Sexuality, Pt. 1: Living in the Pursuit

Part II // Part III // Part IV // Part V
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Nothing quite encapsulates American culture like Thomas Jefferson's apropos "pursuit of happiness" clause in the Declaration of Independence.  Such commentary was as much prophetic as it was revolutionary, because the modern-day American still lives in the pursuit -- the thrill of the chase -- perhaps more now than ever before.  His choice of words was as applicable to the sentiments of the American revolution as it is to modern concepts of individuality.

For some, the pursuit of happiness is the noble ambition of chasing one's dreams and refusing to be daunted by opposition.  However, a more shrewd -- if perhaps cynical -- perspective is that the life lived in pursuit is one of continual dissatisfaction.  Pat Monahan expressed it perhaps the most succinctly in Train's "Calling all Angels," that we live in a world where "what we want is only what we want until it's ours."  Truly, that is where we live as Americans: in the pursuit, as opposed the attainment.

It's as much inspirational as it is self-defeating.

That sense of eternal questing is what makes The Great Gatsby such a profoundly American novel.  Even in the face of utter hopelessness, even in his awareness of utter failure, Jay Gatsby's aspiration to regain Daisy Buchanan's love would not be damned.  He was shackled to his quest.  That selfsame willingness to beat on against the overwhelming current -- just a little more, just for one more day -- is the very definition of American rationality.  We are as much enthralled by the perpetual uphill journey as we are cursed to climb.  And keep climbing.

Culturally, one of the biggest ways we live in the pursuit is with our relationships -- not unlike Gatsby himself.  We do this by making a god out of human intimacy while simultaneously convincing ourselves of love's impossible rarity.  "A good man is just so hard to fine."  "A broad who won't treat you bad is one in a million."  This is the theme of every romantic comedy: all men (or women) are scum, and the central characters have been hurt far too much in the past to make another try at dating worthwhile.  But then they happen to meet by a chance encounter and somehow accept one another despite each's considerable emotional baggage.  We watch a movie with an impossibly perfect ending like that and come away reminding ourselves to stay skeptical, because in real life that never happens.  No -- of course it never really happens that way.  People aren't perfect, and forgiveness is harder than the silver screen can testify.  Yet, we choose to dangle the carrot of a perfect relationship in front of ourselves anyway, and continue to seek the Mr. or Mrs. Right who will be our mystical diamond in the rough.  All of this together is how we live in the pursuit: we glorify the romantic relationship by convincing ourselves it is virtually unobtainable, yet continue to crave it like oxygen.  All the while, we train ourselves to become so distrustful of genuine love that when a significant other finally does come along, we're already fortified against the inevitable breakup.

Because we live in the pursuit, even when we finally find ourselves in the relationships we dreamed about we are still unsatisfied.

Now, add to the equation the tremendous emphasis we place on spirituality in the modern age.  We're supposed to "discover ourselves" and define our own identities, encourage self-expression, and value love, peace, and mutual understanding across all cultures.  Lennon and McCartney's "all you need is love" mentality was not just the moniker of the 60's: it is still perhaps the single most driving philosophy of human society.  In that regard, the fact that we more often than not make "sex" synonymous with "love" means that we elevate the value of interpersonal intimacy to an absurdly unhealthy level -- as though the entire point of existing on this planet is to pursue that special person with whom I might possibly be compatible.  If that's my mode of thinking, then copulation can only be the ultimate fulfillment of interpersonal relationships.  Therefore it shouldn't be wrong for me to engage in sex with anyone and everyone if there is an emotional, uplifting connection between us.

That's the type of New Age logic that gets convoluted very quickly.

To most young people, sexuality is a natural expression of love and identity.  Often, it's a statement of commitment that doesn't require the archaic necessity of legal marriage.  Commitment to the current generation looks like, "I love my girlfriend/boyfriend, so therefore I should demonstrate to her/him how much."  On the other hand, there are plenty of young people who view sex as nothing more than a pastime -- something that is purely physical, purely recreational.  Something that doesn't require any lingering emotional connection or commitment or potential heartbreak of any sort.  All that is at stake here is personal gratification: pleasure that is exciting, new, and completely complication-free.  We live in pursuit of it because there is something forbidden and elusive about it -- something raunchy and exciting that we know, deep down, we morally shouldn't have.

Either expression of sexuality is contrary to the Bible.  The wanton pursuit of sexual pleasure in any means available is what Paul describes as making a god of the belly -- that is, our heart or our desires (Phil 3.19).  This type of person finds him- or herself unable to worship anything but personal gratification.  Even the person who engages in sex with his or her significant other only at the point of mutual commitment is still ignoring the biblical framework that God established for mankind.

So, all that to say this.  We have a cultural problem.  As Americans, we don't know any other way but to live in the pursuit.  In so doing, we mislabel love, make gods of sex and emotion, and ultimately use other people as replaceable instruments to gratify our own desires.  Paradoxically, we idolize sex at the same time we cheapen it.

However, this post is not intended to address the "hedonistic masses" in a fruitless attempt to spur social change.  The generation that engages in promiscuity to its furthest extents doesn't need to modify its behavior: they need to understand the person of Jesus.  Otherwise, they're just taking a bath before they take a shower.  The point of this post is to address the fact that our culture's sexual practices are tainting that of the church.

I know this firsthand: my own dating history was a series of sexual and emotional failures, despite the Christian upbringing I was given.  God may have graciously used those experiences to bring me to the wonderful, godly, and understanding woman whom I am now blessed to call my wife, but that doesn't mean that the entirety of the church should learn via trial and error.  We don't all have to learn through mistakes.  While I certainly wouldn't claim myself to be an authority on this subject, I do have experience in the area -- both good and bad -- and I know how alluring sexual temptation can be.  Furthermore, it would be foolish to presume that anyone in modern America has not in some way been influenced by what the world and the media believe human sexuality should look like.

Whether or not we admit it, media informs the opinions of the masses.
Especially when it comes to sexuality, American culture allows itself
to be led around by the nose.

I'm leery of older generations' sentiment that the moral temperature of the world is much worse today than it ever has been.  While I won't disagree that the world is spinning on to its inevitable conclusion, I do think it is safe to say that we are simply more aware of the world's condition than we ever have been in the past, thanks to our saturation in media, news, and the internet -- truthful, manipulative, or otherwise.  Regardless, morality isn't any worse today: it's always been worse.  However, I will absolutely agree (thanks largely to the sexual revolution of the 1960's) that there is no more sacredness when it comes to sexuality.  Sex is cheap when it is the temperature gauge of our relationships, and when it is the ad man's best friend.  When we live constantly in the pursuit of bigger, better, and hotter sex -- when we follow Cosmo and make sex the penultimate standard of human interaction -- we cheapen it to nothing but a thrill, a carnival ride with a maddeningly addictive quality.  Ultimately, we make ourselves into slaves who don't quite realize the destruction our chosen taskmaster can wreak.

So where do we begin?

For starters, we need to change our thinking.  If sex is no longer sacred, then we need to restore its value.  We need to return to a biblical understanding that human sexuality is a beautiful, wonderful, fulfilling gift from God with a joyful and perfectly-structured application in the marriage bed.  We also need to forgo the mindset that sex is something dirty and forbidden, and stop allowing that sense of perverseness to ensnare our carnal passions.  Though our culture has paradoxically diminished the value of sex while simultaneously making it an idol of emotional comfort, we need to keep that perspective from tainting our biblical understanding of the purpose and the joy God intended for sexuality when He designed it.

It is often the case that -- being products of the environment in which we live -- we attempt to make the Bible fit with the worldview we prefer.  We try to make room for our lusts and cravings and think that we are still somehow capable of living for Christ without fully putting to death the flesh.  It is for that reason that I'm going to be writing a series of posts pertaining to sexuality and Christian relationships.  Hopefully none of them will be exceptionally lengthy pieces.  However, the sexual and emotional brokenness that exists in our culture has a much stronger influence on the church than many Christians would like to admit, and I believe that problem needs to be addressed.

Sexual expression is intensely personal.  There is so much shame associated with it -- some earned, some undeserved.  Naturally, people are bound to be offended by someone else's opinion.  I can't promise not to step on any toes during this discussion, though I will be as tactful and as respectful as possible.  However, keep in mind that the Scripture doesn't deal in opinions.  In fact, it uproots them at their foundations (2 Cor 10.5).

His statutes endure through all generations.

Marital Coasting

I like to think of myself as an uncommonly thoughtful and considerate person.  At the same time, I also know that self-perceptions are more often than not ignorant of their own gaping holes.

This morning, Tara and I had a conversation about where we were a few years ago and how far we've come.  It's a conversation that comes up on occasion, and always seems burdened by the same concerns: we talk, but do we talk?  We love each other, but do we truly cherish?

Part of me resents these questions.  For the same reasons that I like to think I'm thoughtful and considerate, I also want to think that I'm doing everything my wife could possibly want and need.  Maybe that's just masculine arrogance speaking, but the truth is that I want to think I'm a better-than-average husband, because whenever someone posts an obnoxious article with a title like "10 things husbands are incapable of doing," I can check off every item on the list.  That's because I'm a doer.  I see a problem and try to fix it.  I see a need and try to fill it.  I'm not above helping my wife with mundane tasks.  However, doing things for Tara is a self-fulfilling type of love, simply because it feels sacrificial.  That awareness of my own time commitment often makes it more self-fulfilling than selfless.  I feel like I'm loving Tara well when I devote an afternoon to cleaning the house so she doesn't have to.  In itself, it's not a bad thing.  However, the problem with this prideful sense of "sacrifice" is that it often keeps me from doing for her what she really needs because I feel like I've already checked the box of what was required.  It keeps me operating merely at the point of optimum relational efficiency, and not striving to serve her more.

If I truly were the considerate person that I like to think I am, I would not only welcome the "check-up" conversation, but I would also be willing to meet my wife where she is.  Tara is an encourager.  She is deeply thoughtful, a generous giver, a hard worker.  For those reasons and more, she deserves more than my merely "sufficient" effort.  While she appreciates my help, she needs more than just someone tall enough to reach the top shelf.  She needs a leader and an encourager.  She needs me to disciple her and build her up in love.  She desires me to communicate my needs, my thoughts, my fears -- so that she can meet the ones she is able and pray for me in the ones she isn't.  And she needs my help, of course, but I can't just stop at the thing I'm comfortable doing.

That's really the problem.  Comfort.  Husbands (and wives too, for that matter, but husbands especially) deviate toward the most comfortable mode of operation and nest there.  We're like a grumpy cat sleeping in a sunbeam: every time the warmth recedes further into the dining room, we crawl resentfully back toward it, annoyed that it moved away from the carpet and onto the hardwood.  We don't want anything challenging because we just want to punch a relationship time card and exist in the place of contentment.  We hit a plateau where everything seems good and we're getting along with our spouse and decide to pitch our tent there, calling it marital unity when really we're settling for a comfortable façade.

I saw a t-shirt on the internet called the 1st Law of Relationship Inertia.  It read: "After 6 weeks a relationship will continue unless acted upon by an outside force."  That's the picture -- a self-sustaining momentum, a downhill coast that doesn't require any work to keep it going.

We don't want to strive in our marriages.  We want to coast.

Perhaps anticipating this, Paul recorded the following admonition in Ephesians 5:

Husbands, love your wives [in the same way that] Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish.

In the light of that Spirit-given insight, my idolatrous desire for marital coasting seems awfully stale and empty.  My responsibility as a husband isn't to love my wife in such a way that merely facilitates her existence alongside mine.  It's not about keeping a checklist and completing chores so that we can fall asleep on the couch each night watching TV together.

My responsibility as a husband, throughout the remainder of my lifetime, is to prepare Tara to meet her Savior face-to-face.  My principle value should be her spiritual maturity, because I get to play an instrumental role in her sanctification.  That means I should be doing everything I can to avoid the comfort of coasting.  It means I'm invested in my wife, willing to roll up my sleeves -- willing to do and say the hard things.  Loving and cherishing my wife should not be chore.  It should be a privilege.

The bottom line is that, if I truly value Tara -- if I truly want to be an uncommonly thoughtful and considerate husband -- then I'm going to put my desire for marital comfort at the bottom of my list of priorities, elevating instead my bride's need for Christ-like love, encouragement, and intimacy.  I will willingly transform the question "What do I have to give to this marriage?" into "What more can I give to this marriage?"

Stepping Stones

On this day, two years ago, I stood before the woman who was about to become my wife.

There was a unique type of nervousness in my stomach as I removed from my breast pocket the crumpled paper with my vows, smoothing out the creases in them and in my thoughts.

It wasn't because there were over 300 of our friends and family assembled, watching us with eager expectation.  I've never really been a "crowd person," which is ironic since I play in a band, but in that moment, the people in the sanctuary didn't even exist.  The wedding party didn't exist.  It was just the two of us - me and Tara, standing in a spotlight suspended in the inky blackness of a vacuum.  She: lovely, young, and inimitably graceful in her wedding gown; me: lanky and somewhat groomed for a change, dressed in the wrinkled slacks that we (she) still lament(s) not ironing; she, smiling ear-to-ear; me, pensive but overjoyed.

It wasn't because what we were about to do would take wholehearted commitment.  The road to our wedding day had been an uphill affair, but the good kind - more a race against time than a trek through difficult terrain.  We had worked out all the details in two months, which was an insanely short engagement, but exactly what both of us wanted.  Why belabor what we were both ready to embrace?  The steps to approach the altar had been natural, transitional, and necessary.

I cleared my throat in that absolute silence, and this is what I said to my wife:

Tara, I think it’s safe to say that we’ve reached the point in our lives which we both doubted would come.  In the course of our story, we’ve spent time together, time apart, and time together once again.  God led each of us down unexpected paths, teaching us while we were apart to rely upon His sovereignty and to sacrifice what we want for what He requires - all in preparation for coming together once again.

Tara, I love you because you make me want to love Jesus more.  You have shown me over and over your strengths, your work ethic, your patience, and your indelible grace.  You have given yourself unerringly to serving me.  And so I stand before you today, right now, because I am ready and willing to dedicate my entire life to you.

 There are some things I’d like to covenant to do, today and forever, before all of our friends and family, and before God Himself.  Here goes.

Tara, I will seek to love you unconditionally, striving for patience and grace on the challenging days, and relishing the good days with joy. 

According to God's holy ordinance, I will cherish our love and friendship - for better or worse, for richer or poorer, and in sickness and in health - not because I have to, but because I choose to. 

I will live first for the glory of our Savior, so that you can do the same. 

I will partner with you on every task we undertake, not expecting more of you than I am willing to give myself. 

I will tell you when you’re wrong, because I need you to do the same for me. 

I will at least... try... to like country music.  Even though they all sound like Brad Paisley. 

I will seek to be an exemplary, Christ-minded leader to you and our future children.  All thirty-three of them. 

I will listen when you speak, weep when you weep, and rejoice when you rejoice, in the same way that God himself “bears our concerns on His heart.” 

Knowing that I will fail you, I promise to learn from my mistakes and do my best not to repeat them. 

Tara, I will provide for your needs, spiritually, physically, and emotionally.  I will protect, nurture, and sacrifice.  I will seek our best, and not my best.  I will always hold you when you need to cry. 

See, I wasn't nervous because I feared I couldn't fulfill these promises.  I knew even in that moment that I would fail and need forgiveness, but that's part of what marriage is.  Mistakes are just more stepping stones in the path across the river: only harmful if you don't move forward, because then your footholds begin to sink.

The truth is, I was nervous because this was truly the moment of becoming an adult.  18 and 21, first cars and first apartments, promotions and responsibilities - all of these mean nothing.  The moment a man takes his wife by the hand and steps up to the altar is the moment all childish things are truly left behind.  It is surrendering the "freedom" of singleness for the responsibility of togetherness.  It is surrendering "mine" for "ours."  It is humbling one's self to the point of being a full-time servant, the way Jesus did for us.

This is why I was nervous.  Because life was about to cease being about me, and I held a doctorate in selfishness.  I'd proven time and again that, although I claimed to love Christ above all else, I often yielded to my own desires before His.

But I wanted us.  In fact, I'd wanted us since I'd first met Tara - four years ago, across a breakup, tons of soul-searching, and ultimately getting back together once again.  We'd been through a lot - together and apart - and it had all lead to this joyful moment.

Stepping stones.

It's a journey we'll continue for the rest of our lives.  Except now we are blessed to travel the path together.

To close my vows, I sang this song.  It's nothing remarkable, but to us it is every bit the encapsulation of the promises we made each other on our wedding day.  I'd been working on the composition even before I asked her to marry me, and labored over the lyrics until the night before the wedding day itself.

This was how I sealed my vows, and continues to be a reminder of how I will strive to uphold them every day, every year, from now until death do us part.

Happy Anniversary, Tara.

~*~

If the thought had ever crossed your mind

It was just a guess, just a glimpse of time

We all know the servant rules the proud

The stoic breathes, the poet laughs out loud

But we

Are none of these

Are none of these

Patience is a virtue set in gold

The lesson learned; the joy to have, to hold

The more you have, the less that you will know

This periphery, or the warmth that fills your soul

We, oh we

Should know by now

Should know by now

We are waiting for our time

Time will always be ahead of us

This plan was never mine, I lost control

Our broken worlds, like sheep beyond the fold

But blessed are the ones who learn to mourn

You’re always beautiful in Sunday clothes

With God as our witness, and all of these

We stand as fractured jars, so incomplete

It's a mystery: these shards become as one

Let me carry you, and you can carry me

We, oh we

Have stood so long

Have stood for so long

We have waited for our time

The time has come to be

We have waited for You, Lord

You have always been

And You will always be

Beside us

~*~

Public Speaking 1.0

We took our 4-month-old puppy to the city today to visit Tara's sister.  I'd been prepared for the passersby to react positively toward her (the puppy, I mean): let's face it, she's adorable.  She has the type of face that attracts everyone's attention - even those gruff, middle-aged men who don't want to admit that they have a sensitive side.  Of course, Kaylee's a terrible flirt too, because she comes up to give kisses and then immediately runs away after whatever smell/sound/sight has attracted her two-second attention span.  Naturally, I was prepared to show her off to all the pedestrians of Philadelphia.

What got me thinking is the fact that, had it not been for innocent little Kaylee, bouncing obliviously around my ankles, perhaps not one of the people I spoke to today would have otherwise even made eye-contact.  The typical tunnel-vision mentality of people these days apparently can sometimes broaden.  It seems that the normal hangups of strangerhood can be temporarily suspended when there's a puppy involved.  We can exchange smiles, or maybe even trade salutations.

I guess everyone needs some type of buffer for intimacy to take place - at least initially.  We go to restaurants on first dates because we don't want to introduce the potential Mr. or Mrs. Right to the dirty laundry sitting in our living rooms just yet.  We like the internet because it means we can edit our review and our comments before we make them, and choose the best possible profile picture to highlight our more attractive physical qualities.  On the street, in broad daylight, it's an entirely different story.  Are we all so afraid of rejection that we don't want to risk the possibility of receiving a mildly gruff "hello?"  Or maybe we just worship this god called time so much that we can't risk losing a few seconds to trivial conversation.

But is conversation really trivial?  Sure, maybe we just shoot the breeze and talk about the weather (see what I did there?), but maybe that two-minute conversation was the most pleasant, most peaceful moment of someone's otherwise stressful day.  Maybe that brief chat about the glorious afternoon was the one break in an individual's anxious thoughts.  Maybe those brief words we shared comprised the only in-person conversation that individual had all day long.

But we don't think about that in the moment, do we?  We only think about where we have to go and how weird it is when someone's gaze lingers on us for longer than a cursory glance.

The point is this.  I'm just as guilty as the next person of averting my eyes when someone I don't know passes me on the street.  It takes courage in this age to address a stranger without the barrier of a computer screen or the respectable distance of a phone call to protect us.  This generation needs an absolute, unmistakeable, honest-to-God reason to approach a stranger.  Wouldn't life be so much easier if we just had everyone's number and screen name and e-mail address, so that we could just talk via text, IM or even phone call?  Wouldn't life be so much simpler if we never again had to speak face-to-face to another person we didn't know?

Thank God that's not the way this life works.

Maybe none of this strikes anyone else the way it did me.  I was simply amazed by how easy it was to strike up a conversation with a total stranger about dogs, about pets in general, or even about absolutely nothing, with Kaylee there to lighten the mood.  It was something that I took advantage of, because despite my reservations, I believe that investing in one another's lives is part of the reason we're still here on this planet.  It's why Jesus said, "Go and make disciples," rather than commissioning the 12 with building monasteries.  We are a people not meant for isolation, but fellowship and communion.  In fact, Christianity is about deep spiritual intimacy with one another - confessing our sins to one another and praying for one another.  Of course it seems uncomfortable, because we've become so antisocial that we're no good at doing that!  But it has to start somewhere.  It has to start with letting down our armor and letting people in.  Love can't operate under any other circumstances.

In all reality, it shouldn't take the company of a 4-month-old puppy for me to interact with people - or for them to interact with me for that matter, but I'm only responsible for one half of that equation.  It's something, like anything, that requires practice to do with ease and confidence, and I'm not always going to have Kaylee with me to make it easy.  But with a face like she has, it's certainly a great advantage.

Public Speaking 0.50

My wife and I were blessed with the opportunity to share the gospel with someone very near to our hearts last night.  But as thankful as I was for the opportunity, and despite how well the conversation went, I found myself shamed by my lack of clearer communication.  The English student in me wishes that I'd been more pointed with my argument, but I already know that I struggle with spoken word, and besides, Paul warns me in 1 Corinthians that Christ did not send me with "words of eloquent wisdom, lest the cross be emptied of its power."  What Tara and I did was share the gospel from our hearts and answer, as best we could, the questions which the topic of our faith aroused.

Just by way of brief encouragement to whoever may read this, I wanted to share 1 Corinthians 14.8-9, a passage which comes out of a discussion of love and its comparatively greater worth than spiritual gifts - specifically, the gift of tongues: "If the bugle gives an indistinct sound, who will get ready for battle?  So with yourselves, if with your tongue you utter speech that is not intelligible, how will anyone know what is said?  For you will be speaking into the air."  Paul may have been speaking specifically about the Corinthians' tendency to babble in fake languages, because disjointed sounds do not communicate the love and mercy of our God, but I submit that his point is true of our attempts to share the gospel in modern English as well.  If we cannot communicate the gospel clearly, then who will be summoned to battle?   If we stammer and struggle to fill in the blanks, how will anyone understand the message that we bear?  Peter tells us to be prepared at all times to offer a "defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you," not because we need to maintain the moral high ground, but because Christ stands there with us with His arms wide open  (1 Peter 3.15).  In fact, he goes on to qualify that we do it in a spirit of gentleness and respect.  But how will those still in the valley, who "run helter skelter to distruction with their fingers in their ears" (Don Francisco), know to turn to Him if they have not heard and fully understood the message of love we bring?

The point is this: speaking clearly is less dependent upon how many credits you earned in that Gen-Ed public speaking class than upon knowing for yourself what the gospel is.  If you know Jesus intimately, then you shouldn't have any trouble talking about Him - no more than you do your favorite sports teams and music.  But this also requires practice.  If you share the gospel, on average, once every two years, then you are bound to be unprepared and uncomfortable during the conversation.

So I encourage you: start practicing.  (That's also directed at myself, by the way.)  Share the gospel, and share it from your heart.  The goal is not conviction.  It is not to convert people.  We are not concerned with numbers - we are concerned with individuals.  The goal is to share the faith that defines our very existence; a faith which is offered gently, respectfully, and lovingly; a faith that would be weak and pointless if we kept it to ourselves.  The goal is not results: it is to plant the seed and be content to water it.  The goal is to be patient and demonstrate what righteousness looks like, because we have the opportunity to introduce lost and needy people to our wonderful Savior, Jesus Christ.

That Crazy Lady

I came home from work today to find my wife's computer sitting out on the desk, along with a note that said something to the extent of “I was studying the Word this morning and felt convicted, so I had to write out my thoughts, please read.”  Curious, and steeling myself for the needling daggers of humbling conviction, I sat down and opened her computer.  Her thoughts (with permission) are as follows:

~*~

I met a crazy lady the other day, or so I thought. As I sat with a number of other women around a table, celebrating a soon-to-be wedding day, a woman I'd never met before was talking non-stop about Jesus. She began repeatedly expressing her love for Jesus and sharing in detail all the joy she received for being a child of His. I knew everything she was saying was true - things like “He is my protector,” “He is giving me the strength I need to get thru my husband’s death,” and “I told my son he needs to take his decision to go on the Jamaica Missions trip before the throne.” Jesus saturated her conversation. As I sat listening, knowing how true all this was yet hearing those around me agreeing with a chorus of vaguely uncomfortable “mmhmm’s,” I couldn’t help but wonder if they were thinking, as I was, that she was a little bit too extreme.

It wasn’t until today, two days later, that I realized how crazy I am for failing to see just how much I lack true joy. This woman knew how much God loves His children. She understood that His love is such that He was willing to give His only Son so that we, as sinful as we are, could come home and enjoy heaven with Him (John 3:16-17; Hebrews 10:12-14). She clung to the God who is so powerful that He took down kingdom after kingdom for His children, the Israelites, and who promises to be our strength and refuge today.

You see, there is this battle I fight, one we all probably fight. I want to be perfect and honor Jesus. A big part of that, for me, is spending quality time in the Word, daily. I know all I have to do is say no to watching that episode of my favorite TV show in order to get a few more moments to spend in study, but what do I do? Typically, I justify laziness as weariness and promise myself that I'll just do it another day or later.

Do I? Not usually.

How is it that something so amazing as spending time in the Word of God is such a struggle to pursue? Reading the redemption story is medicine for a bad day’s work. It is healing for drowning in the midst of a materialistic public which desires nothing more than getting everything it wants. It is comfort for a death in the family or the loss of a loved one. It is peace in the midst of battle with a life-changing disease. We face these things day after day, but instead of turning to the Word of God, what do we do to get us through? Cry? Vent on our newest social network? Complain to friends? Distract ourselves through various media and entertainment?

The truth is, the lady wasn’t crazy. We are - that is, those of us who restrict ourselves from glorifying our Lord and Savior the way she does by worshiping comfort and entertainment. We DO NOT give God the glory He deserves - the type of life-consuming adoration which He justly required of the Israelites and desires in His church. Knowing who He is and what He has done should make us drop to our knees to thank Him endlessly (Phil 2:10-11). Time and time again, despite our sinful pursuits, He forgives. I thought that woman was being a bit dramatic about how amazing God is and how powerful He is, but in reality we should be just as zealous (Isaiah 25:9).

~*~

There's nothing that I need to add. All that comes to mind is Psalm 8.3-5: “When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him? Yet you have made him a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned him with glory and honor.” We serve a God who deserves our zealous and passionate adoration, the kind which should consume every aspect of our lives, because He dotes upon us when we deserve nothing.

Of course, I'm also reminded of Proverbs 31.10 and 26: “An excellent wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels... She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.”

Gentlemen, listen when your wives share the convictions of their hearts. Chances are, you've got some changing to do too.

Seeking Your Face, Not Only Your Hand

According to my wife, I've grown in confidence since we've been married.   I worry less about who I am and my abilities than I did while we were dating, she says.  Although I've definitely noticed this change myself, if not definitively, I still find myself lapsing into old ways of thinking from time to time. As someone who has wrestled with what some would call “self-esteem issues” for the majority of my teenage and adult life, I've come to expect myself to fail the first time and to always learn the hard way.  In other words, departure from this mode of thinking is definitely a positive thing, but only if my newfound confidence is not based in myself.

The reality is that, no matter how stern our temperament or how firm our resolve may be, the human existence is saturated in failure, disappointment, anxiety.  Our problem, whether or not we admit it, is that we all rely far too much on our own strength and far too little upon the omnipotence of God.  Perhaps it is unconscious, or maybe it is active, but our default setting is not to let Jesus handle our problems.  We like to do everything ourselves, as though God is not big enough to handle our massive problems, or simply can't be bothered to trouble with the tiny ones.  Though we recall the promise in Isaiah 40.31 about gleaning strength from the Lord, we still allow ourselves to become encumbered by the burdens of this life instead of entrusting them to our loving Father, who is able and willing to carry us and them through the difficulties we face.

Discouragement, therefore, is ultimately the bitter fruit of self–reliance.

Even John the Baptist became discouraged.  John the Baptist -- the voice in the wilderness boldly preparing the way for the Messiah, the humble best man who of his own volition decreased so that the Bridegroom could increase.  The guy who ate locusts and lived in the rough, who stood up to the Pharisees and baptized hundreds of followers.  That guy.  Imprisoned by a fearful King Herod, John sent some of his disciples to enquire of Jesus whether or not He truly was the Messiah.  Though he had baptized Jesus himself, not to mention preached to the multitudes that Jesus was indeed the one foretold, John still found himself doubting the authenticity of Jesus' claim to be the Messiah.  He had allowed his personal expectations of what the Messiah would do and how He would present Himself to cloud his perception of what Jesus was seeking to accomplish.  As Christ replies to John's inquiry, “The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, the poor have good news preaches to them.  And blessed is the one who is not offended by me” (Luke 7.22, 23).  Jesus' response is unquestionably directed at John's doubt, but it is encouragement and not rebuke.  In his weakness, John had lost sight of the Messiah by becoming mired in his own opinions, and owed his loss of perspective to failed expectations and besetting circumstances.

This is where I see us.  We do exactly what John did.  As soon as Jesus fails to meet our expectations, we begin to question His authenticity.  However, it is not Jesus failing to succeed, but us failing to esteem Him as He deserves.  Therefore, it is our perspective that needs to change, not Jesus' response.

Alternately, when beset by difficult circumstances, we become like Peter walking on the water: bold in our belief until we take our eyes off of Jesus.  I think Peter, as he climbed out of the boat and took his first steps toward Jesus, must have been thinking something panic-happy -- “I'm really doing it!  I'm really doing it!”  However, the fact is that he couldn't do it -- not by himself.  Walking on water is a physically impossible feat for a human being.  The Mythbusters proved that even ninjas can't do it.

Suddenly -- catching sight of the unsettled waves cresting on either side of him, realizing that the boat with his friends had been carried well out of his reach -- Peter found himself floundering beneath the water, having lost the battle to both his pride and his fear.

In the same way, we can't handle our circumstances alone either.  God provides all the encouragement and the strength we need to pass through the waves of life.  He promises to never leave us, and never to allow us to encounter challenges too great to handle.  It is when we allow ourselves to become distracted by the worries and troubles of everyday living that we begin to doubt and become discouraged.  Like John, we lose confidence when Jesus doesn't conform to our prideful notions; like Peter, we become overwhelmed when we credit ourselves instead of depending upon Christ.  In either circumstance, the moment we begin to obsess over a situation is the moment we esteem God unable to handle it and instead seek to resolve the issue ourselves.

As humans, perhaps our greatest idol is control (or the illusion thereof).  Anxiety and worry are centralized fear of losing the control we desire: when I don't know what is going to happen at the job interview tomorrow, I stress because it is outside of my control and I desperately want to be in control.  Jesus addresses this issue compassionately in Matthew 6: “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on.  Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?  Which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to the span of his life?  Therefore, do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself.  Sufficient for the day is it's own trouble” (Matt 6.25, 27, 34).  This is as much comforting as it is a challenge.  Simply, our heavenly Father provides all of our needs and there is nothing gained or accomplished by worrying.  Instead, we should be keeping our eyes on Christ -- the One who truly is in control.

As it pertains to self-esteem, God's sovereignty is something which should supersede our sense of self.  While conforming to the image of Christ is not about compromising my identity as an individual, it is about shedding insecurities, sinful habits, and incorrect thinking.  If I'm more concerned about dying to myself in order to be more like Christ, then I'm naturally going to be less concerned about my shortcomings.  The fact of the matter is that a low self-esteem is just as much a pride issue as arrogance.  Either attitude takes control from God and places it in the hands of me: either I'm good enough to get along without God, or I'm a mistake of God and therefore beyond His ability to help.  Both lines of thinking provide infinite means of justifying sin in our lives – sins which will severely callous our hearts if left unchecked.  Maintaining either frame of mind, we are looking only for a helping hand if we turn to God, and not totally giving our lives to Him in worship.

Regardless of where we find ourselves, we each need to honestly answer the following question: do we trust in the Lord's provision, or are we like the seed which the sower threw amongst the thorns -- springing up immediately, but quickly stifled by the weeds amongst which it fell?  Faith in the provision of the Lord is not some type of superficial means of convincing one's self of security.  It is a genuine trust and an unshakeable understanding that God the Father truly does have control, that He has our best interests at heart, and that He will provide the necessities we require.

Our confidence cannot be in ourselves.  We can remain unburdened by the challenges facing us only by focusing intently upon the face of Jesus.

Love Isn't Hard! ...When They Love You in Return

The question I've been asked since Tara and I got married is the one I suppose all newly weds inevitably hear for the first year of marriage: “So how's married life?” My perpetual reply is, “Wonderful – nothing but blessings,” a genuine statement which nevertheless seems to always prompt a snort of laughter at my obvious naivety, accompanied by some variation of “Wait ten years and then I'll ask you again.”

There's a sobering level of dissatisfaction in marriages today, within and without the church, a perspective that is influenced both by culture and by disappointed expectations. People approach marriage the way they approach a carnival: it's fun, it's exciting, it's flashy, but eventually you're going to get tired of riding the ferris wheel. They aren't really in it for the long haul, though they may claim to be initially, because they expect love – when it's “right” – to be spontaneous, carefree, easy. If it's “right,” then it shouldn't be a chore.

...right?

Undoubtedly, it isn't difficult to love someone who visibly appreciates and reciprocates your efforts. That mutuality is what makes Hollywood romance so magical: the perfectly spoken word at the perfect moment; that instant where the eyes lock, so clearly communicating everything the lips do not; the gentle caresses which dilate the pupils and steal the breath of both the lovers and the audience – all of which is the result of a mutual attraction which has been boiling just below the surface. We all know this isn't real, yet we all buy into the ideal. We all want our relationships to be like that. We anticipate struggles ahead when we say our vows, but we also subconsciously expect that the magic touch will get us out of arguments, that abruptly kissing our spouse in the middle of an argument will make it all okay (trust me, it doesn't). When hardships roll around, we may not be surprised or even initially frustrated, but our desire to continue loving slackens when problems linger.

Love isn't defined as conditional in the Scriptures. Circumstances do not (or should not) affect it. As Paul writes, perfect love “hopes all things, endures all things,” and ultimately “never ends” – never fails or concludes (1 Cor 13.7, 8). Packaged in these words is a sense of survival: we don't have to endure when things are easy. The real challenge is sacrificing for someone who might, instead of expressing gratitude for your care, retaliate with anger, spite, or arrogance. As Christ reasoned with the multitudes, “If you love those who love you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them” (Luke 6.32). In other words, loving someone who will love in return is no measure of your ability to love unconditionally. At the point where affection or service is reciprocated, a sacrifice becomes more of a privilege than a challenge. The true test of our love for others comes when we are faced with the option to “love our enemies and do good,” and to “lend without expecting to be repaid” (Luke 6.35).

Loving the unlovable is not an option of Christianity. The stamp of God's moral character upon His children, His holiness within us, is that we will glorify Him by loving others unconditionally, being merciful as our Father is merciful (Luke 6.36). We exhibit His attributes through our love of one another, an action which is an expression of worship. This includes loving our enemies, the ones who mistreat us and abuse our intentions. Sadly, this description also fits our spouses.

When someone fails to love us, even our spouses, responding in anger is never justified. Regardless of whether or not we know our attempt at humility will not be accepted, we must respond to his or her sin in love. However, loving the individual in spite of his or her sinfulness doesn't mean simply faking a smile and saying, “It's okay.” It does mean that the avenue for honest communication and extension of forgiveness is wide open. Marriage relationships are built upon communication, honesty, and friendship. Loving others requires us to do hard things, to challenge one another, and never allow our spouse to continue in sin just because we don't want to open that can of worms. This is the way marriage remains beautiful. As Timothy Keller says in The Meaning of Marriage, “You may not feel tender, sympathetic and eager to please, but in your actions you must be tender, understanding, forgiving, and helpful. And if you do that, as time goes on you will not only get through the dry spells, but they will become less frequent and deep, and you will become more constant in your feelings. This is what can happen if you decide to love.”

As children of God, our response to anger, sadness, sarcasm, and even indifference should always be love. This requires us to decide to love as Keller says, because love is not our default response. In our flesh, we want to respond in a like manner when we are wronged. According to culture, history, and Hollywood, that is only justice. But that's the natural response. The supernatural response, on the other hand, is to love, to turn the other cheek, and offer our coat to the thief when he has already taken our shirt (Matt 5.38-40). In marriage, this looks like forgiveness for the same sin committed against us once again, giving preference even when we know it won't be appreciated, maintaining patience and grace in communication. Though we battle with our own flesh, the power of Christ enables us to respond in love even in the face of harsh words. Perseverance and sacrificial, unconditional love are the components which can melt the hardened heart of the spouse, but it will not happen overnight.

Disillusionment with marriage is the result of selfish expectations. Stubbornness and selfishness are debilitating diseases which go hand-in-hand, and are especially deadly because they often go unnoticed by the one who has contracted them. The one who suffers as a result, because he or she does notice them and their effects, is the spouse. Therefore, it is the responsibility of the husband and the wife to address issues of sin in each other, not taking offense and withdrawing when their attempts at love are rejected (because confronting is absolutely an act of love), but seeking to draw out the sin which is hardening the heart of his or her spouse. Tim Keller writes, “What keeps the marriage going [during hard times] is your commitment to your spouse's holiness. You're committed to his or her beauty. You're committed to his greatness and perfection. You're committed to her honesty and passion for the things of God. That's your job as a spouse. Any lesser goal than that, any smaller purpose, and you're just playing at being married.”

Commitment to beauty and holiness is not easy, and it will not always be fun. It will require work, and it will involve tears, but mutual perseverance will guarantee joy. Playing at marriage looks like, “I love you the way you are and I don't want you to change.” Walking in love however, looks like, “I love you the way you are, and because of that, I want to help you change.” Spouses who challenge one another in this way, so that they can be more like Christ together, practice the unconditional love Paul describes in 1 Corinthians. Marriage is certainly not a carnival. We cannot enter into such a covenant-based relationship expecting joy without sorrow. In fact, more so than any other human relationship, marriage will challenge, stretch, and tire us, and it is intended to, because the purpose which God ordained in married is aiding one another to be more like Jesus. If you are disappointed because married life does not meet your expectations, it's a good indicator that you entered for the wrong reasons.

Marriage is never about getting – it's always about giving, whether it's hard or not.

In sum, our ability to love the way Christ loves us is truly measured not by how strongly we love the ones who show us love in return, but by how we love our enemies and the ones who have wronged us. We know this type of love firsthand, because it was while we were enemies of God that Christ laid down His life for us (Rom 5.10). Because we have received such immeasurable grace from God, how can we justify failing to love the individuals in our lives simply because they don't always show us the love we expect? John records, “But if anyone has the world's goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God's love abide in him? Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth” (1 John 3.17, 18). Are we meeting each other's needs (in marriage or otherwise), or are we simply looking out for our own well-being? Deed and truth go hand-in-hand, and we cannot claim the love of the Father if our ability to love the unlovely does not imitate His.

I think the next time someone asks me about my married life, I'm going to respond by asking him or her the same question.

The Other Half

The following is a short story from the collection I'm attempting to publish.  More longer works are also online at Fictionpress.

~*~

The Other Half

One last glance at the clock before I descended the steps to the cold street had told me all I needed to know about how tired I’d be in the morning.  Sleep had become something of a luxury over the past few months, not as a direct result of late closing times, but as a concurrent circumstance which only aided and abetted my restlessness.  I spent many late nights on the narrow balcony outside our 3rd floor apartment, besieged by the anxiety demons which I suppose prey upon all small business owners.

Traffic on 9th Street ran one way, north and south, and was only just wide enough that it couldn't be classified as an alley.  Yet contrasted with the streets which ran perpendicular, and judging by the quality of the refuse left to blacken the broken sidewalks, it was certainly less than a major highway.  The view may have had something to do with the cheap rent, because a dirty street and a shabby, antiquated loft can't be considered prime real estate.

However, regardless of the unseemly appearance, I'd seen some type of potential in the old warehouse – enough, at any rate, to move in and renovate.  The bar had been up and running for six or seven months now, and its clientele had begun to increase both in terms of spectrum and frequency.  I was pleased with the investment, regardless of the fact that I wasn't close to breaking even and wouldn’t be for some time.  A tremendous amount of personal stake had gone into the construction of the bar too.  I wasn’t looking for a miracle, obviously – I’m no dreamer – but I’d signed on the dotted line with the intention of seeing something more than financial profit come from the decision.

The chill hit me before I'd even opened the door to the outside.  December was just a day away, marching steadily and promising to take no prisoners.  Shivering, I stepped outside and locked the door behind me, before turning to face the westernmost wall of the department store across the street.

The couple which met me there, before I'd even had the chance to take two steps, were immediately identifiable.  They seemed buoyed by the cold, riding it like a carnival attraction.  Both were young and idealistic, colorful, concerned more with the perfect gifts they would soon purchase for their loved ones than the ambush of bills which would soon follow.  He had his arm around her, probably using the cold as an excuse to keep her close.  The fog streaming from their lips was intrinsic to their laughter, locomotive puffs carrying their joy and vanishing into the night.

They came to stand before me in the salted street, looking up expectantly.  “Is the bar closed?” the boy asked.

I showed him the keys.

His expression crumpled slightly, but he didn't seem perturbed.  “Oh.  Okay.  I was hoping we could get a quick drink.”  He gave the girl a quick squeeze, which drew the twinkle out in her eyes.  “A friend of mine recommended you.  I guess we'll try somewhere else.”

I opened my mouth to suggest a place, but then hesitated.  It had been a slow night – a Tuesday – so I'd put up the glasses and swept 20 minutes earlier than usual, but it was already half–past ten.  I thought of Sam, probably sitting on the ratty couch with her knees curled up to her chest, wearing the only blanket we owned like a shawl.  She was probably waiting up for me so we could resume the halfhearted argument we'd begun that morning.

Offering a short sigh, I turned back to the door and inserted the key once more into the lock.

“Oh no – you don't have to,” the boy protested.

Frustration crinkled the corners of my generosity.  “Get inside before I change my mind,” I returned.

I took them up the narrow staircase to the penthouse.  The black and white tile floor gleamed mutely beneath the dim fluorescents, and the recent application of Pine Sol left a faint citrus twinge in the back of my throat.  The half–circle of square tables skirted the edge of the tile before the carpet began, the residence of the trio of pool tables.

I preceded them around the bar, and met them face–to–face as they seated themselves on the stools.  “What'll it be?” I asked, unbuttoning my heavy coat, but not removing it.

“Something simple,” she said immediately.

The boy said, “Scotch, one ice cube, and a Jack and Coke.”

I turned to the shelf behind the counter, reaching for the bottles.

“We really appreciate this,” the girl said, desperate to reconcile their advance with my obvious displeasure.  “We're sorry to be inconvenient.”

I shrugged.  “It's no trouble.”

“We don't normally take advantage like this,” she continued breathlessly, unbuttoning her heavy coat to reveal the emerald green dress she was wearing.  “We wanted to celebrate.  We just got engaged tonight.”

A strange desire to laugh burbled up in my throat, but I swallowed it forcefully.  Setting their glasses on the mica, I said, “Congratulations.”

“It's been an eventful night,” the boy admitted with disbelief, taking the Scotch for himself.

I pressed my palms against the bartop, resting all my weight there.  “When's the wedding?”

“Six months,” he replied proudly.  “Going to call and book a church tomorrow.”

“Congratulations,” I said again, for good measure.

“Are you married?” the girl asked, taking up the torch of conversation.  The dress, I noticed, was more of a spring gown than one intended for late autumn.  It was cut low, but tastefully, and hung off her shoulders in slitted, wispy sleeves.

I did laugh this time, wryly, pressing more heavily upon the countertop.  “No.”

“Haven't found the right girl yet?” she persisted, either ignoring or missing the disgust that was surely bleeding onto my face.  Sam always said I could never hide my feelings, even if I never wanted to talk about them.  I didn't so much wear them on my sleeve as my breast pocket.

I cleared my throat.  “Let's just say she hasn't found me.”

The girl blushed suddenly.  “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry.”  She sipped apologetically at the drink.

“We're just excited,” the boy offered, putting his arm around his fiancé again.

“I understand,” I said.  Excitement dilutes the thinking process after all.  “That'll be eight-fifty.”

He pulled a ten out of his wallet and told me to keep the change.  Then, we were silent – two lovers and a barkeep, sharing the awkward patronage of strangerhood.  I wondered if this was how the pastor would feel during the first session of their premarital counseling, trying to identify the finer details of their relationship before consecrating the holy union.

“What do you think of us?” the girl asked abruptly.  The smile on her face was intoxicating, and I could see easily what had driven her fellow to take out the loan for the respectable diamond on her left hand.  She was certainly pretty and had an undeniable figure, but more importantly, she was alive.  “You probably think we’re crazy.  And too young.”

“Do you think we're ready for marriage?” the boy asked, surprisingly inquisitive – surprisingly open.  Sometimes intimacy breeds quickly.  Or maybe the Scotch was doing the talking.

I blanched momentarily, then asked, “Is anyone?”

The girl laughed.  “I suppose not.  But what about us?  What do we need to do this?”

“Like I'm the one to ask,” I said, partly defensive, partly amused.  “I don't even know you.”

“Does anyone?” the boy countered, raising an eyebrow.

“Everyone has pearls of wisdom to offer,” the girl said, then took another sip.

I regarded her face closely, the narrow cheekbones dusted with freckles, framed by light red hair which fell to her shoulders, and the green, piercing eyes, full of laughter.  The boy's arms were folded on the bartop, with her right hand tucked beneath his left.  There was something unusual about their positioning.  Typically, one can sense the relational possession on one party's part – either the woman pulls the chain or the man bullies the girl.  But these two sat easily, comfortably, together.  There was no fear in their stance.  There was no worry about the quality of their relationship, no fear of losing the other.  There was… no pain.

My palms were beginning to lose feeling.  I straightened, almost reluctantly.  “I think it's never what you expect,” I said finally.  “Everyone's always disappointed, because they never get what they thought.”

They were quiet, pondering my words.  The girl's face had lost none of its eager innocence, though her eyes had narrowed slightly.  The boy too was unperturbed.  His eternal demeanor seemed to be an unshakeable serenity.

He sipped his Scotch, then set it back on the mica.  “So the issue then is not so much with the institution but the mentality.”

I smiled thinly.  “Sure.  Bad people make bad decisions which ruin good things.”

“Too bad there are no good people,” he returned.  “We can only do our best, right?”

It sounded religious, but not judgmental.  I had him pegged as one who carried tracts in his pocket, another traveling philosopher with a disciple in tow.  Despite my reservations, something in me was genuinely piqued at their openness.  Sure, I conversed with my customers, but not like this.   People like to feel good about themselves, so they ask leading questions to get the answers they want, molding a facade of intimacy with which I was much more familiar.  Heartache, anger, self–loathing – those were more my forte.  Not this genuine self–evaluation.

“Why do you want to get married?” I asked hesitantly.  “What is it about each other that makes you want to be together?”

Their eyes met.  For a moment, I could see the nonverbal communication between the pair, not so much secretive as sacred.  They had their very own language, something no one else could truly understand – not without some Rosetta Stone of relationships to translate.

“There's a laundry list of reasons.”  He swirled the contents of his glass, clinking the ice gently, thoughtfully.  “Character traits, tastes...”  As he studied his fiancé’s face, the smile in his eyes carried significantly more weight than the slight curve of his lips.  “There are a hundred things about her that I love.  But it's not really about that, you know?  People talk about compatibility and opposites attracting and feelings, but those things are only the siding on the house, not the foundation.”

She was watching him in respectful silence, allowing him the time to think.  I thought about interjecting, but held my tongue.  Somehow, anything I might have added felt detrimental.  

“I want to marry her because I want to marry her,” he said abruptly, after a moment of silence, and punctuated the statement with a decisive laugh.  “Love might be expressed in action, but the action has a source.  And that's desire.”

“Then, of course, it comes back to what you define as love,” I returned.

The boy smiled.  “Is there more than one definition?  Really?”

“Unless you believe in absolute truth, yeah, there is.”  Irritation tightened the corners of my eyes.  So he was a tract–toter.

“I do,” he said, confirming the suspicion.  “But I think even if you don't, your variant definition of love is just another expression of the same core principles – just skewed in favor of what you think is most important.  Emotion's the big one.  Feelings.  People place lots of emphasis on how a person makes them feel and call it love.  But they miss everything else.”

“Or do they just emphasize feeling over commitment?”  I’d begun leaning on the counter again without even realizing it.  “Real people don't typically think of love without a backbone.  They just think the feeling should come before that.  Commitment without desire is just emptiness.”

Neither of them said anything, but I wasn’t looking at them.

“Generalizing isn’t fair.  Sure, everyone’s selfish, but people do try to give up themselves for the ones they love.”  I licked my lips, trying to ignore the black hole that was expanding in my guts, a vast singularity filling me with emptiness.  “And sometimes…  Sometimes things happen.  Things that eat away at your resolve.”

The statement hung in the air, lurking in the shadows of the bar, expanding with uncertainty.  I looked down at my hands, knuckles whitening beneath the pressure, so feeble against the stationary bartop.  

After a long moment, the boy nodded slowly.  “You’re absolutely right,” he said softly, twisting his lips pensively.  “It’s the most challenging battle you’ll ever fight.”  He studied the whiskey at the bottom of the glass, then looked up at me again, smiling warmly.  “But I believe it’s also the most rewarding.”

I watched him upend the tumbler and swallow.  The lazy bob of his Adam's apple evidenced the slow burn of the alcohol down his throat as he let it slide into his belly.  His dark eyes remained fixated on the ceiling, where the steel girders were draped with shadows and secrets.  The girl was still holding his hand, nursing her drink with the other.  Both lovers were lost in thought now, though it seemed less a challenged sort of reflection than an intrigued curiosity.

“Talk is cheap, though,” the boy said finally, breaching the silence.  “None of this means anything without action to prove it.”

“You're young,” I told him.  “You have plenty of time to grow together.”

And, I thought, because the pessimist within me couldn't let the remark go without a passing shot, plenty of time to grow apart.

“It's all about the experience,” the boy said, smiling as he agreed.  He squeezed the girl's hand visibly.  “Mistakes, success, failures – it's all growth.”

I nodded slowly, sifting through the dregs in my mind.  His words were churning therein, slowly unearthing something which had taken years to bury.  Surprisingly, it wasn't nearly as painful as I'd always feared it would be – more like the revitalizing pins and needles piercing a numb limb than a punch to the gut.  In fact, it seemed to arouse some semblance of longing in my guts, a sleepy passion which I'd not felt in nearly three years.

The boy was lost in thought once more, brow furrowed as he contemplated the bartop.  Absently, he stroked the girl's hand with the fingertips of one hand, and turned his glass slowly on the mica with the other, leaving an unbroken ring of condensation beneath.

It made me sad to think that it could have been me.  In fact, it should have been me, if only I’d been able to carry on the same rhythmic motions, the same patient labor.  It seems the universal curse of humankind is that the thing we want is only what we want until it’s ours.  That and our despicable American sense of entitlement.  The fruit of discontentment can only be dissatisfaction, anger, hatred.  The progression is inevitable, unforeseeable.  You never expect the worm to eat so completely through your heart, like the melting core of a rotten apple.

The girl had finished her drink.  “I hope she finds you,” she said, sliding the empty tumbler across the bartop toward me.

My hands were beginning to tremble beneath the weight I was putting on them.  I said nothing to acknowledge the remark and instead took the glass, turning to the sink so that my back was to her – so that she couldn’t see the remembrance burning in my eyes.

“Thanks again for waiting on us,” the boy said, behind me.  Over the running water, I heard him get to his feet.  “And for listening.”

Listening.  Something I’d never been good at doing before.

As I turned back to face them, he was helping the girl back into her coat, blanketing her grace against the cold.  The tenderness in his actions was familiar, like the shadow of a person I’d once known, a familiar face in a crowd of thousands.  She laughed as her thumb caught inside her sleeve and leaned back against him to pull it free, knowing he’d be there to hold her up, a pillar comprised of sterner stuff than marble or concrete.

With my throat tightening like a valve, I showed them to the door and we descended the narrow staircase in single–file.  The temperature dropped with each step, but the laughter behind me remained warm and constant.  Outside, the wind was howling through the empty street, creating a wind tunnel between the warehouse and the department store.  The city was fully illuminated, but fully vacant.

I locked the door again behind our exit, waving away their thanks.  “It’s nothing.”

The boy extended his hand, and I took it after a moment of hesitation.  “Well, we appreciate it.  It means a lot to us.”

“Thanks again,” the girl said, smiling brilliantly.  As she took my hand, her eyes were searching mine, perhaps looking for that tiny corner her earlier words had begun to peel away.

Something inside me scurried away from that light, squealing in terror.  I withdrew my hand and took a step back, inclining my head.  “Good luck to you both.”

They smiled, thanked me one more time, and turned to go.  The wind stole the sounds of their footfalls on the concrete and carried them along like they weren’t really there.  Isolated, with nothing tying them to this dirty place, they were apparitions taking steps in a world to which they did not belong.

Swallowing hard, I turned away and headed in the opposite direction toward home.

As I shivered in the wind, I couldn't help but choke on the memories, like bones splintering in my throat.  Somewhere, somehow, Sam and I had missed each other.  We were together, but alone.  Close, but separated by miles and more.

Not like those two.

Something about them had captured the loose threads of my confidence, my sense of control, and was deliberately fraying my resolution.  It had nothing to do with the boy's philosophy, nor with his uncommon ability to rationalize and compartmentalize the more elusive definitions of life.  Regardless of his eloquence, he hadn't said anything I hadn't heard before in some form – nothing groundbreaking or terribly convicting.  Knowing and understanding something is only half the battle.  It's preparatory.

But the other half...

Unconsciously, I reached into my pocket, deep into the farthest, darkest part, and wrapped my hand around the ringbox.  The velvet covering, worn thin and peeling at the corners, seemed to catch each ridge of my fingerprints and stick in the infinitely small valleys between.  Despite the quality of the diamond inside, it seemed somehow inadequate – a mere token cheapened by doubt and neglect.

Violently, I scuffed my heel on a patch of ice.  The void in my belly was still growing, consuming all the excuses and all the lies I’d told myself, shredding the barricades I’d erected against being hurt again – walls I’d once thought impregnable.  Romantic pangs were something I could tolerate.  My selfishness had to nettle Sam as badly as hers cut me, but those were forgivable faults, mere scabs compared to the open wound we both still bore.  That pain was still fresh, even two years later, keeping us both awake at night.  We sensed the fragility of our existence, were afraid to breathe too deeply or speak too loudly, lest something else break as a result.

It felt a lot like the loss of innocence, and maybe that was what had happened.  Something had been taken away from Sam and me, something so precious and pure that we couldn’t help but feel grimy and used, like refuse left on the curb.  We couldn’t hold onto anything anymore – not love, not friendship, not even the company of one another.  The bar was the only stable thing left in my life, and even I knew that I was using it like a crutch, just to regain my footing.  Maybe, eventually, I would reach the point where I was strong enough to stand on my own again.

Suddenly, I was furious with the two lovers, enraged by their naivety.  How dare they parade their love so confidently, like it was something rare and unusual?  They had no clue what lurked beyond the rosy glow of the marriage bed, past the deceptively quaint doorway into the horrors of middle age and beyond.  It was an unforeseeable war zone.  Lovers’ quarrels were nothing – cake, compared to everything else they would face.  Loyalty to one another would falter and eventually collapse entirely as the relentless force of the human existence dumped its full payload of sorrow upon them, the way it had done to me and Sammie.

The tears obscuring my vision were in no way caused by the frigid gusts scouring my face.  In fact, the wind was a blessing.  If I’d believed in prayer, I would have called out to the heavens for the gale to intensify, to peel away the flesh and release the swarm within me.  It would have been such a relief to release all the unkempt fury without having to speak a word and walk away, unburdened by the banal and the macabre, untaxed and finally able to heal.

The wind stopped.  A laugh escaped my lips and I dashed the moisture from my eyes with a sleeve.

Ten minutes later, I’d entered the apartment building and taken the elevator to the 3rd floor.  The long corridor was dim and blessedly empty as I trudged down the east hall to number eighteen and let myself inside.

Everything was as I’d left it, but nothing was the same.  Numbly, I passed through the dark kitchen, looking for Sam.  It was cold inside, as though the heat hadn’t run all day.  In fact, as I passed the narrow window in the short hallway which led to the bedroom, I could see the faint vapor of my breath, a ghostly apparition that didn’t belong.

The floorboards creaked as I approached the bedroom.  The door was partially ajar, but all was blackness in the space between, absent of the usual blue flicker of television.  Usually Sam stayed up late waiting for me, watching reruns of Happy Days or whatever other oldies were being played, but I knew she’d been getting just as little sleep as I’d been recently.  It would be good for her to finally get some rest.

The door groaned as I opened it, and faint gray light filtered onto the floor.  Like the kitchen, the bedroom smelled of neglect.  The bed was unmade, and there was no sign of Sam anywhere.  One of her pink slippers was in the middle of the floor, and her bathrobe hung dejectedly from the desk chair.

Somehow, I wasn’t concerned by her absence.  I sank onto the bed, staring blankly at the wall painted in indecisive shadows.  I could make out the shape of the skeletal tree which aged outside the balcony, casting its swaying silhouette on the wall in front of me.  I watched the shadows of its naked branches move, heard the wind blister the face of the city outside, and as I sat, pieces of the old arguments floated in my mind, fragmented strings of angry dialogue like ill–formed pearls scattering on linoleum.

The bar was an investment.  I’m doing it for you.

How does that benefit us?

We need the money.  And we both need time.

When can we try again?  It’s been almost two years.

What do you want from me, Sam?

My hand was still gripping the ringbox like a stress ball, further grinding the weary velvet soiled with pocket lint and regret.  It was part of another life, it seemed – a past existence which had been so much simpler, so much happier, so much fuller.  Now, I wondered if it had really ever been there at all.

How far we’d fallen.

The bedroom door groaned again, and I heard Sam’s footsteps on the thin carpet.  I could smell her almost immediately, the mixture of her perfume and the ash of late autumn.

Everything inside me wanted to rise, go to her, collapse into her chest and cry out my regrets like a little boy.  I longed to be close to her the way we’d once been, carefree and intimate in more ways than purely physical.  But I couldn’t move.  I couldn’t tear my eyes from the mournful puppet show cast in black and white on the bedroom wall.

I felt her sit down on the bed, an arm’s length removed from me, causing the mattress to sigh in penitence.  I heard her breathing, a plaintive sound that seemed to echo the gale outside the bedroom window.  We were still joined by something, threads of a substance with incredible elasticity, keeping us connected and yet so far away.  It made me think of the Twilight Zone, like we were people living in alternate dimensions, in the same house, at the same time, but unable to interact, unable to see each other or feel anything.

Finally, I looked over at her.

In the darkness, her eyes were glassy, dry, and opaque.  I honestly wondered if she had any tears left to cry, because she’d spent so many in the last year–and–a–half alone.  Her hair was windswept, her face a splotchy crimson, evidencing a recent trek through the streets.  She was wearing a blue dress, a nice dress, and I vaguely recognized it as the one she’d worn to the Montaine Grille on the night of our 1st anniversary – a month or two before we’d moved in together.

The candlelit room had been warm and intimate, unforgettable.  There had been Chardonnay and Shiraz, gentle conversation and murmured promises.  I’d rented an entire dining room for the evening and we’d cuddled in a booth, feeding each other olives and cheese hors d'oeuvres, sharing laughter and memories in private while we waited for the entrées.

I should have given her the ring that night, like I’d intended.  I should have gotten down on one knee and promised her my life the way I’d practiced in my head.  But something had kept me from doing so – that same something that would return again and again, at every opportunity thereafter, each time with increasing fervor and dissuading evidence.

And then... two years ago...

My heart clenched.

I released the ring in my pocket and extended my hand to her invitingly.

She studied my face carefully, as if searching for false intent.  Finally, she slid over to me, allowing me to put my arm around her shoulders.  Before I even made contact with her skin, I felt the chill emanating from her body and knew she’d been outside for hours.  Choking on the swell rising in my throat, I gently pressed her to me, resting my cheek on the crown of her head.  At first she resisted, perhaps due in part to the stiffness in her bones, but slowly she melted into my embrace.

And so we sat in silence – me in my heavy coat, her in her thin dress.  Shielded and naked, that was us.  Despite the fact that I’d ambiguously told the girl in the bar that it was Sam’s fault we’d never tied the knot, I knew it was just as much mine – just as much my guarded temper as her fluid transparence.  We’d started down the destructive path of see–saw living long before the cataclysmic event which had damaged the both of us so permanently.

Sam said something, but her voice was so quiet I lost the words.  Outside, the wind howled, causing the shadows to move on the wall, crawling like fragmented serpents.

I used a finger to tip her face upward, toward mine.  She looked into my eyes bleakly, and finally repeated what she’d said.  “I went out looking for you.”

Apologies immediately came to my lips, trampled by explanations, excuses, frustrations.  With effort, I corralled them all.  “Why, Sammie?  You know I come home late sometimes.  Didn’t you wear a coat?”

She was looking into my eyes still, past them.  “I thought I could find you.  I thought I could bring you home.”

I studied her frozen gaze, the shellacked irises and tiny capillaries like delicate tributaries extending from the ocean of her heart.  At that moment, as I sank into those miniature currents, the girl’s words from our conversation in the bar came back to me.  Her parting wish had been so much more than sympathetic encouragement.  It had been a prayer.  Sammie hadn’t just gone looking for me.  She had found me.  She’d crossed time zones and generations, realms and epochs, reached the very edge of the cliff and taken that final bold step into the unknown.

Who were these prophets that had visited me, a man of unclean lips?  What angels had I entertained unaware?

“I’m home, Sammie,” I gasped.  And then I was sobbing, and doing all I could to breathe.  “I’m home.”

There was something in her eyes, something I could barely see past my tears.  It was just a glimmer, just a flicker, but it only takes the smallest of sparks to start a fire.  The warmth would take a while to grow, but I could already feel it spreading as Sammie took my hand.  Gently, she pulled it to her belly, to that hollow space beneath her heart which had been so violently stripped of its treasure.

“I’m ready,” she whispered, locking our fingers together tightly over her womb.  The tears were rising in her eyes, riverbanks overflowing at the conclusion of the cold season and the hopes of the renaissance of spring.  “It’s time to move on.  We have to start again.”

“We never move on,” I corrected immediately, firmly.  It felt good to shrug off the ice and feel something again.  Pain is always connected with joy.  Sorrow is intrinsic to hope.  It felt good.  “Loved ones never truly leave, Sammie.  He’s still with us.”

Sam nodded and closed her eyes.  “This is addition.”  As the tears flooded down her cheeks, she squeezed my hand with all the strength left in her fingers.  “Please, we have to start again.”

I removed my arm from her shoulders and thrusting my hand back into my coat pocket.  “But first things first.”

On the wall, behind me now as I knelt, the shadows grew still.

They rejoiced.

END