage.
Forgive.
Watch Jaws together. Better yet, watch it without your feet in a hot tub.
Send his favorite book to the author for an autograph.
Hold each other tight.
Give each other space.
Attend church regularly.
Disagree while smiling.
Drop grudges.
Make up.
Never mix evening news and bedtime.
Draw close to God.
End the day with prayer.
Remember the day will come when our clocks will stop and our 401 (k) plans will expire, but our footprints will remain.
“First rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club.”
“Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”
The last thing you said to your wife today before you left for work was:
“The kids are up and they’re eating bowls of Mega Choco Zingo Puffs with salad tongs.”
“Yikes! You may want to put some concealer on that.”
“Can’t wait to see you tonight.”
On your fortieth anniversary, the song title that best describes your sex life will be:
“I Say a Little Prayer”
“Yesterday”
“(Oh, What a Feeling When
We’re) Dancing on the Ceiling”
How to Score
If you chose only the “a” answers, your chances of scoring are not that good. Please go to the C section in the yellow pages and look up Counselor. If you gravitated mostly to the “b” responses, your funny bone is in good working order, but you could still use a little help. Please take an aspirin and read the rest of this book in the morning. If you chose “c” five or more times, thanks for taking this quiz on your honeymoon. Sounds like some tenderness, a good sense of humor, and a servant’s heart are keeping your marriage fresh. Now it’s time to show the rest of this chapter to your wife.
For Gals Only
These eight questions are intended to help you discover how well you really know the guy in your life. You may want to fill it out with your husband. Then again, you may want to take it into the bathroom, lock the door, and let him wonder what you’re snickering about.
If I leave my husband alone for the weekend, his diet will consist of:
Vegetables, fruits, and organic granola.
Actually, he could very well starve to death.
Stuff he finds in the sofa.
The gift my husband most loves to receive on his birthday:
Socks. Lots and lots of socks.
Flowers and cute underwear.
Cheesecake. Served by me—wearing only socks.
After a tough day at work my husband loves it when I:
Gripe about the way his belt doesn’t match his shoes.
Gripe about the way my belt doesn’t match my shoes.
Ask about the big game.
My husband’s nickname for our bed is:
Old Lumpy
Headache Generator
The Hibachi
After he uses the facilities at our house, the toilet seat is:
Don’t ask.
Glued in the upright position.
Like our marriage—sometimes up, sometimes down.
Outside the bedroom, my husband’s favorite activity is:
Holding my purse outside the fitting room while I try on pantsuits in multiples of five.
Going to the video store with me to help decide between all the Julia Roberts chick flicks.
Figuring out ways to get us back in the bedroom.
How do you and your husband settle differences of opinion?
We don’t disagree. I’m the queen.
He spends the night on the plaid Barcalounger.
A good discussion, some black forest cake, and…well, none of your beeswax.
On our twenty-fifth anniversary, the song title that will best describe our sex life will be:
The theme from Mission: Impossible
“Wishin’ and Hopin “
“Oh, What a Night”
How to Score
Give yourself one point each time you selected “c.” If you did so at least five times, it is now safe to come out of the bathroom and show your husband what you’ve been laughing about. If you circled only “a” or “b” answers, stay in there and take the test again. Collect one hundred bonus points if you smiled at least twice during this quiz and one thousand air miles if you resolved afresh to love the guy God gave you.
A boy becomes an adult three years before his parents
think he does, and about two years after he thinks he does.
LEWIS B. HERSHEY
Our eldest child has grown up fast, graduating from high school and considering what’s next. We were on the golf course one day when an oil tycoon strolled over and offered him a job at ten times the salary I earned at his age. I couldn’t believe he didn’t take it. When I asked him why, he said he wanted to do something bigger with his life than make money. He said he’d been listening to me preach and that I had advised people to do something they loved and they wouldn’t have to work a day in their lives.
“I said that?”
He smiled. “You did.”
And so Steve enrolled in Bible college, a decision that has his mother and me rejoicing and sniffling and clutching our wallets all at once. The price for Bible college has not decreased since I attended in the latter half of the last century, but I assured him it would not be a problem. We would sell his little brother into slavery to pay for the first semester. (I’m kidding. I did not sell my son. Please do not write me letters about this.)
One hot fall morning he set out for the Montana mountains to begin Explore, a wilderness leadership program “where Christian leaders are born, where apologetics meet practical teaching in a pristine wilderness setting.” I have the sneaking suspicion Explore is really an excuse to go on an extended camping trip while getting to know women.
And I’ll admit to something else. Bible college wasn’t on my agenda for this boy. I’ve checked Fortune 500 and Money magazine. There are very few ministers, missionaries, and camp directors listed there. I will reach retirement age in twenty years. Who will pay for my medication?
That morning the girls in the program watched as Steve’s mother kissed his cheek and I hugged him good-bye. He’s never been a hugger, but he didn’t wriggle away. There were no tears in his eyes, and certainly none in mine. In fact, I couldn’t have been happier. It was a holiday. The sky was blue. The air was warm. The clouds were nonthreatening. I would go home and hoist a ginger ale, then cut the grass.
Pushing our old weed whacker along, I considered all the reasons I was happy to have this kid out of the house. These were just a start:
No more toothpaste on our bathroom door.
No more mold growing beneath his bed.
His music can keep someone else up now.
I can find my ties, my tools, and my remote control.
No more stepping in remnants of last night’s yogurt snack.
Or tripping over clothes on the floor.
We will save roughly four hundred dollars per month on groceries. Two hundred in milk alone.
No more adjusting the seat and mirror when I drive the car.
No more phone calls interrupting my work: “Dad, let’s go golfing.”
No more flopping on our bed at night to tell us of his day.
I was free.
That night we crawled into bed, Ramona and I, the lawn neatly trimmed, the house cleaned, the back porch swept, and she said, “Aren’t you glad Steve wants to serve God? We’ve prayed that he would since he was knee-high to a Lego block.”
How could I disagree? I started reciting my list, but Ramona had drifted off already, so I lay there with my hands behind my thinning hairdo, gazing up at the stippled ceiling. My smile had subsided a little. It wasn’t like I’d been baptized in lemon juice, but you get the picture.
Most nights Steve brushes his teeth outside our bedroom door. If the door is open, he comes in. Boys are easy to talk to when there’s toothpaste in their mouth. Suddenly I missed those talks. I missed him pretending to wipe out as he came thumping down the stairs, just to see the horrified looks on our faces. I missed the music he would crank up about 11 p.m. in the room below us. Even if it sounded like someone killing chickens with a jackhammer. I missed him rolling on the floor with the dog and sometimes me. I missed standing at the fridge together about midnight talking about our day and wondering where Mom hid the mayonnaise.
Grandpa and Grandma missed him too. “We pray for him every night,” they said.
Even the dog missed Steve. I went looking for her one night, thinking the hound was lost. She was lying on Steve’s bed, her tail in the downward position. And try as I might to be brave and manly and a positive thinker Robert H. Schuller would admire, there were tears on my cheeks there in the dark.
I know there are far worse things than hugging your firstborn goodbye as he goes off to Bible college, but I missed my son.
“Lord,” I prayed, “take care of this boy. I know he was on loan, but we got pretty attached to him. Wherever he is and wherever he goes, go with him.”
Family Squeeze Page 8