Henry and I were invited to a New Year's Eve gathering at the home of some new friends this year, and it was an event that included children and adults. I was sitting with the womenfolk, a couple of whom who tending to their young children while we chatted. P., the little boy whose home we were visiting, had pulled out his prized toys, some kind of little animal figures. He was sharing nicely with one of the other little boys, J., when J. decided he wanted to play with P.'s very favorite. Of course a tug of war commenced, and finally, in exasperation, P.'s mom said, "P., it's only an earthly thing."
I would have loved it if P. had responded, "You're right, Mom. Thanks for reminding me that this little horse thing will soon be corrupted by moths and rust. I'm going to build up treasures in heaven, where thieves don't break in and steal." And even though that wasn't P.'s response and he didn't seem to be overly inspired by his reminder that his toy was only an earthly thing, I found myself wishing that I had thought of that admonition when my own children were small and were tussling over some "earthly thing." I admire a parent who will get right to the heart of the problem, and maybe P. doesn't understand right now the unimportance of earthly things, but someday his mother's reminder will resonate in his memory, and he'll be saved from some financially bad decision or he'll recover more quickly from some material loss . . . which brings me to my own grappling with the concept that something is only an "earthly thing."
The earthly thing that I'm struggling to give up is a little more substantive than a small plastic pony, but the grip it has had on me is every bit as tight as the grip the little pink pony had on P. My struggle began last November. After a little over a year of marriage, we had finally gotten my pre-marriage house cleaned out and fixed up to the point where it was ready to go on the market. It had been a real albatross around Henry's neck, especially since he had been paying the mortgage, utility bills, and insurance for a place that we weren't using--and he had even physically worked hard on several occasions to remove some of the remaining debris from the premises so we could sell it. He was ready to let this earthly thing go.
And so was I. I had a picture in my mind of the new owners--a nice young couple who were going to cash in on the tax credit being offered to first-time homeowners. They'd have the time and energy to fix things up a bit in a way I'd never been able to. Maybe they'd even put a garden in the back yard. And probably they'd turn Jonathan's bedroom into a nursery when that first little one came along.
So we put the house on the market about midweek, and amazingly, before the weekend was over--in this horrible economic mess that is Michigan--five couples went through. By Monday, we had an offer. But it was an appallingly low offer. And I was still reeling from having to set the selling price at over ten thousand dollars less than what I originally paid for the house back in 1998. Henry just wanted to be rid of this earthly thing, but I stood my ground and said I was basically insulted by the offer, and I just knew someone else would come along. It was, after all, a cute house--and there was that tax credit for first-time home buyers.
We countered halfway. At some point, it occurred to me that the people who had made the offer had only gone through the house once. I thought that was a little odd, but who knew what was going on. Maybe it was such a great little house that they were afraid of missing out. They accepted the offer, had already been approved for a mortgage, and were ready to close within a couple of weeks. And they wanted only the furnace inspected. Strange--but maybe that's all they could afford. So far so good.
Somewhere along the line, on some paperwork, we had read the names of the buyers. The names were very Eastern European sounding, and while that wasn't quite the vision of the buyers I had, I had a great new backstory. These people were probably immigrants from Bosnia. They had struggled mightily--back in Bosnia and here in America. But their years of hard work had finally paid off, and now they were going to be able to move out of the overcrowded apartment they were living in and purchase their own home. The American dream. I could hear Neil Diamond singing, "They're coming to America" as I saw the new owners moving in.
So we showed up at the closing, and I was still less than thrilled with the price we had accepted. When we got there, we found out that the buyers would be closing at another title company. We wouldn't get to meet them and see how nice they were and hear about their plans to finish off the basement. I was less than thrilled, and our realtor's rep picked up on that. She said, "Are you missing your house?"
I truly was not. The house Henry and I now have is spacious, beautiful, in a wonderful neighborhood with a park and sidewalks--more than I ever hoped of having. I hadn't missed that little single-parent-with-two-kids-home for a minute. I responded, "I'm just disappointed about the price we're getting. And I had hoped we'd at least get to meet the buyers."
"Oh, they're nice people," she said. "And they already have renters lined up to move in right away."
Renters? In my cute little house? The house I had stepped out on my own to buy--a single mom with two kids? The house we had just dropped a lot of money on, having it painted and putting new flooring in the bathrooms? The house that I had paids to have professionally landscaped after we moved in in 1998?
And so I try to remind myself to be grateful. So many people who are trying to sell their homes have to wait for many months--even years--before they finally get buyers. We didn't even have to wait a week.
And yet the horror stories from those I know who have owned rental properties continue to haunt me: walls with holes in them, stained carpets, strange smells, rusted appliances on the front porch, overgrown yards that haven't seen a mower in . . . too long. And then the poor neighbors--the value of their properties probably has been drug down because my house is owned by a slum lord. They're probably putting up with loud parties and empty beer cans and cigarette wrappers that somehow make their way over to their yards.
Andwhenever I think about this, I get kind of crazy and mad. A nice young schoolteacher bought Henry's house. And you know it's cuter now than it ever has been. And renters live in mine.
And then I think about P.'s mom, and I tell myself, "It's only an earthly thing."
But it was a huge step for me. And a courageous one. I was a single mom, and I bought that house all by myself.
It's only an earthly thing.
We have some great memories in that house--birthdays, Christmases, fun in the backyard . . .
It's only an earthly thing.
It looked so nice when we finally had it ready to sell. Clean, lightcolored walls, new flooring in the bathrooms, a new light fixture in the dining room.
It's only an earthly thing.
I'm working on it . . .
2/18/10
2/11/10
Keeping Romance Alive
The people who know us well know that most Friday nights for Henry and me are date night, a feature of our courtship that I insisted must be carried over into our marriage. There isn't anything especially novel or radical about date night, but I think that it was key to our pre-marriage romance, and it certainly is an important element for us now.
When Henry and I were dating, we reserved Friday nights for each other. He would choose a restaurant, come pick me up and bring me flowers, and then we would have a lovely dinner with conversation. After we'd been dating for awhile, we'd go back to my house and have coffee and a special dessert that I picked up at a bakery. That was date night. And date night now looks very similar. He doesn't buy me roses every week (people ask if he still does), but often the roses he buys last more than one week, and he knows how they're looking now when Friday night rolls around. And when we were dating, the bouquets were a nice reminder throughout the week of Henry. Now I have him throughout the week, which is much better than roses.
Anyway, we still go out most weeks (unless something else comes up), and he still suggests the restaurant. (These days I feel a little freer to suggest an alternative, but many times when I arrive at home and he makes his suggestion, it's often a restaurant I was thinking of.) I usually stop at a bakery on the way home from work and get some dessert. After dinner, we come home and have coffee and dessert and watch a movie that we've gotten from Netflix. And that's date night.
It's not date night, per se, that is such a unique idea. What is important is that we've set this evening aside for each other, and it's something we look forward to all week. And it truly keeps romance alive. And so on this Valentine's Day, I'd advise every married couple to adopt some form of date night and make it a regular part of your lives. Date night will look differently from couple to couple based on interests and circumstances. Couples with young children who don't have a lot of extra cash for babysitters and nice restaurants might have to adapt date night to their situation at this season in their lives. Maybe it just means having a glass of wine or a dessert and watching a movie at home after the kids have gone to bed. It may require some creativity and planning, but it will be worth the effort.
Here are some suggestions for date nights from an article in Christianity Today:
1. Take in a local concert or theater production. We've really enjoyed some productions at local community theaters, and they don't charge as much. One of our favorite local theaters where we've seen some great performances is Master Arts.
2. Read a book of short stories aloud to each other. Or anything that interests you as a couple. Read a novel together. The point is that you're sharing time doing something you both enjoy.
3. If you have children, ask them to plan your date! But don't be surprised if you find yourself at Chuck E Cheese.
4. Make it a three-course progressive dinner. Have an appetizer at one restaurant, main course at another, and dessert at another. Would require lots of time and money.
5. Give an encore performance. Do something that you did on a date before you were married that you really enjoyed, or take up an activity that you enjoyed before you were married that you aren't doing now.
6. People watch. It costs nothing. And Henry and I have had some of our best times making up stories about the people we see when we're out.
7. Just go for a drive together. With no destination in mind.
So this year, commit yourself to celebrating Valentine's Day every week rather than once a year on February 14. Valentine's Day won't be nearly as special when it rolls around, but that's because every week will be special.
1/28/10
Jane Gets It
I'm getting off to a bit of a slow start this year with my reading list. It's the end of January, and I just finished my first book last week for my book group: Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen. It was an interesting read from the perspective that it was Austin's first novel, and reading it was a study in the growth of a great writer. While it wasn't a well-crafted book, the seeds of Austen's greatness were there, and it was intriguing to see how far she'd come in creating fascinating characters by the time she got to Pride and Prejudice, Emma, and Sense and Sensibility.
Perhaps because the characters and the plot weren't that compelling, though, I paid closer attention to the manners and behaviors of the characters in the book, and it made me wish that our own approach to male/female relationships, courtship/dating, and marriage resembled that era's approach more closely.
Several observations that are neither profound or new from Austen's era:
On several occasions in my singleness I talked with my former pastor about the strangeness of the dating scene, and one of his observations was that Scripture doesn't depict men and women in an intermediate, try-each-other-out-for-size phase of a relationship. He observed that Scripture speaks about brothers and sisters in Christ and husbands and wives (and familial relationships, of course), but it doesn't ever protray an in-between category where we enjoy many of the benefits of marriage (and I'm not just talking about sex--but companionship, emotional intimacy, and some levels of physical intimacy) without being married or without any intention of being married.
I've tried to discourage my children from getting involved in dating relationships until they're in a position in life where they're ready to get married, but the frustrating thing is that no one, even in the church, seems to think that way. We teach our young people--sometimes by what we do say and sometimes by our silence--that pairing off with a member of the opposite sex is just a reasonable, normal, and, in fact, fine thing to do as we grow up--kind of like getting a driver's license. And so, despite Henry's and my best advice, our daughter has a boyfriend, and, as freshmen in college, they're several years away from even beginning to think about marriage. But to suggest another way is to be countercultural, old-fashioned, and unrealistic.
But what if we taught our young people the Austen/eighteenth-century approach? What if we taught our sons that they really shouldn't think about a relationship with a young woman until they were prepared to get married--agewise, careerwise, and emotionally? What if we taught them that a girl who isn't their family member is a sister in Christ, and she should be treated with respect and dignity? What if we taught our children what we adults all know is true--that it's nigh unto impossible to maintain sexual purity in a male/female relationship where we've invested our emotions, our time, our bodies to some extent? And for that reason, we should wait to make that kind of investment until we're prepared to get married? What if we encouraged them to be friends with one another until they had achieved a maturity level where they were ready for marriage? What if we taught them that the relationship they should be building during their teen and early adult years is their relationship with Christ--which would help them one day to have a healthier marriage relationship?
And now you may be thinking that all of that is unrealistic, old-fashioned, impractical and would never work. And yet I've had dating relationships the modern way, and I've had one--the best ever--the Jane Austen way. Modern dating led to frustration, disappointment, and hurts. The Austen way led me to the most romantic courtship and marriage I could have ever imagined.
Perhaps because the characters and the plot weren't that compelling, though, I paid closer attention to the manners and behaviors of the characters in the book, and it made me wish that our own approach to male/female relationships, courtship/dating, and marriage resembled that era's approach more closely.
Several observations that are neither profound or new from Austen's era:
- Men didn't consider marriage as an option until they were settled in a career and were confident that they could provide financially for a wife and family. In this novel, the male love interest was in his late twenties and was a minister and Catherine, the female interest, was seventeen.
- If a respectable young man approached a respectable young woman and asked her to dance or otherwise spend time socially with him, that young woman could reasonably assume that he had an interest in marrying her. Not a done deal, mind you. But that was clearly a possibility. Otherwise he wouldn't have approached her. It was all taken very seriously.
- Young men and women who were getting to know one another typically didn't go off by themselves. There was usually a chaperone--a sister, brother, friend--who accompanied them.
- There was a concern for behaving properly and a healthy consideration of what others might think.
On several occasions in my singleness I talked with my former pastor about the strangeness of the dating scene, and one of his observations was that Scripture doesn't depict men and women in an intermediate, try-each-other-out-for-size phase of a relationship. He observed that Scripture speaks about brothers and sisters in Christ and husbands and wives (and familial relationships, of course), but it doesn't ever protray an in-between category where we enjoy many of the benefits of marriage (and I'm not just talking about sex--but companionship, emotional intimacy, and some levels of physical intimacy) without being married or without any intention of being married.
I've tried to discourage my children from getting involved in dating relationships until they're in a position in life where they're ready to get married, but the frustrating thing is that no one, even in the church, seems to think that way. We teach our young people--sometimes by what we do say and sometimes by our silence--that pairing off with a member of the opposite sex is just a reasonable, normal, and, in fact, fine thing to do as we grow up--kind of like getting a driver's license. And so, despite Henry's and my best advice, our daughter has a boyfriend, and, as freshmen in college, they're several years away from even beginning to think about marriage. But to suggest another way is to be countercultural, old-fashioned, and unrealistic.
But what if we taught our young people the Austen/eighteenth-century approach? What if we taught our sons that they really shouldn't think about a relationship with a young woman until they were prepared to get married--agewise, careerwise, and emotionally? What if we taught them that a girl who isn't their family member is a sister in Christ, and she should be treated with respect and dignity? What if we taught our children what we adults all know is true--that it's nigh unto impossible to maintain sexual purity in a male/female relationship where we've invested our emotions, our time, our bodies to some extent? And for that reason, we should wait to make that kind of investment until we're prepared to get married? What if we encouraged them to be friends with one another until they had achieved a maturity level where they were ready for marriage? What if we taught them that the relationship they should be building during their teen and early adult years is their relationship with Christ--which would help them one day to have a healthier marriage relationship?
And now you may be thinking that all of that is unrealistic, old-fashioned, impractical and would never work. And yet I've had dating relationships the modern way, and I've had one--the best ever--the Jane Austen way. Modern dating led to frustration, disappointment, and hurts. The Austen way led me to the most romantic courtship and marriage I could have ever imagined.
1/16/10
Dear Kristi . . .
My sister Kristi went to heaven twenty years ago today. She would have turned forty this past December 6. If I could talk to her, this is what I might begin to say to her.
Dear Kristi,
Wow! Twenty years ago today you went to heaven to be with Jesus. Sometimes it seems like time has flown past in a blur, but other times--when I think about all that has happened in twenty years, the others who have left us, the new people that have come into my life, the fact that I've very nearly raised two children to adulthod--it seems like I feel every second of that twenty years.
You know, of course, about Jon. I'm sure you're with him often--maybe even now. He probably told you about Katie and Jonathan. I'm so sorry that he didn't get to know them very long. I'm so sorry you didn't get to know them at all. Did he tell you what they were like when he had to leave them? Katie in so many ways reminds me of you--good and bad. She really doesn't look anything like you--except for her height--and Jon probably told you about her gorgeous red hair. We've often wondered if you asked God to send us a little redhead. And you know she's named after you--Kathleen Kristi Lynn. What else could I have named her?
She's stubborn like you, likes to talk, loves music, and definitely has her own sense of style--like you. She keeps her room a mess. She takes joy in little children--like you did. Mom says Katie was her "rainbow," her promise that there was still good in this life. It's a little crazy, but she does something else weird that you did--she doesn't wear socks in the winter. Everytime I see her all bundled up--coat, hat, and gloves--I look down at her feet, and she's not wearing any socks because "they don't look good with flats." And I immediately think of you. Even after twenty years, you're not far from the edges of my mind.
And Jonathan! You would have loved seeing him as a little boy. I look at pictures of him from the past, and he was, without a doubt, the most beautiful little boy I've ever seen. It's hard to tell, at this point (he's sixteen), just who he is and what he will become, but he's smart--like Jon. He loves history and politics. He and Dad are best buddies--and always have been. They watch car races together, go to Taco Bell together (can you believe Dad eats at Taco Bell?), and Jonathan tells him the things he doesn't tell anyone else. It's been hard for him, all these years, having to live with two women, but he's starting to grow up, and I'm eager to see how God will use him and his abilities.
The years after Jon went to heaven were pretty hard. Here I was--early thirties, two little kids, and stuck in Michigan--away from my family. Mom and Dad were still reeling from losing you, and then Jon. They are my heroes, though. They moved up to Michigan, and they helped me raise the kids. We have quality parents. I taught school for awhile, had a brief stint working in a bookstore, went a couple of rounds with depression, dated (ugh!--a topic I'll save till I see you), and finally ended up with a job I love. All those years I couldn't help but wonder why God would take both you and Jon. So many times I've wished I could have my sister to pour my heart out to; to go shopping with; to make me laugh like you always did; to go on weekend getaways; to love on my poor, fatherless kids. I needed you after Jon died, so I guess it's something I'll never understand. One of the times I miss you the most is when I see sisters together--like Mom and Aunt Lou or Aunt Carol. I have some dear friends that I thank God for, but none of them could ever be you to me.
The good news: God is faithful, and He's carried me through all of this stuff. I am a different (and better)person for having suffered loss. Although He's taken away, He's also given--in abundance. I have Mom and Dad and Katie and Jonathan, Tim and Zella and Elizabeth and Garrett. (I'll let Tim tell you about them--but I love to see the cousins together, and you would too.) And I've been surprised by joy, to borrow a phrase. Almost two years ago, God gave me Henry, a better man than I could have asked for or imagined. When we got engaged, Katie said, "Mom, you're like a Disney princess," and that's how I've felt because that's how he always treats me. It's strange that someone so dear to me knows nothing of you, but he knows loss like I do. His younger brother died back in the nineties. He knows pain. He loves music and has a beautiful tenor voice. He's a godly man, and he loves Katie and Jonathan too. By the way--I have my dream job. I'm an editor at a Christian book publishing company. Life is good.
But I do miss you so, and I think about you everyday. One day soon we will all be together again. By then, January 16 will be long forgotten as a day of sadness. I can't wait to join you in the Great Adventure--to introduce you to my children, to sing with you, laugh with you, talk to you, my little sister.
Love,
Annette
Dear Kristi,
Wow! Twenty years ago today you went to heaven to be with Jesus. Sometimes it seems like time has flown past in a blur, but other times--when I think about all that has happened in twenty years, the others who have left us, the new people that have come into my life, the fact that I've very nearly raised two children to adulthod--it seems like I feel every second of that twenty years.
You know, of course, about Jon. I'm sure you're with him often--maybe even now. He probably told you about Katie and Jonathan. I'm so sorry that he didn't get to know them very long. I'm so sorry you didn't get to know them at all. Did he tell you what they were like when he had to leave them? Katie in so many ways reminds me of you--good and bad. She really doesn't look anything like you--except for her height--and Jon probably told you about her gorgeous red hair. We've often wondered if you asked God to send us a little redhead. And you know she's named after you--Kathleen Kristi Lynn. What else could I have named her?
She's stubborn like you, likes to talk, loves music, and definitely has her own sense of style--like you. She keeps her room a mess. She takes joy in little children--like you did. Mom says Katie was her "rainbow," her promise that there was still good in this life. It's a little crazy, but she does something else weird that you did--she doesn't wear socks in the winter. Everytime I see her all bundled up--coat, hat, and gloves--I look down at her feet, and she's not wearing any socks because "they don't look good with flats." And I immediately think of you. Even after twenty years, you're not far from the edges of my mind.
And Jonathan! You would have loved seeing him as a little boy. I look at pictures of him from the past, and he was, without a doubt, the most beautiful little boy I've ever seen. It's hard to tell, at this point (he's sixteen), just who he is and what he will become, but he's smart--like Jon. He loves history and politics. He and Dad are best buddies--and always have been. They watch car races together, go to Taco Bell together (can you believe Dad eats at Taco Bell?), and Jonathan tells him the things he doesn't tell anyone else. It's been hard for him, all these years, having to live with two women, but he's starting to grow up, and I'm eager to see how God will use him and his abilities.
The years after Jon went to heaven were pretty hard. Here I was--early thirties, two little kids, and stuck in Michigan--away from my family. Mom and Dad were still reeling from losing you, and then Jon. They are my heroes, though. They moved up to Michigan, and they helped me raise the kids. We have quality parents. I taught school for awhile, had a brief stint working in a bookstore, went a couple of rounds with depression, dated (ugh!--a topic I'll save till I see you), and finally ended up with a job I love. All those years I couldn't help but wonder why God would take both you and Jon. So many times I've wished I could have my sister to pour my heart out to; to go shopping with; to make me laugh like you always did; to go on weekend getaways; to love on my poor, fatherless kids. I needed you after Jon died, so I guess it's something I'll never understand. One of the times I miss you the most is when I see sisters together--like Mom and Aunt Lou or Aunt Carol. I have some dear friends that I thank God for, but none of them could ever be you to me.
The good news: God is faithful, and He's carried me through all of this stuff. I am a different (and better)person for having suffered loss. Although He's taken away, He's also given--in abundance. I have Mom and Dad and Katie and Jonathan, Tim and Zella and Elizabeth and Garrett. (I'll let Tim tell you about them--but I love to see the cousins together, and you would too.) And I've been surprised by joy, to borrow a phrase. Almost two years ago, God gave me Henry, a better man than I could have asked for or imagined. When we got engaged, Katie said, "Mom, you're like a Disney princess," and that's how I've felt because that's how he always treats me. It's strange that someone so dear to me knows nothing of you, but he knows loss like I do. His younger brother died back in the nineties. He knows pain. He loves music and has a beautiful tenor voice. He's a godly man, and he loves Katie and Jonathan too. By the way--I have my dream job. I'm an editor at a Christian book publishing company. Life is good.
But I do miss you so, and I think about you everyday. One day soon we will all be together again. By then, January 16 will be long forgotten as a day of sadness. I can't wait to join you in the Great Adventure--to introduce you to my children, to sing with you, laugh with you, talk to you, my little sister.
Love,
Annette
1/11/10
New in 2010
So since all of the possible "best of 2009" lists have been created and forgotten and we're a little bored with them by now, perhaps a better idea for my first post of 2010 is to recount all of the new things that have come with a new year--at least for me.
- The biggest new thing is pictured above to the right. I wrote in my last post that Katie had an accident while she was driving my car to work. The Monday after Christmas, we learned that our insurance company had determined the car was totalled, and so the Tuesday after Christmas Henry and I--after some diligent research--went car shopping. I ended up with a 2007 Toyota Corolla, a car that we agree suits me much better than my Subaru Forester (which was an excellent car and served me well for eight years). My Toyota looks much like the one above, only it is black, my favorite car color. Also new is now getting used to driving a car that doesn't have all-wheel drive or an ABS, a challenging adjustment in a Michigan winter. It's all working out well.
- I have a new responsibility at our church. I have been asked to serve on our church's library committee, and since book buying is definitely one of my spiritual gifts, it's all going to work out well. Unfortunately, our committee chair broke her ankle right before Christmas, and with only a few days left in the year and lots of book money left in the budget, I asked if she minded if I purchased the books that my pastor (a great list that was about a page and a half long) and another Bible study leader had requested. It's been kind of exciting coming home from work to yet another box of new books. Now we need to process them and get them on the shelves.
- Another new thing is a responsibility I've completed. For a little over a year now, I've been editing grade 5 and 6 catechism curriculum for a new curriculum that has been developed by Pastor Scheuers and others in Chino, California. It's been an exercise in perseverance because often the last thing I'd want to do during the evening was yet more editing. But it's a worthy project, and it will be gratifying to see children in my own church, especially in fifth and sixth grade, carrying around the books that I edited next fall. It's new to come home from work, fix supper, and realize that I don't have to work on the catechism. And this leaves me open for some more new editing opportunities for Reformed Fellowship, the organization that my own Henry is president of.
- I have new book review published in the January/February issue of Modern Reformation magazine. Last year I submitted my review of Why We're Not Emergent, and it finally made it in.
- I'm starting a new reading list. I actually exceeded my reading goal for 2009: reading one fiction and one nonfiction title a month. I'm going to keep the goal the same this year. I failed to meet my goal of reading Calvin's Institutes during the Calvin 500 year celebration, but I got about halfway through, and I'm still plugging away.
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