Archive for the ‘love’ Category

Appointment with Love

December 23, 2012

I can still remember a Christmas eve , doesn’t seem that long ago…I was @ my grandparents, talking with my Uncle Bill.  I remember telling him I wished I had a girl friend…

There were absolutely no prospects on the horizon…none...nada…

He told me, you never know…that special someone might be just around the corner…

Would you believe I bumped into her less that two months later..

So my encouragement to you my fellow blog reader if that is your situation…

Don’t give up!~

The following story is for you ;-)

Sending you a Christmas Blessing.  DM

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      Six minutes to six, said the great round clock over the information booth in Grand Central Station.  The tall young Army lieutenant who had just come from the direction of the tracks lifted his sunburned face, and his eyes narrowed to note the exact time.  His heart was pounding with a beat that shocked him because he could not control it.  In six minutes, he would see the woman who had filled such a special place in his life for the past 13 months, the woman he had never seen, yet whose written words had been with him and sustained him unfailingly.

     He placed himself as close as he could to the information booth, just beyond the ring of people besieging the clerks…

      Lieutenant Blanford remembered one night in particular, the worst of the fighting, when his plane had been caught in the midst of a pack of Zeros.  He had seen the grinning face of one of the enemy pilots.

     In one of his letters, he had confessed to her that he often felt fear, and only a few days before this battle, he had received her answer: “Of course you fear…all brave men do.  Didn’t King David know fear?  That’s why he wrote the 23rd Psalm.  Next time you doubt yourself, I want you to hear my voice reciting to you, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me.”  And he had remembered;  he had heard her imagined voice, and it had renewed his strength and skill.

     Now he was going to hear her real voice.  Four minutes to six.  His face grew sharp. 

       Under the immense, starred roof, people were walking fast, like threads of color being woven into a grey web.  A girl passed close to him,  and Lieutenant Blanford started.  She was wearing a red flower in her suit lapel, but it was a crimson sweet pea, not the little red rose they had agreed upon.  Besides this girl was too young, about 18, whereas Hollis Meynell had frankly told him she was 30.  “Well, what of it?” he had answered.  “I’m 32.  He was 29.

     His mind went back to that book- the book the Lord Himself must have put into his hands out of the hundreds of Army  library books sent to the Florida training camp.  Of Human Bondage, it was; and throughout the book were notes in a woman’s writing.  He had always hated that writing-in habit, but these remarks were different.  He had never believed that a woman could see into a man’s heart so tenderly, so understandingly.  Her name was on the book-plate  Hollis Meynell.  He had got hold of a New York City telephone book and found her address.  He had written, she had answered.  Next day he had been shipped out, but they had gone on writing.

     For 13 months, she had faithfully replied, and more than replied.  When his letters did not arrive, she wrote anyway, and now he believed he loved her, and she loved him.

     But she had refused all his pleas to sent him a photograph.  That seemed rather bad, of course.  But she had explained: “If your feeling for me has any reality, any honest basis, what I look like won’t matter.  Suppose I’m beautiful.  I’d always be haunted by the feeling that you had been taking a chance on just that, and that kind of love would disgust me.  Suppose I’m plain (and you must admit that this is more likely) Then I’d always fear that you were going on writing me only because you were lonely and had no one else.  No, don’t ask for my picture.  When you come to New York, you shall see me and they you shall make your decision.  Remember, both of us are free to stop or go on after that- whichever we choose…”

      One minute to six- he pulled hard on the cigarette.

     Then Lieutenant Blanford’s heard leaped higher than his plane had ever done.

     A young woman was coming toward him.  Her figure was long and slim; her blond hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears.  Her eyes were blue and flowers, her lips and chin had a gentle firmness.  In her pale green suit, she was like springtime come alive.

     He started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was wearing no rose, and as he moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips.

      Going my way soldier?” she murmured.

      Uncontrollably, he made one step closer to her.  Then he saw Hollis Meynell.

      She was standing almost directly behind the girl, a woman well past 40, her greying hair tucked under a worn hat.  She was more than plump; her thick-ankled feet were thrust into low-heeled shoes.  But she wore a red rose in a rumpled lapel of her brown coat.

     The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away.

     Blanford felt that though he were being split in two, so keen was his desire to follow the girl, yet so deep was his longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companion-ed and upheld his own; and there she stood.  Her pale  plump face was gentle and sensible;  he could see that now.  Her gray eyes had a warm, kindly twinkle.

     Lieutenant Blanford did not hesitate.  His fingers gripped the small, worn, blue leather copy of Of Human Bondage, which was to identify him to her.  This would  not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even rarer than love- a friendship for which he had been and must ever be grateful.

     He squared his broad shoulders, saluted and held the book out toward the woman, although even while he spoke, he felt shocked by the bitterness of his disappointment.

      “I”m lieutenant John Blanford, and you- you are Miss Meynell.  I’m so glad you could meet me.  May…..may I take you to dinner?”

      The woman’s face broadened into a tolerant smile.  “I don’t know what this is all about, son,” she answered.  “That young lady in the green suit- the one who just went by- begged me to wear this rose on my coat.  And she said that if you asked me to go out with you, I should tell you that she’s waiting for you in that big restaurant across the street.  She said it was some kind of a test.  I’ve got two boys with Uncle Sam myself, so I didn’t mind to oblige you.”  Sulamith Ish-Kishor

from A  3rd serving of Chicken Soup for the Soul.

My lover, my wife

January 5, 2012

Have ye leisure, comfort, calm, shelter, food, loves gentle balm? Or what is it ye buy so dear with your pain and with your fear?” Percy Bysshe Shelley

Wednesday morning wife and I had an appointment with Marilyn, a friend and Christian counselor. I went in to work for a couple of hours then met them at her office. As I got out of my truck I felt like the Thanksgiving turkey walking into the butcher shop.

gobble gobble

These things were going through my mind:

#1 I am not going to play any mind games, I am going to own up to anything that comes out of this session where I am in the wrong.

#2 Lately, God has shown me how completely he sees into my heart. There’s a verse in scripture “Before him no creature is hidden but all are open and laid bare to the eyes of him with whom we have to do..” He sees into every nook and cranny, and still he loves me.

99.9% of the time he is just a silent observer, but once in a while something will happen to show me that yes he does know about X Y or Z, and I’m just fooling myself if I think otherwise.

#3 Marriage takes work.

Like tending a garden in Iowa. After that initial excitement , the weeds start to show up. If too many days go by, I can’t even see the stuff I planted. Wednesday was “weed pulling time.” My eldest asked me last week,” Are you going to write mom a letter ?” (referring to the series I’ve written to my children) We will mark 33 years of marriage this coming April. Our children range in age from 31,30, 25, and 23.

For the record, our relationship rocks. It has not happened by accident. Talk to 10 different couples and I’m guessing they will tell you 10 different things on what is the key to their relationship. For me, I would say it’s an intentional choice to make our relationship a priority over any other area of either one of our lives..

over being a parent (the best gift you can give your children is a healthy marriage),

over our jobs which some of us love as much or more than any lover,

over ministry.

Throw in large doses of forgiveness, humility, honestly and kindness and there’s a good chance you’ll do just fine….

Now to my letter…

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To my best friend and soul mate, Thank you for saying “Yes” so many years ago. It is hard to believe over 30 years have passed since the night I popped the question. There are so many things about you that I am attracted to…like I said the other morning, at the top of the list is your kind and gentle spirit..and I’m not just blowing smoke. Just last week I was looking in your eyes. Felt like I was noticing how grey they were for the first time. I love the way we continue to discover new things about each other. Won’t get all mushy for you on the blog…will save the rest over coffee…

XXXX Your farm boy

ps the picture above was taken when we were on the West Coast visiting our daughter…we were looking out to the ocean…made me think later it was like the two of us were standing side by side, looking to the future, the sea was a little rough, it was overcast..there we were, standing side by side, facing the future, come what may.

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pss this one was originally written in 2008.  Since it’s been a while and buried in the archives, thought I would repost it for some of my new readers. DM

Roger and Elaine

August 11, 2011

 

Roger And Elaine

Let’s say a guy named Roger is attracted to a woman named Elaine.  He asks her out to a movie.  She accepts.  They have a pretty good time.  A few nights later he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves.  They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while neither of them is seeing anyone else.  And then, one evening when they are driving home, a thought occurs to Elaine, and without really thinking, she says it aloud:  “Do you realise that, as of tonight, we’ve been seeing each other exactly six months?”   and then there is silence in the car.  To Elaine, it seems like a very loud silence.  She thinks to herself; Geez, I wonder if it bothers him that I said that.  Maybe he’s been feeling confined by our relationship;  maybe he thinks I’m trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he doesn’t want, or isn’t sure of.

And Roger is thinking:  Gosh Six months.

And Elaine is thinking:  But, hey, I’m not sure I want this kind of relationship either.  Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I’d have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily toward….I mean, where are we going?  Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy?  Are we headed toward marriage?  Toward children?  Toward a lifetime together?  Am I ready for that level of commitment?  Do I really know this person?

And Roger is thinking:  So that means it was…let’s see…it must have been February when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the dealer’s which means…lemme check the odometer….Whoa!  I am way overdue for an oil change here.

And Elaine is thinking: He’s upset.  I can see it on his face.  Maybe I’m reading this completely wrong.  Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed, even before I sensed it…that I was feeling some reservations…Yes, I bet that’s it.  That’s why he is so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings.  He’s afraid of being rejected.

And Roger is thinking:  And I’m gonna have them look at the transmission again.  I don’t care what those morons say,  it’s still not shifting right.  And they better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time.  What cold weather?  It’s 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves $600.

And Elaine is thinking:  He’s angry.  And I don’t blame him.  I’d be angry too.  I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can’t help the way I feel.  I’m just not sure.

And Roger is thinking:  They’ll probably say it’s only a 90 day warranty.  That’s exactly what they’re gonna say, the scumbags.

And Elaine is thinking:  Maybe I’m just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I’m sitting right next to a perfectly good person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about me.  A person who is in pain because of my self-centered, school girl romantic fantasy.

And Roger is thinking:  Warranty?  They want a warranty?  I’ll give them a warranty!

“Roger,” Elaine says aloud.

“What?” says Roger, startled.

“Please don’t torture yourself like this,”she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears.  Maybe I should never have….Oh my….I feel so…”(She breaks down, sobbing)

     “What?” says Roger

  “I’m such a fool,” Elaine sobs.  “I mean, I know there ‘s no knight.  I really know that.  It’s silly.  There’s no knight and there’s no horse.”

    “There’s no horse?” says Roger

“You think I’m a fool, don’t you.”   Elaine says.

     “No!”says Roger, glad to finally know the correct answer.

“It’s just that…It’s that I…I need some time,” Elaine says.  (There is a 15 second pause while Roger, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response.  Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work)

“Yes,”he says.  (Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand.)

     “Oh Roger, do you really feel that way?” she says.

      “What way?”  says Roger.

      “That way about time,” says Elaine.

“Oh,” says Roger. “Yes.”

     (Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse.)

At last she speaks: “Thank you, Roger.”  she says.

  “Thank you,” says Roger.

Roger then takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn, whereas when Roger gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two Czechoslovakian’s  he never heard of.  A tiny voice in the far recesses  of his mind tells him that something major was going on back in the car, but he is pretty sure there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it’s better if he doesn’t think about it.  (This is also Roger’s policy regarding world hunger)

The next day Elaine will call her closest friend, perhaps two of them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours.  In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression, and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification.  They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite conclusions, but never getting bored with it either.

Meanwhile, Roger, while playing racquetball one day with Norm, a mutual friend of his and Elaine’s will pause just before serving, frown, and say; “Norm, did Elaine ever own a horse?”

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    Footnote:  I  first heard this story at a men’s retreat .  Every so often it comes up again in a conversation with either one of my kids in the context of dating relationships or between my wife and I when we find ourselves not communicating clearly.  I’ll refer to either a garbage truck or something about a horse ;-)  

I posted this one a couple of years ago on the blog so it may be familiar to some of you long time readers.

I’ve sometimes secretly wondered…..

February 26, 2011

I’ve sometimes secretly wondered if there wasn’t something a little “weird” in our marriage.

(Not to worry…I told my wife this on Thursday) :-) ….after reading the following article.

Here’s what weird:  we’re coming up on 32 years of marriage  this April and we  still experience  lots of romantic feelings for each other.

  I am not lying. 

 The “sizzle” is still there.

Not going to get all TMI  on you here.

But after reading this recent column by Andree Seu  I felt a lot better…

(I’ve reposted it below)

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Superlative Song

Scripture has a powerful response for those who think God dislikes romance

The  Song of Songs stands through the centuries, as an immovable testimony of God’s intention for man and woman.  It is a rebuke to our tiny loves, a constant goad to our lackluster marriages.  It calls drifting and depleted couples back to the Creator’s ideal: Do not settle for less than joy.  It is far from a manual, and yet in its poetry it shows how the secrets of connubial bliss are found in the readily available commodities of openness, verbal affirmations, playfulness, occasional getaways, committed oneness, and working through trials.

      We thought we had made too much of love when we had made too little of it.  We thought our songs too charged with passion when they had fallen short.  Our honeymoons are a mere two weeks when God had suggested a year:  “When a man is newly married, he shall not go out with the army or be liable for any other public duty.  He shall be free at home one year to be happy with his wife who he has taken.”  Deut. 24:5

     The ancients, embarrassed by the Song, stripped it clean of scents and touches.  It is no shabby proof of divine inspiration that when the smoke cleared on the canon in the mid-third century, the Song was still there.  Cyril of Alexandria (376-444) made the two breasts of the Shulamite the Old and New Testaments.  The bearded ones were right that the Song is about Christ, but it is about Christ via the erotic love of husband and wife (“This mystery is profound”- Ephesians 5:32)

Painting by Domenico Morelli depicting the Song of Songs

     For some of us, the Song is not only helpful but essential.  It gives permission to be as in love as you want to be.   It destroys the notion that God grants romance as a concession but holds His nose.  It debunks the notion of love sickness as a brief biological agitation for the prosaic purpose of perpetuation of the species.  If your marriage passes from intoxication into humdrum cohabitation, it is not God’s idea.  Put away from you the fatalists who say, “Romance is a flame that dies but companionship is its consolation. ”  Put away those who believe that “letting yourself go” after the ring is on is normal.  Not from heaven does such counsel come.  “At your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” (Psalm 16:11)

      The Shulamite brings warning:  ”I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem….that you do not stir up or awaken love until it pleases. ”  (vs2:7, 3:5, 5:8 8:4)  She is so very much in love with this man that she doesn’t want her friends to forfeit this experience by forcing love prematurely, by taking matters into their own hands.  (also note the emotional price tag for love- 3:1-5; 5:2-8.)

     The “daughters of Jerusalem” are cheerleaders, for our sakes.  This love affair enjoys the approval of objective onlookers and is not some tawdry tryst that must keep a nervous lookout for men and from the light.

      Tend your marriage, even if you think it is too late.  There is wonder-working healing in a touch, a look, a word, an unexpected embrace.  Nor is it artificial to work on love.  C. S. Lewis reminds us that a garden is no less beautiful for needing to be weeded and fussed with (The Four Loves)

      “Catch the foxes for us, the little foxes that spoil the vineyards.”  (2:15)   What are the little foxes but our inconsiderateness, laziness, resistance, hard-heartedness, and above all unbelief?  Believe in love, for love is of God.  Everything in the universe is arrayed on its side.

     The world has had many songs since the world began, but this one is the Song of Songs.  The Hebrew construction in the superscript indicates the superlative.  Tell me what is more superlative , if you know.  Whatever you propose, the daughters of Jerusalem will spurn it and will say:  “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death, jealousy is fierce as the grave.  Its flashes are flashes of fire, the very flame of the Lord.  Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it.  If a man offered for love all the wealth of his house, he would be utterly despised.” (8:6-7)

Andree Seu February 26, 2011 World Magazine

Comfortable In My Own Skin/ The journey continues

August 29, 2010

     

 ”There is a difference between superficial beauty and the inner beauty we all possess as unique human beings.  One is the product of the object culture, which reduces us to the things we own and the milestones we accomplish.  The other is the result of a life well lived, where our struggles and challenges make us more loveable and truly ourselves.  Inner beauty the kind you can feel and others can see, is what happens when you stop chasing false ideals and become the Real person you are meant to be.”

From the book The Velveteen Principles   A guide to becoming Real by  Toni Raiten-D’Antonio

 If a picture is worth a 100 words,  then this  clip is worth 100,000:

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     I (DM) was dumbfounded after watching that clip.  Sometimes I feel as if the whole world is chasing after a  mirage.   And then I read  the following and realize, I’m not alone….

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      “I began to formulate the Velveteen Principles in a most unlikely place.  I was at my doctor’s office for a routine checkup.  I looked up from a glossy, waiting-room magazine, which was full of images of smiling, perfect-looking people, and noticed that it was hard to tell that any of the patients around me were sick, worried or defective in any way.  well-dressed and smiling, we were all trying to look good, just like the people in my magazine.

       Then the outside door swung open and a wheelchair-bound woman in her mid-seventies entered, pushed by a man of the same age who was obviously her husband.  After stopping at the receptionist’s station, they came into the waiting area.

       She was bright-eyed but obviously quite ill.  Her hands shook, and she breathed with the help of an oxygen tank.   She wore no makeup.  Red splotches and blue veins were visible through her pale, wrinkled skin.  And her clothes were not the least bit feminine or fashionable.  She was everything I had been taught to avoid becoming- weak, unhealthy, dependent and unconcerned about the impression she made on others.

        Her husband, a white-haired man was dressed in khaki pants and a flannel shirt, was small, alert and quite fig.  He had pushed her wheelchair with relative ease and then knelt next to her.  He pushed back the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a very old tattoo of a buxom young woman maybe it was Betty Grable- and stroked his wife’s hair.  As he adjusted the plastic tubing for her oxygen supply, he spoke softly in his wife’s ear.  Whatever he said made her smile.

      As I peeked over my magazine I became strangely jealous.  Here she was, at the end of her life, physically debilitated and struggling.  But she was not shy or embarrassed.  Instead, she exuded a peaceful sense of certainty about who she was and her inherent value.  It was clear that her husband adored her and cherished every moment they spent together.  I considered his tattoo and thought of a time when he was young and probably quite obsessed with pretty women. And who knows, maybe his wife was once the girl who had fulfilled his fantasy.  But in the moment I witnessed, what he loved was the true and essential person inside the body, the invisible beauty he may not have seen in younger years.

      In the weeks after seeing that couple in the doctor’s office I struggled to understand why I had been so envious..  I had a husband who loved me.  I felt good about my work and about my two children, Amy and Elizabeth.  But I felt, deep in my heart, there was something that older woman possessed that I wanted.  It was there in her face, and in the way she interacted with her husband, but I just couldn’t name it.

     The answers we need often come at unpredictable moments and from surprising sources.  This happened to me on a summer evening as I prepared dinner.  I was in the kitchen, taking vegetables out of the refrigerator and grabbing pots and pans from the cupboard while my daughters sat together reading on the sofa in the next room.  Elizabeth, age six, was  reading to two-year-old Amy.  Amy had her favorite blanket in her hand, her best bear, Lauren, in her lap and her thumb in her mouth.  Elizabeth’s stuffed bear, Ted, was propped next to her They had reached page sixteen of The Velveteen Rabbit, Margery  Williams’s story, which was one of their favorites.

     “What is REAL asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room.  “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”
      “Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you.  When a child loves you for a long, long time not just to play with but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

     “Does it hurt?”

     “Sometimes said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.  “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

      “Does it happen all at once,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

     “It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse.  “You become.  It takes a long time.  That’s why it doesn’t happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges or who have to be carefully kept.  Generally, by the time you are REAL, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby.  But those things don’t matter at all, because once you are real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

     In the kitchen, I was suddenly flooded with emotion and understanding.  The Rabbit and the Skin Horse, I realized were talking about the difference between superficial beauty and the kind of Real, inner beauty that we all possess as unique human beings.  They were saying that in a life well-lived, where we are true to ourselves, all the struggles and challenges only make us more Real and more loveable.  Others can see this quality in us, and make us even more Real with their love and nurturing.

      At last I understood  my reaction to the older woman at my doctor’s office.  She was loose in the joints.  Her hair was thinning, and her clothes were shabby.  But she showed no anxiety, no shame, no worry.  She accepted herself fully.  She knew she was precious and irreplaceable.  She was Real.  She loved and accepted herself as a Real and therefore imperfect person.

      The scene at the doctor’s office was made all the more poignant by the fact that the woman’s Real value was clear to her husband as well.  To him she could never be ugly, because she was simply herself.  At a moment when anyone else might have been supremely self-conscious, he was so Real that he was almost carefree…..

      As the pages of The Velveteen Rabbit turn, the main characters teach us how to find peace that comes when we focus on what matters most in life:  love, relationships, and empathy for ourselves and others.  The Skin Horse is a wise and experienced elder who is generous with what he has learned.  The Rabbit is, like all of us, insecure and searching for his place in the world, a place he eventually finds in a rather unexpected new life….  (that was from the Introduction to The Velveteen Principles )

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 So  how about you?  

Are you comfortable in your own skin? 

 What does that look like in your life?

I’ve been on this quest since 1978 .    

As always, thanks for reading  along.   DM

       

Making Love

April 18, 2010

      

 One of the wisest men I know, Alexander Papaderos, is the director of the Orthodox Academy of Crete.  Unfortunately for me, he lives ten time zones and thousands of miles away from Seattle.  Even when we are together, we are separated by the subtleties of language.  His English is far better than my Greek, but we are both seriously limited by lack of common cultural experience.  We get by in English on most mundane topics, but when we reach for deeper understandings, we must be careful, lest we assume we are communicating when in fact we are not.

      As 1992 became 1993, we spent the New Year holidays together.  For all the romantic images a summer trip to Greece may suggest, the island of Crete in winter is a cold, windy place.  A time to sit indoors by an olive-wood fire, drink raki and retsina, eat prok sausage with fresh bread soaked in new-pressed olive oil, and talk late into the night of weighty matters.

      One evening we spoke of marriage.

       In Crete the custom of arranged marriage continues.  Even when a marriage is not initiated by a family, the wisdom of family experience is brought to bear in a way Americans would find anachronistic.

     The Cretans think romance is nice enough when it happens, but it is not a particularly good basis for marriage.

      Papaderos had stumbled over a concept he had found in Western literature. “Making love.”  It confused him.  “What is this making love?”

       I explained it was a popular euphemism for having sex- going to bed…whether married or not.

    He replied that for Cretans, “making love,” is a serious notion summarizing the process of marriage and family.  When two families agree that a son and a daughter would suit one another, it is expected that over time the man and woman will work at becoming compatible partners in the same spirit one might work at achieving competence in a life’s vocation.  This is making love.

      Time and experience mistakes and difficulties- are all part of the equation whose sum is a lasting relationship.  Love is not something you fall into.  Love and marriage are “made.”

    Thus in Cretan terms, when a married couple have been overheard arguing or fighting, the Cretans smile knowingly and say, “Ah, they are making love.”

      During this same winter trip, Papaderos took my wife and me along as guests in the home of a Greek family on New Year’s Day.  Though I hate to admit it, I am a closet football fan, and this was the first time in memory I could not be spending the day watching representatives of American universities struggle to resolve the great human crisis of who is Number One.  Nor would I be in touch with the professional- football run-up to the Super Bowl.  I was vaguely anxious.

     My youth and early manhood were permanently affected by Vince Lombardi, the coach of the legendary Green Bay Packers football team.  Lombardi was about winning,  Fair and square and by the rules- but winning.  Winners worked harder and smarter.  Winners were never wimps- when knocked down, they got up again.  Winners played tough in the face of adversity, injury, and pain.  Winners played hurt.

     These thoughts floated in my mind as I coped with the unfamiliar traditions of a Cretan New Year meal.  The old customs of the mountain villages prevailed.  Instead of the Anglo-American whole roasted pig with an apple in its mouth, the Cretans celebrate with boiled sheeps’ heads.  Yes.

      Skinned, simmered, and served with eyeballs intact, the head is split, and the brains are scooped out with a spoon.  The tongues are sliced and eaten like Pate.  The delicacies are savored by the grandparents and other senior members of the family, but not by the younger generation of Greeks.

      I watched the grandmother as she ate.

      Eighy-eight years old.  Blind in one eye, deaf in one ear, and shriveled by time and a hard life.  She helped herself to each dish as it passed her way.  She ate carefully, thoughtfully, and with undisguised pleasure.

     I knew that she had survived mountain life, two world wars, the Greek civil war, and the repressions of the Dictatorship of the Colonels in the 1970′s.  Her husband was taken into the army.  She did not hear from him for almost seven years.  Her village was leveled by the Nazis, and she was imprisoned and beaten.  For two years she had lived in caves, eating roots and rabbits to stay alive.  No home, no job, no income, no medical care or insurance, no retirement plan or Social Security.  She had lived without electricity, running water, even without fire at times in her life.

      At the end of the meal, she challenged the “children” at the other end of the table to a singing contest.  The “children” were men and women of middle age- her nieces and nephews, cousins, and in-laws.  She and her equally ancient husband began the keening drone of a Cretan mountain song.  It worked like this:  The challenger makes up a four-line rhyming verse, then everyone sings the common chorus, then someone from the opposing team makes up a four-line verse responding to the verse of the challenger, and again the chorus, and so on.  It’s a can-you-top this contest in song.  Extemporaneously and fast, it ends when one team or another cannot come up with the verse without missing a beat.  Not easy.

      The old lady sang her opponents into exhaustion.  She literally left them speechless.  Her last verse contained a hope that this coming year would be even better than the last, and who knows, if the rest of them lived as well as she, they might be able to keep up with her in a singing contest, though she doubted it.  They doubted it too. And so did I.

      Never mind the bowl games.  This New Year’s Day I had seen a winner.

     If Lombardi had a backfield with her kind of stuff, the Green Bay Packers would still be winning. The lady was a champ.  A winner of a lifetime contest.  She had faithfully played her part despite injuries and sorrows. 

     She played hurt- every day of her life.

     Football is only a game.

      When the dinner was over, the old lady went into the kitchen insisting on helping with the dishes.  She came to the kitchen door with a bag of garbage and barked at her husband of sixty years.  He groaned up out of his chair to do his duty, and she barked at him some more and he groaned back some more.

      “What’s going on?” I asked Papaderos.

      “It seems her husband did not eat all of his salad and was singing off-key,” he explained.  “They are still making love- it takes forever.”

__________________________________________________________

That story is taken  from Robert Fulghum’s book  Maybe (Maybe Not)  If you would have stopped by our house tonight, you would have found us sitting in  our  cream colored comfortable stuffed chairs reading to each other from this book.  I would have invited you to pull up a chair and  join us.      G-nite.   DM

Appointment with Love

December 17, 2009

Pretense: The act of pretending; a false appearance or action intended to deceive.  Mere show without reality; outward appearance.

      I hate pretense in relationships/ business or personal-  maybe that’s why I love this story.

        DM

______________________________________________________

 

      Six minutes to six, said the great round clock over the information booth in Grand Central Station.  The tall young Army lieutenant who had just come from the direction of the tracks lifted his sunburned face, and his eyes narrowed to note the exact time.  His heart was pounding with a beat that shocked him because he could not control it.  In six minutes, he would see the woman who had filled such a special place in his life for the past 13 months, the woman he had never seen, yet whose written words had been with him and sustained him unfailingly.

     He placed himself as close as he could to the information booth, just beyond the ring of people besieging the clerks…

      Lieutenant Blanford remembered one night in particular, the worst of the fighting, when his plane had been caught in the midst of a pack of Zeros.  He had seen the grinning face of one of the enemy pilots.

     In one of his letters, he had confessed to her that he often felt fear, and only a few days before this battle, he had received her answer: “Of course you fear…all brave men do.  Didn’t King David know fear?  That’s why he wrote the 23rd Psalm.  Next time you doubt yourself, I want you to hear my voice reciting to you, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me.”  And he had remembered;  he had heard her imagined voice, and it had renewed his strength and skill.

     Now he was going to hear her real voice.  Four minutes to six.  His face grew sharp. 

       Under the immense, starred roof, people were walking fast, like threads of color being woven into a grey web.  A girl passed close to him,  and Lieutenant Blanford started.  She was wearing a red flower in her suit lapel, but it was a crimson sweet pea, not the little red rose they had agreed upon.  Besides this girl was too young, about 18, whereas Hollis Meynell had frankly told him she was 30.  “Well, what of it?” he had answered.  “I’m 32.  He was 29.

     His mind went back to that book- the book the Lord Himself must have put into his hands out of the hundreds of Army  library books sent to the Florida training camp.  Of Human Bondage, it was; and throughout the book were notes in a woman’s writing.  He had always hated that writing-in habit, but these remarks were different.  He had never believed that a woman could see into a man’s heart so tenderly, so understandingly.  Her name was on the book-plate  Hollis Meynell.  He had got hold of a New York City telephone book and found her address.  He had written, she had answered.  Next day he had been shipped out, but they had gone on writing.

     For 13 months, she had faithfully replied, and more than replied.  When his letters did not arrive, she wrote anyway, and now he believed he loved her, and she loved him.

     But she had refused all his pleas to sent him a photograph.  That seemed rather bad, of course.  But she had explained: “If your feeling for me has any reality, any honest basis, what I look like won’t matter.  Suppose I’m beautiful.  I’d always be haunted by the feeling that you had been taking a chance on just that, and that kind of love would disgust me.  Suppose I’m plain (and you must admit that this is more likely) Then I’d always fear that you were going on writing me only because you were lonely and had no one else.  No, don’t ask for my picture.  When you come to New York, you shall see me and they you shall make your decision.  Remember, both of us are free to stop or go on after that- whichever we choose…”

      One minute to six- he pulled hard on the cigarette.

     Then Lieutenant Blanford’s heard leaped higher than his plane had ever done.

     A young woman was coming toward him.  Her figure was long and slim; her blond hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears.  Her eyes were blue and flowers, her lips and chin had a gentle firmness.  In her pale green suit, she was like springtime come alive.

     He started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was wearing no rose, and as he moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips.

      Going my way soldier?” she murmured.

      Uncontrollably, he made one step closer to her.  Then he saw Hollis Meynell.

      She was standing almost directly behind the girl, a woman well past 40, her greying hair tucked under a worn hat.  She was more than plump; her thick-ankled feet were thrust into low-heeled shoes.  But she wore a red rose in a rumpled lapel of her brown coat.

     The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away.

     Blanford felt that though he were being split in two, so keen was his desire to follow the girl, yet so deep was his longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned and upheld his own; and there she stood.  Her pale  plump face was gentle and sensible;  he could see that now.  Her gray eyes had a warm, kindly twinkle.

     Lieutenant Blanford did not hesitate.  His fingers gripped the small, worn, blue leather copy of Of Human Bondage, which was to identify him to her.  This would  not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even rarer than love- a friendship for which he had been and must ever be grateful.

     He squared his broad shoulders, saluted and held the book out toward the woman, although even while he spoke, he felt shocked by the bitterness of his disappointment.

      “I”m lieutenant John Blanford, and you- you are Miss Meynell.  I’m so glad you could meet me.  May…..may I take you to dinner?”

      The woman’s face broadened into a tolerant smile.  “I don’t know what this is all about, son,” she answered.  “That young lady in the green suit- the one who just went by- begged me to wear this rose on my coat.  And she said that if you asked me to go out with you, I should tell you that she’s waiting for you in that big restaurant across the street.  She said it was some kind of a test.  I’ve got two boys with Uncle Sam myself, so I didn’t mind to oblige you.”  Sulamith Ish-Kishor 

 from A  3rd serving of Chicken Soup for the Soul.

Real Masculinity (According to me)

October 3, 2009

     “The hands of a brick layer, the heart of a poet.”  

                           Saumel J Kirkwood/ Former Governor of Iowa

kirkwood-hammer certificae

     I’m probably going to step on a few toes with this one, but you know what,  I’m not going to lose any sleep over it

     I’ve been given the  privilege this Fall of teaching  8 young men in a construction program.   I am 30 plus years removed from my High school days- a season in my life I would not want to repeat. 

    Since completing High School,  I’ve spent   30 years together with the same woman- (and we still like each other), We’ve raised 4 children now in their early to late 20′s- ( and  have  a healthy  relationship with each of them).     

       In addition to  teaching , I’m a general contractor.

       I am a people person, and have known and worked alongside literally dozens of men (and women) in the construction industry with every personality type you could imagine.- I n all these years, there is only 1 man who  hated my guts-  a  former bible college graduate twerp with a mouth.

       I love pouring cement, stick framing a roof, riding motorcycles, writing poetry, baking my grandma’s rye bread from scratch, shooting  a  semi automatic rifle,  working in our  apple orchard, stacking bales in the haymow, butchering chickens,  bringing my wife and I coffee in bed

     What am I trying to say? My feet are firmly planted in real life.

      When I was a young man ( like the guys in my class)- there were very few healthy role models- at least role models of what I would consider a masculine male-             Most of the “masculine” males  were either stoic males without emotion, or jocks whose sole purpose in life was to “get some”…great qualities to have in a future husband don’t you think?

      I  am here to tell you, a real man can be tough and know how to stand his ground, but he can also be tender, and know how to admit when he’s wrong.         Real men  are in touch with their feelings- regardless of what anybody else may be telling you. 

    One of my best friends  from New Jersey  would probably be  thought of as stoic by   the rest of the people in his life….and yet, I’ve gotten to know the man behind the mask- I know things about him his wife probably  doesn’t know-  he can be  funny and  fun loving as anyone , he cares, hurts, worries,  just like you and I- but I’m guessing you (and his wife ) will  never see this side of him  unless you established a level of trust with him.

     I love working with the biker/just got out of jail types.  I love to look them in the eye and mess with their minds.  Three years ago,I spent the day with Johnny- he was helping out a friend of mine remodel a building.  Johnny was on work release- muscular, in his mid 30′s- I came with my sawzall, and  chop saw with a diamond blade.  My job was to cut a hole through the side of the masonry building 2 stories in the air.  I  looked Johnny in the eye and said,   ‘”I’m afraid of heights”  (because I am) :-)  

     He looked @ me and said with a little sarcasm, “Man, what kind of carpenter are you,  afraid of height?”

     About 1/3 of the way into the process, there was an accident- Johnny, accidently stabbed me with my sawzall- new blade, with pigeon dung on it- slid right into my forearm like a steak knife-  we made a trip to the emergency room..2 hours later, we were back- my arm all stitched and wrapped up.  I couldn’t leave because we had to finish the project- I had the tools and know how…I watched Johnny as he struggled with the chop saw- it was driving me nuts..finally, I said, “Let me have it”-  I grabbed the saw with both hands and went back to work- two hours later, we were done-  Johnny, looked @ me when I finished with the saw  and said, “Man, you are one bad @#s .”

     Music to my ears. 

     Thoughts, comments, questions?

 

How To: Keep The Romantic Fire Burning Long term

June 26, 2009

Doug at 21

This is a picture of us in 1978…When I look @ that happy couple  I see two young people who were clueless about the pressures and stresses heading their way. 

 

     Here we are 25 years later…still together, not quite as clueless…DougandMicaeladancing

      In Mid May, I had a small kitchen remodel project for Bill and Sue.  Everything looked solid and normal until we opened up the wall.  The 2 by 4′s on the left side of the window had little white bugs on them, and the wood had been turned to paper, it would fall apart when you touched it…..

Their house had   Termites

Fortunately, they caught them in time.  The exterminator came, did a thorough examination and only found one other spot where they may have been working.  He thought they had only been gnawing for maybe 3 years. 

     I’d never seen termites in action before….they completely destroy a home from inside the walls, they are silent, you never know they are working, unless you know what to look for.   I can see why  house could suddenly fall into a heap if it had been infested for years.

     The exterminator told Bill and Sue, termites are everywhere in the soil of Iowa.    You just need to be aware of them, best thing you can do, is look for the little tubes:

picture of termite mud  tube on the foundation of a house.

I believe there are “relational termites” you need to watch out for, if you are married.  They’re  like the wood termites.  They quietly eat away @ the structure of  your marriage…might be there for years…then one day, you wake up and your standing in a pile of rubble.

(disclaimer- I got this termite  analogy from a great book by Charles Swindol on marriage – Strike the Original Match.  This is his word picture )

Here are some of the “termites” we’ve encountered in our 30 yrs of marriage:

Children come first termite -  The best gift you can give your children is a healthy marriage.  Unless you are very careful and intentional about it, once you start having children, it’s very easy for one of the parents to begin placing the demands of their child above everything else.  It sounds so noble, and babies do demand a lot of your time and energy- especially at first.  Like I told my eldest again recently…you need to keep  dating, just the two of you, carving out some one on one alone time.  Months can go by without the two of you going out on a date.  It doesn’t have to cost a lot of money-  just take a walk.  Barter with another family- you watch their kids while they watch yours.  You need to stay engaged with each other on an emotional, relational level. ..talk about your feelings, your thoughts, the highlights and low lights of your day…work @ staying in touch w/ each others lives.  Keep dating, keep having fun.   In our relationship,  probably the most significant daily time for us, is coffee  in bed in the morning…I stumble down stairs, grab 2 cups.  Every couple needs to find routine that works best for them..preferably daily

Financial Stress termite  We live in such a materialistic, hedonistic saturated culture.  Young people today sometimes make the mistake of thinking they have to have all nice fancy things their mom  and dad have…forgetting it took years for their parents to get to that place financially.   Easy credit allows them to borrow more than they should, forcing both parents to work, full time and then some just to stay one step ahead of the wolf.  The financial pressure will cause stress in your relationship.  You meet each other coming and going, you’re both irritable, you’re not on the same page financially.  If there is tension in your home because of money, don’t ignore that- that’s like seeing a termite mud tube and thinking, “Oh well, I don’t see the little buggers,  we’ll be fine.  I just have to work a little longer.”

 

Other things/relationship termite   You start out, with your partner as the love of your life, your first priority, but over time, other things start competing for that place in your heart and your spouse gradually feels like there is another lover in your life they are in competition with.  It could be your work, (because you love your job), it could be another relationship, as weird as it might sound, it could be your commitments @ church- dumping more of your energy and passion into some group so there is nothing left for your mate, it could be your hobby (s)..it might be the amount of time you invest on the Internet,  it could be just about anything.

Unresolved conflict termite     You know how it is, you have an argument about something, it never gets completely worked through, next thing you know,  you have another..before too long, you sense tension in your marriage, can’t really put your finger on it, discount it, maybe you’re just tired and need a break…when in reality, the two of you have allowed all of these little conflicts and issues to pile up, can’t even remember some of them anymore…but because they are unresolved, this low grade anger and disgust has replaced the love, and affection you once felt for that other person sleeping in the bed with you.  The smallest things they do irritate you..  Yep, you’ve got this termite…the unresolved conflict termite.  I think it’s one of the easiest ones to  acquire.    and simpliest to get rid of-  easy, not always :-)   simple yes….give and receive forgiveness, admit when you’ve said or done something to hurt the other person.

      If after reading this, you think you might have termites in your marriage- don’t despair.  They’re everywhere.  Like I told Bill and Sue, just be glad you found them now..and not 10 years from now.  It’s never too late.  There are so many awesome resources out there. 

     I’ve written on this topic before, so some of this may sound familiar.

Thoughts, comments, questions?

Your Invitation To Our 30th Anniversary Celebration

April 21, 2009

Marriage is not a ritual or an end. It is a long, intricate, intimate dance together and nothing matters more than your own sense of balance and your choice of partner.” - Amy Bloom

    Here is a recent photo of us @ Chucky-Cheese’s when we went there with our granddaughter Addy :

doug-and-micaela

       April 21 2009  Today  is our 30th anniversary.  I wanted to do something to mark it.  How does a   little music,  some wine and cheese, and  a couple of choice comments sound?

      First the music. 

      Going to pull the curtain back just a little on our relationship and share “our song”   We just picked it a few years ago. :

    

 

Next the wine and cheese:

   And finally a couple of thoughts.

  In March I wrote      this letter    to Sharon  (fellow blogger) on marriage    so rather than re-invent the wheel, I”m going to take the easy way out , share that link with you.  I’ll close with a couple of quotes that resonate with me…

____________________________________________

    ” I have no way of knowing whether or not you married the wrong person, but I  do know that many people have a lot of wrong ideas about marriage and what  it takes to make that marriage happy and successful. I’ll be the first to  admit that it’s possible that you did marry the wrong person. However, if
you treat the wrong person like the right person, you could well end up  having married the right person after all. On the other hand, if you marry  the right person, and treat that person wrong, you certainly will have ended  up marrying the wrong person.   I also know that it is far more important to  be the right kind of person than it is to marry the right person. In short,  whether you married the right or wrong person is primarily up to you.”
Zig Ziglar

__________________________________________

“One of the great illusions of our time is that love is self-sustaining.
It is not. Love must be fed and nurtured, constantly renewed. That
demands ingenuity and consideration, but first and foremost, it demands time.”
David Mace

     “Common courtesy plays a big role in happy marriages. People who are permanently married are polite to one another. They don’t want to hurt one another’s feelings, and they don’t try to make the other one feel humiliated. People who are married for life are extremely kind to one another.”

___________________________________________________
      “The role of the female in every species is to pick the right mate.   The wrong  males are supposed to be barred from mating and procreating. Nature didn’t  intend human females or females from any other species to “fix” deficient  mates; we’re just supposed to reject them so they don’t pass on their bad
genes.”
Elizabeth, thoughtsopinionsrants Blog

______________________________________________
    ” Arguments are a natural part of any relationship, but cruelty is not. “

     Hope you enjoyed the party-  thanks for coming! DM

 

   


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