First Love

We saw Jesus Revolution yesterday. Wow, that brought back memories! I remembered the clothes, the hair, the music, the Romeo and Juliet clip (I let my straight dark parted-in-the-middle hair grow down to my waist after seeing that movie). I also remembered the atmosphere in those days. It reminded me a lot of what is happening again. We were also a generation with trust issues.

I’m a few months younger than Greg Laurie, the searching high school student in the movie. We both grew up in the Cold War years with the threat of nuclear annihilation feeling very real. Some guys I knew were drafted to fight, against their wills, in a proxy war they were told was to protect their way of life. We were manipulated by media marketing that urged our parents to go into debt to make sure we got to the consumer trough first. We witnessed the consequences of pollution and environmental carelessness in the name of corporate profit. We were offered unrestrained sexual expression and recreational drug use as valid, mind-expanding escapes. Sound familiar?

Lately, my attention has been drawn to a phrase inspired by the message in the book of Revelation to the church in Ephesus, a church that worked hard at doing good deeds, but somewhere along the way had lost the plot. The phrase is: “Return to your first love.”

Sometimes, when a married couple is struggling, a counselor will ask, “What first attracted you to each other?” Sometimes in the three-legged race that is a partnership that includes kids, financial and time budgets, and differing priorities, we can lose the plot and forget why we even entered this crazy contest. Sometimes, in a church with all the complexities of “one-anothering,” in a group with an even greater variety of beliefs, expectations, and quirks, we lose the plot.

The film provoked me to remember first love. I remembered falling in love with the guy who would become my husband. I wanted to know him better. I also remembered giving my yes to the invitation to “know Jesus” and get baptised.

What did I know about love? Frankly, like Greg in the movie, I had no guarantee that the love Jesus offered was not just another manipulative ploy to get me to serve “a way of life” some institution decided ought to be preserved. Like Greg, I took the risk and discovered that Jesus was who he said he was.

By the end of the film, the man who has loved me and stayed with me through some pretty tough times in the past fifty years was still there sitting beside me, holding my hand. Tears filled our eyes as we remembered our mutual first love for each other and for Jesus and his faithfulness to us. It’s something we dearly want to see the current generation of young people experience.

He’s real, man.

Better Questions

 

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Prayer is not presenting God with a list of wants -or demands. We may not actually want what we think we really, really, really want.

Prayer is spending so much time with the perfect Lover of our souls that we learn to ask better questions.

14,609 mornings

Photo: the fruit of 40 years

The same man has walked this path with me for 14,600 nights and days. Well, 14,609 counting February 29s. Today is officially our 40th anniversary. (Yup. I was a teenage bride.)

He’s amazing.

Who can possibly try to comprehend how the person they vow to be faithful to will change and grow in 40 years? Who can see the person they will become themselves?

We’ve both changed.

At times when one of us was moving faster than the other on this road the one lagging behind (let’s face it, the most comfortable one) started shouting, “Change back! This is messing things up!”

I think sometimes we’re like those roller derby guys who fling a fellow team member forward every once in a while. We do take turns, alternating the shoving of each other ahead –and sometimes we resort to dragging each other kicking and screaming into a new paradigm. But we do eventually walk side by side again. I think it has been a fruitful partnership.

I have not been an easy woman to live with. My man loves order and routine. A calendar with all the squares filled in is my idea of being stuck in a box — with the lid nailed down.

He deals with numbers and loves mathematical puzzles with tidy right-or-wrong answers at the bottom of the page. Not only do I not remember the seven times table, but I can’t even remember what I did with my calculator. Some of his greatest professional discoveries have come about as a result of trying to fix me.

He bases his decisions on solid, empirical, evidence-based research. I sail on symbolism and intuitive hunches.

He is mostly left-brained. I am mostly right…  I am also mostly right-brained.

But even though I have a totally alien way of thinking, he keeps trying to understand me.

He has been faithful though. In forty years I have never for a moment doubted his love. He has been there through the really horrible years when I couldn’t stand to be with myself. More importantly he has been there in the good years when I have had good things to share and he rejoices with me.

Best of all he loves God, and he knows God loves him, so he can afford to be a giver. There’s always more where that came from.

I love you, my man, more than I did on that hot innocent September afternoon 40 years ago. You’re a keeper.