Category Archives: all about love

The arduous journey to decision

A young friend of mine is dating a fellow who wants to be a Catholic priest. They have a curious quandary: Catholic priests take a vow of celibacy.* This couple is of marriageable age, and both are serious-minded. They are not playing around. They like each other. A lot. They simply (or not so simply) do not know yet where their paths will lead.

For the most part, my friend says, her family and friends no longer express the anger they once did over her colossal waste of time; the anger has given way to a confused type of support as they fear the heartache she courts. She sees her relationship as neither a waste nor guaranteed heartache. For her, he’s worth the risk.

I know another story kinda like that.

on front of greeting card: a flower called "brown-eyed susan"

Rob gave me this card early in our dating career, playfully listing several points of contention in our relationship.

Once upon a time, there was this girl who caught this fellow’s eye. Truth be told, he’d caught her’s, too. Smitten at first sight(s), they traded a few phone calls, one lunch date, and he snagged an invitation to her birthday party (she worried throughout that he’d find her charming friends more intriguing than she) before she flew 3,000 miles away for two weeks of Christmas vacation with her family.

In the Land Before Twitter, in a time before texts, the two writers spent hours at their computers plugged into the east and west coasts, composing voluminous, casually clever emails exchanging tidbits about themselves. He was careful to highlight the cute blonde toddler-niece sitting on his lap while he typed. She made sure to mention a love of hiking and the outdoors.

She wondered if his first-born son was required to have the name “Charles,” as this royal appellation graces both his and his father’s birth certificates.

He said he’d like to find a wife before choosing his son’s name.

flower card insideAnd so it went until about a week after her return.

Because as it turned out, writers though they both were, they also were quite different.


I do not know my young friend’s story well enough yet to know how alike or disparate are she and her priest hopeful. Personality differences are not the point of comparison between stories. The comparison is the slow twisting path of decision. So back to our story…


Whether out of concern for various differences between them (could they really be an “effective team“?) or in the pure and honest effort to understand her own calling (likely a bit of both), she wondered aloud to her beau if she were meant to be single. Was she called, instead, to a life of solitude and service and writing…something she’d wondered more than once in the past decade? Would a husband distract her too much from other things she’s meant to accomplish? Should she toss all plans to the wind and move to Kansas to care for an aging grandmother?

He, in turn, wondered aloud why he was dating someone who maybe should be single or wanted to move to Kansas. But the truth was, he believed it not one bit (or at least held out reasonable hope that she liked him too much to stay that course) — and so he continued his pursuit.


Reasonable hope is the key in both stories. That, and enough fondness and honesty to walk the journey, respecting the process. In both stories, one party wrestles with desires and callings at odds with each other, while the other party watches and waits.

To outsiders, this is patently unfair to the one who waits. “Figure out what you want, and then date if you’re going to!” they like to demand. “Just dump him/her,” they advise the other. I understand. I’ve wanted to give similar advice to one or more of my own friends — now that I’ve safely navigated the process and am happily settled in marriage myself.

Thankfully, before saying something stupid to my agonizing friends, I remember my own story. I remember the angst of being told to stop keeping the poor boy waiting, to not be a perfectionist. The truth was, my guy had as many questions as I did — he was just smart enough to not talk about them, and let people pity his role and admire his stamina. The night before he proposed, we wrestled together with “What is love, anyway?” Really and truly; what is it? And how does one make such a momentous decision as marriage when you have no intention of allowing a back door exit once the vows are spoken?

As I walked my path, wrestling with my doubts and desires, Rob knew how very much I was drawn to him. And he knew why I hesitated. He always had the option to walk away. He always decided I was worth the wait. While he waited, I worked hard to reach a conclusion. At the same time, Rob was honest and pushed for what he needed — and I respected and responded to this, as well.

We both held the hope that our paths would lead us, together, to the altar. Yet we had to be honest with ourselves, each other, and the process each step of the way. Part of that honesty was a willingness to let go, if that is what wisdom revealed. And part of that honesty was continually risking another step forward.

My story is not the same as my young friend’s. But it is similar enough for me to be willing to walk the journey with her, listening…trying to truly listen…and encourage her that God is good on His promise to give wisdom to those who ask. But the wisdom in the situation is for her and her fella; not for me.

*For the record, states that “priestly celibacy is not an unchangeable dogma but a disciplinary rule.”

Nehemiah Notes has been helpful to me through the years, in various points of my journey. Here are two of those Notes:

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Posted by on June 14, 2013 in all about love, dating, Uncategorized


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Shadow stories of faithfulness

David Petraeus sits at desk

By US Army/Spc. Eric Bartelt ( [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The news this week is full of David Petraeus — his heroic leadership, his mentoring, his downfall. On November 12, NPR’s Talk of the Nationfocused on the good of this man, while playing fair and mentioning that not everyone in the military loved him. The show ended with a scathing call from a military wife asking the question, “If he did this, what else did he do?”

I’d like to think the best of a sad situation. Time will tell, hopefully truthfully, if he betrayed more than his marriage.

But here’s the thing: I get it.

Beautiful, intelligent, athletic, accomplished woman. A man with incredible authority. Common interests. Mutual respect. Mutual attraction.

Maybe I’m over-simplifying; maybe Paula Broadwell, Petraeus, or anyone close to the situation would say I don’t get it at all, and they’re probably right. This is not a blog post about them, actually, or on the causes or evils of extra-marital affairs.

This post is about the shadow stories. Because as I listened to the NPR report, I wondered about the men and women who do not stop at saying “no” once, twice, a dozen times. They say it again and again, to themselves, to their imaginations, to the very real people offering them a taste of a dream.

This is my salute to all the men who, time after time, turn a blind eye and deaf ear to the siren. My tribute to the women who choose not to encourage the intimate interest of another woman’s husband…or of any man other than her husband, if a husband she has. If it need be said, yes; the roles also reverse — women are not the only tempters.

man, woman, and child on walk in vineyard. Words on photo: Perseverance produces character; and character, hope.
Perseverance = Incredibly difficult, gut-wrenching, teeth-gritting, harder-than-you-ever-imagined, self-sacrificing determination to do what is necessary for the goal you set out to reach. Bummer, right?

Stories of temptation that end in triumph stay in the shadows, silent reminders of our frailty. Perhaps your spouse knows, or maybe the trusted friend who helped you keep your promise. Could be you are the only witness to the trembling strength it took to walk away, the only audience outside of the Almighty to hear the frantic, “Oh God. Help,” you pleaded more than once.

We don’t share these stories, perhaps, because we’re ashamed. We’re afraid of what we contemplated and of how susceptible we’ve turned out to be. We don’t want to hurt our spouses, or give them reason for insecurity or doubt.

Such a confession would demand incredible courage from the one tempted, as well as from the one not-quite-betrayed. Frankly, I don’t know if I could survive hearing Rob admit that he’s sorely tempted to go to another woman’s bed. Yet I know I want my love for personal security to submit to the good of us — which would mean rallying my heart to recognize the strength demanded of my husband to confess, and join him in his determination to see our marriage, our partnership, survive and flourish.

Sometimes we don’t know the strength and courage we possess until it is demanded…but I’m lying if I say I want to know if I have that particular form of courage.

And what about you? you ask. Are you susceptible? You bet — and I asked Rob at 11pm, in the midst of writing this post, “Do you want to know? Should I tell you if…?”

He thought for a while. Then he reminded me of one time I told him about…. “I told you about him?” I asked. More honest than I realized. Honest — and scared. Scared enough to be honest (and then, apparently, forget). Yet the question was not easy for him to answer. Finally he said, “Yes; tell me if it is an ongoing attraction.”

Stories of failure and betrayal are common now; stories of forgiveness, less so. Yet the stories of faithfulness are happening every day. If this is you, and no one in your life has the knowledge to say to you, “Well done,” let me be the first. For the only nod allotted to these shadow stories of determination and perseverance rooted in a promise are generally left at a short, seemingly simple yet deeply complex answer to the question asked of couples on their 40th, 50th, 75th anniversaries:

“What is the secret to your successful marriage?”

“It takes a lot of hard work.”


Posted by on November 16, 2012 in all about love, husband, Uncategorized


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Got the fairy tale after all

"marriage means commitment. Of course, so does insanity.

My mom recently unearthed my first published book. My only published book.

Self-published in the fourth grade, the papers are hand-stitched together. Khaki-checkered tacky paper cleverly binds the cardboard cover.

The story is a fairy tale that begins with a distraught, ill-treated girl who is intercepted by two fairies, transformed into a pixie-sized person, and meets her prince charming of similar size. They fall in love immediately, are married, and 10 handwritten pages later live happily ever after.

cover photo of The Blue Fairy Book

The Blue Fairy Book, by Andrew Lang

I was well-primed for fairy tales. By the fourth grade I’d soaked in every tale of fairies my elementary school library offered. Starting with Grimm’s Fairy Tales and Japanese fairy tale collections, I worked my way to the assorted colors of Andrew Lang‘s collection: The Blue Fairy Book, The Green Fairy Book, and so forth.

When I graduated from fairy tales to Anne of Green Gables, Gilbert replaced my desire for Prince Charming. Perhaps especially because he didn’t wear tights.

And now you see where this blog post is going. No, not a critique of male hosiery. A critique of the business of falling in love.

Truth in advertising

For two whole weeks after first meeting Rob, I was fairly certain I’d found “my Gilbert.” Rob sagely calls this the “You have two legs? I have two legs!” stage.

But the rose-colored eyesight that by most accounts lasts at least until the wedding quickly faded for me. Though very charming and handsome enough for any prince of mine, I wasn’t so sure we were a good fit. I had pictured a rather different man for myself. I had pictured a different feeling for myself.

What I heard from friends in love – “I just knew he was the one” and “This is what I’ve waited for” – did not match my awareness that Rob isn’t perfect. That we weren’t perfect together. That I had no doubt he would disappoint and hurt me in marriage. That I couldn’t possibly be everything he’d hoped for.

Though he was a good man and filled most of my waking thoughts, I could not reconcile what people described to me as love with the reality of my experience. I wanted the fairy tale everyone else seemed to have.

Thank God for grandmas. Or anyone willing to speak honestly about tough stuff.

Grandpa and Grandma were farmers on the Kansas plains. They had nine children and lots of work.

“There were times I’m sure I would have divorced Grandpa, if I’d known how,” Grandma told me one day, exasperated at my drawn-out dating stint with Rob. I’d never heard her say a word against Grandpa. They had the perfect marriage we all aspired to.

“I’d be at the stove making supper, and Grandpa would come in from the field. All I wanted was for him to come up behind me, wrap his arms around me and tell me he loved me. But he just walked past me and sat down to read.”

Their marriage was not a failure, nor a sham.  The truth of their good marriage still stood. Grandma made it plain she loved Grandpa deeply. And she made her point: There’s heartache in good marriages.

I had needed someone to admit that; to give a real example of imperfection in the midst of something really good.

The truth about fairy tales

Fairy tales, I realized, are absolute agony. If there’s a beautiful girl, there’s bound to be a witch or wicked stepmother. If there’s a prince, he’s particularly incapable of catching up to a girl running with only one shoe (Cinderella), or finding a girl somewhere out in the woods (Snow White).

Fairy tales always have a hero, a heroine, and obstacles to overcome. No obstacles, no fairy tale.

Neither Rob nor I wanted to walk away from each other; that much we knew. So we began working at the obstacles:

  • our logical, process-oriented personalities that move kinda slow on big decisions (but of course don’t move slowly at the same time).
  • our personalities that are polar-opposites in every other way.
  • one person expressive; the other…not.
  • one person explosive; the other, not.
  • coming to grips with our different dreams, and sorting through how we will make room for each other.

And the happily-ever-after part?

Well, the “happily” usually does come “after.” After the work. After the apology. After the forgiveness. Sometimes, it’s all about a good night’s sleep.

All of those “afters” happen over and over again, with the “happily” steadily growing along the way…sometimes taking a dive, sometimes taking longer than other times to regain the growth pace.

Yes, there’s heartache in marriage. No, perfection does not exist. But I’d make the same choice all over again. Fairy tales aren’t about perfection. They’re about perseverance. Persevering for something worth far more than the momentary trouble.

I’ve got my fairy tale — and I’m stickin’ to it.

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Posted by on March 6, 2011 in all about love, Uncategorized


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