Speaking of Weddings...

So, apparently there was some little known wedding today. I barely caught a snippet about it in the news. Something about Westminster Abbey and quail's eggs.

Got me thinking about my wedding that happened about 10 kajillion years ago, back at a time when I'd barely passed the milestones of driving and voting and sleeping through the night. It reminded me that if I could go back in time and do it over, I would change nearly every detail.

Instead of mid afternoon, I'd have an evening wedding. Probably in the winter so it's dark out. I'd definitely have a different dress. I didn't hate my dress, but I wasn't I-could-die-in-this-dress in love with it. I basically chose it because it didn't break my budget. I really did like it until the lady that did my alterations totally botched it, taking it from scoop neck to off the shoulder and I ended up not being able to move my arms more than a centimeter. Thanks, random lady. I would have a classier reception and I would mingle with my guests more. Let me tell you, conservative Baptist wedding receptions can be tricky since dancing isn't on the agenda. If I could change that little detail I would gladly. Oh, and I definitely would have practiced the kiss beforehand. People who kiss privately but never ever in the eyes of others need to know what they look like kissing before they parade it in front of 150 guests. I cringe at the thought of it.

In fact, now that I'm on the other side of that wedding, I think eloping sounds exotically romantic.

It wasn't that I wasn't happy. It wasn't that I wasn't grateful for all the hard work our families put into the day. It wasn't that I thought the whole thing was a mistake.

It was that I wasn't confident in my abilities as a party planner/hostess/bride. I was not really into the glitzy details. I was way more into the whole marriage thing than the wedding thing. Which I guess isn't so bad. The wedding is one day, and while it's significant, it's not everything. It's a very, very small portion of what life is all about.

I was also only 19 and overwhelmed with this crippling fear of people thinking we were stupid and naive and only getting married for the...um...you know...benefits. That may be true for some, but for me, I knew what I was getting in to. No, I didn't know all that marriage would entail. I didn't know of the trials we'd face. I didn't know which hardships we'd struggle through. But I knew what commitment meant. I knew that this was forever, no backing out, no matter what.

And it wasn't like my groom was my perfect prince charming (sorry, Honey). He was barely 21 and I'd known him since he was 14. I knew his rough edges. I knew he wasn't perfect. I knew he wasn't the poster child for maturity. But I also knew he had a lot of potential.

And I loved him like it was my calling in life.

Which it sorta is.

So, I guess I can't look back on the wedding and see it as a glorious success as far as classiness and great parties go (if only we'd served quail's eggs). It is what it is. I can't go back and change it, so I often think of the things I loved about that day.

Like the moment Seth and I first saw each other. Like singing to each other. Like the processional he picked (Freedom, Michael W. Smith). Like the video my dad made for us featuring "our song" (A Wink & A Smile). Like being surrounded by people we loved and who loved us. Like the fact that I was skinny back then.

And that I was marrying the love of my life, my perfect other.

If they were to write about the story of my life

They would have to mention you with every page they'd write.

There's another side to every story told.

If I were the ocean, you would be the shore,

And one without the other one would be needing something more.

We are the shadow and the light.

Always love me.

Never leave me now.

Now you are the other side of me.

I have known the emptiness of feeling out of touch,

And living life without you here would be living half as much

'Cause I've a need that only you can fill.

If love was mathematical, you'd understand the sum

To the heart's equation, where one and one makes one,

And lonely equals me minus you.

Always love me.

Never leave me now.

Now you are the other side of me.

--The Other Side of Me, by Michael W. Smith (the song we sang to each other)

I'm Being Controlled by My Fetus

Humans are blessed with cognitive abilities. We can think, reason, choose and weigh decisions. We have free will to make choices based on all the information we are given. We even have instincts to fill in the gaps where information isn't available.

Except pregnant humans.

I am being ruled by my tiny urchin. For someone who weighs a whopping pound and a half, he/she sure packs a lot of punch. It's like I'm housing a mini-dictator.

When the baby wants chocolate, I'm forced to oblige. Or pickles. Or cheese. Or breakfast cereal. The baby doesn't care that it's 11:38 p.m. or that I just filled up on popcorn. The baby just points at me with that skinny finger and glares and growls, NOW.

I'm powerless against the forces within.

If the baby wants me to go take a nap, he/she will slowly and methodically sap all energy reserves from my body until I can barely lift my eyelids and I start to drool. I don't know how he/she does it. Voodoo? Narcotics? I have no proof, but I can imagine he/she is a tiny drug lord and has smuggled something powerful into my system.

The baby gets irritated with his/her siblings as well. I spend nearly every waking moment (and many asleep ones) in the company of Thing One and Thing Two. Normally, this is not a big problem. We have a schedule and a system and manage to maintain a balance in our relationships. But baby has decided that at a certain point in the day, he/she has had enough of the siblings and they need to go in the basement and play by themselves for awhile and give the baby some peace and quiet.

The baby also doesn't like vacuuming. Or laundry. Or pants not made of cotton and elastic. Or putting groceries away.

Pregnancy is a dichotomy. Two people existing in one person, battling for control of the poor mother's limited cognitive abilities. Sometimes I'll win and eat a banana. And sometimes the baby will cackle at my weak attempts at control and make me add ice cream and whipped cream and chocolate to my banana.

The baby is just so mean to me.

Psalm 18

I was sixteen years old.

I sat in a crowd of other teenagers, feeling the high that a week at a Christian camp brings. For five days, I'd drowned in a sea of amazing praise music and preaching and awesome conversations with other believers.

But all was not well in my heart. There was a darkness residing in me. I knew Christ had saved me. I knew the Bible pretty well. I knew how I was *supposed* to be living. I knew how to create that facade of innocence and shininess.

But inside, I was heartbroken. Things weren't going so well. I had been dumped by the boy I was convinced would be my husband one day. I struggled with feeling valuable in light of all the stupid decisions I had made. I was marred by my own willful sins. I was trying to make sense of the mess I had made. I was wondering if my Christian walk would always be hollow and forced.

God knew what was in my heart. And He was ready to meet me.

It was a Friday night, the last night of camp. The last message till next year. And it was a message like I'd never quite heard before.

One of my favorite speakers that week had been Ken Rudolph. All of us enjoyed him. He was funny and did a good job of making sense of faith to a few hundred teenagers. I honestly expected to be slightly entertained that night, not to be forced to my knees.

Ken didn't really "sermonize" that night. He made a few remarks about the background of the passage, I'm sure. But what I remember vividly over a decade later was the meat of his message.

He simply read Psalm 18 to us.

But not like I'd heard the Bible read. Not with monotone or slight interest. He read it as if he was David, as if he was the object of God's intense focus found in that chapter. As if all the thunder and protection of Heaven was for him. Tears thickened his voice as he proclaimed each word.

I had never really felt that way before. I knew God loved me, but I'd never *known* it. I'd been so focused on my end of the bargain, the things I was supposed to be doing for Him, how I should have been acting. I thought this whole relationship between us was supposed to be me pleasing Him all the time.

I'd missed the fact that He loved me, regardless of my actions. That He sent Christ to die for me long before I had any idea that I was supposed to be good for Him. That I was His child, His daughter, a precious infant that He cradled in his arms and would shoot arrows from Heaven to protect, even if I had made giant messes in my past like David had.

God knew all the ugliness in my heart. He knew all my failures--even the ones that were still ahead of me. He knew my doubts, my frustrations, my fears. He knew I felt ridiculously inadequate as a human being, let alone a Christian.

But He didn't care. He loved me still. More than I would ever understand.

There was peace in that love. I still had a lot more to learn about it (still do), but in considering it at that moment in that hot gymnasium, there was peace. Which was something I longed for, since everything seemed so chaotic in my mind. And that peace would draw me in, like a warm wave crashing over me, enveloping me in love like I had never known, over and over and over again.

Sometimes I forget that I'm important to God, because of trials or sins or because I know I'm SO NOT WORTH the fuss. But I go back to Psalm 18, and I read it with tears in my eyes and sense that peace in the face of all these storms and uncertainties. I am loved. In spite of everything, I am loved.

Psalm 18

Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and erase things I don't want to remember. Things I'm not proud of. Things I wish I had done differently. Things that pinch to remember. Things that still bring tears to my eyes. I find myself envying those with spotless lives and unwavering faith, those people that have never had to clean up a mess they made with their own hand.

But then again, I have doubts that anyone like that truly exists.

We all have secrets. We all have shame. And we've all been hurt.

So why is it so easy to slip into the mindset that I have it harder than someone else?

Easy answer: Pride. Seth and I have been studying pride for almost a year now. Over and over we have seen that every sin we encounter has its roots in pride. Every wayward thought, every act of willful disobedience, every sinful mess starts with pride.

It was pride that made Eve doubt God's instructions. It was pride that urged David to steal another man's wife and arrange his death. It was pride that formed Ananias and Sapphira's lie.

Pride whispers in our thoughts that we know better than God. That somewhere along the line, He made a mistake, and it's up to ourselves to fix it. Pride tells us that we got the short end of the stick and God is against us. Pride puts the reigns in our unable grasps.

We've learned that pride isn't always obvious. It's not always boastful and arrogant. Sometimes, it sneaks in, disguised in our sorrows or regrets. It lies under the radar, slowly growing and eating away at our understanding that God is good, and wise, and sovereign.

Pride lies to us that what we want is what we need. More money, more talent, a better home, a better job, a better spouse, a better church. Maybe we've lost something precious. Maybe our dreams aren't coming true. Maybe our situation offers no easy solutions. Pride validates our frustrations and irritations until they become so big that we can't see that they are unjustified. We grow embittered when God's plan doesn't match our ideas of a happy life, and suddenly, the thing we want consumes us and following God's plan is less significant.

Like Sarah's plot to give Abraham a son. Like Jacob bartering for a birthright. Like Israel's begging for a king.

Pride says God's way won't work.

So we do things our way.

And fail.

And when we realize that it was pride that led us there, we have no one to blame but ourselves.

But if the cause of our heartache is as simple as pride, the solution is as simple as humility. It's as easy as surrendering control to someone skilled where we are clumsy, wise where we are foolish, and sovereign where we are so limited.

Humility is understanding that faith is a better choice than self fulfillment. Humility casts aside any ideas of greatness or justification and sees others as more important than self.

Humility is the Creator of the world washing dirt and manure off the disciple's feet.

Humility is the fingers that formed the stars touching a leper's skin.

Humility is the Divine dying on a cross.

If Jesus didn't think equality with God was so important, how can we who are full of sin hope to measure up?

We can't. We never will. And trying leaves us hollow.

Contentment comes with understanding our role and pursuing it.

"When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with the humble is wisdom." Proverbs 11:2

A Monday List

1. It's raining. I confess that I love warm spring rain. It's much better than winter rain.

2. I usually don't get much done on rainy days, but this morning I did the dishes, two loads of laundry, vacuuming, and also got school done. I'm alarmed by this behavior.

3. I'm also planning on making meatloaf and mashed potatoes for dinner. Someone will be very happy about that.

4. Thing One did pretty well on his phonics and spelling tests this morning. The only word he missed on his spelling was "of". He spelled others like "sweeping", "bugle" and "handle" perfectly, but the tiny two letter word felled him. Sight words are easier to read than spell.

5. Thing Two enjoys taking his clothes off and then trying to get me to care.

6. Post lunch drowsiness is setting in. Unfortunately, I'm the only one afflicted.

7. We've been watching this eagle family for three days. Two of the eggs have hatched and we're waiting on the third. Thing One's favorite part is when the dead rodents get ripped apart for food. Who doesn't love rodent carcass destruction?

8. I bought an enormous box of fruit snacks last night. Seth said it was comically large. Thing One exclaimed "That will last us all day!"

9. Sometimes I forget there's a baby coming. I mean, I know I'm pregnant. I can feel the nausea and the kicking and I've started groaning and gasping when I try to get out of bed or stand up. But the fact that in 20 weeks or less, there will be a new person living here and I'll be consumed by the lovely, milky new baby phase slips my mind sometimes. And then I get happy when I remember.

10. Thing Two just approached me completely naked. So I made him sit on his potty. No success yet.

The End