(image by Hillary Kupish)

Tomorrow my son’s long anticipated book, Loveology, will appear on the shelves of bookstores.

Today I sit at a coffee shop in Portland with my own copy in my lap and marvel.

This is my son— the one I taught to form letters and read words. The same boy who, in ninth grade, agonized to meet his page quota for a paper on Silas Marner. Not because he couldn’t do it, but because he fought his teacher’s insistence that papers must be long and wordy.

This book isn’t wordy.

Instead, John Mark has broken the worn-out publishing paradigm that insists that more is better. He has written a treatise on marriage for a generation that reads fast—to the point, crystal clear, wise, and raw.

For the first chapter of my reading, I did what I always do. I got out my pen to underline the most important points; my way of remembering what I, as a way-too-fast reader, need to take with me.

I underlined nearly every sentence.

Then I started taking notes. Along the margins, in my notebook. Arrows and circles, numbers to follow along more closely… I found myself treating Lovelogy like a workbook.

Pretty soon I stopped reading it for a review and started reading it for me.

For my marriage.

For my understanding of the Father’s intent when he made Adam one way and Eve another and then told them to go and do their task to change the world.

And then, about half way through this book, I had to stop and close it tight for a while.  Because through these words my own son put on paper, the Father began to speak deep into my heart about things I thought I knew but didn’t.

About men. About marriage. About God. About me.

And also…

About purpose, about pleasure, about the point of it all.

And then I had to grieve, just for an honest little while.

Because I didn’t know this plan for marriage 35 years ago when I married Phil. I knew some, but not nearly enough. And if I had known, really understood what marriage was all about and what marriage was for, I would have done those first years differently.

Why didn’t anybody ever tell me?

That marriage is for more than my own happiness.

That my success as a wife is not measured by my success at making my husband happy.

That marriage is about achieving something far beyond ourselves, something that can and should and will, if we let it, change the world.

And that is what my son’s book is about— a plan from God to change the world.

I’ve gushed more texts to John Mark as I’ve read his book than is seemly— I can imagine the rolling of his eyes as he dismisses his mom as slightly manic.

But I’m not sure he’ll ever be able to fully understand how fairy tales shape a woman’s heart. And how crushingly sad a woman feels when she realizes she didn’t marry Prince Charming after all. Or how embarrassingly bad a woman can behave when those dreams don’t carry her away on the white steed of her imaginary world.

My first years of marriage were not what they should have been because my view of marriage was not what it needed to be. I married a good and godly man and still managed to shame him for being less than I needed.

Why?

Because I thought about marriage mostly wrong and so I did marriage mostly wrong.

Loveology is the right way to think about marriage. God’s way.

Steeped in Scripture, filled with background and history and explanations and word studies, this book fully explains. John Mark makes sense of the mystery Paul talked about while exploding the myths most of us believe.

I needed this book.

You need this book if…

• you hope to get married some day
• you are afraid to get married
• you want your sons and daughters to go into dating and marriage with God’s wisdom to guide them
• your marriage failed and you want to understand why
• you’re unhappy in your marriage and want to know what to do
• you want hope
• you want truth

And most especially, read this book if you’ve been following these He’s Not Your Prince Charming posts.  Because John Mark explains all the why’s and what’s and how come’s that keep haunting your misplaced dreams.

From a heart

… bursting with pride in my son,

… humbled by my own brokenness,

… thankful for the faithfulness of my husband,

… and hopeful for the next generation,

Diane

PS. Who’s going to the Loveology event in downtown Portland this weekend? Let us know in the comments and look for me, I’ll be there!

A week after Phil broke up with me he proposed.

It was, he explained later, the longest week of his life. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, could hardly function. Even though we’d planned this break up for a month— after praying for peace and finding only worry— the intensity of his emotions took him by surprise.

And so he did what he’d been taught to do: he sought counsel. First he talked to the other pastors he worked with. Mostly they just laughed at his concerns. The age difference? No bother. The idea of marrying a partner in piano playing? Nonsense! That covered, they offered to cancel staff meeting and go buy the ring!

He began to wonder if maybe he’d made a mistake.

Next he took my dad out to lunch. Not, he assured him, to ask his permission to marry me. But if he did decide what would my dad’s response be? What did he think?

My dad just laughed and enjoyed the free lunch.

Then Phil called his parents. His mom was all for it, more than ready for her middle son to make up his mind. Her only question was, do you love her? When Phil couldn’t stop talking about how much and all the reasons why she, too started to laugh. His dad agreed. Time to ask her, son.

Still, Phil worried. What about just knowing?

I was oblivious to the drama. The breakup, as far as I could see was final. And so I spent my days trying to reimagine my life- sad, but determined to set my wobbly feet on that Solid Rock we’d sung about.

The reality for me was that practically from the day we’d started dating I’d been holding my breath, hoping to marry Phil. He was everything I wanted and then some. I loved the vision he painted for me of a life lived completely and entirely sold out to God.

Serving along side this man would be the highest honor.

There was not the slightest doubt in my mind that I loved Phil with the kind of love that happens only rarely. I knew I wanted to spend every moment of the rest of my life loving him. Sure, I had worries about certain parts of him... there was that moodiness that caught me off guard sometimes. And the pace he set for himself made me wonder how I'd keep up. But I'd looked those things square in the face of reality and decided I could deal with those glitches. Or at least I thought I could. Because my deep respect for him as a man, as a person, as a follower after God, overshadowed the rough edges that I was pretty sure would poke from time to time.

Once when he’s asked me point blank if I had any doubts, I’d wavered between my self-protective tendency to pretend and the truth. Dare I let him know how deeply I loved him? Wouldn’t that be humiliating? Shouldn’t I just act like I wasn’t sure either in order to save face?

In what was for me a great leap of faith, I told him the truth. Even now I remember that swallowing of pride, then the great rush of trust that I had done what the Father asked of me. I could sense God’s approval even as my face flamed with the admission.

No, there was no doubt whatsoever. I wanted to marry Phil.

I still don’t know what finally changed Phil’s mind. Neither does he.

Maybe we both had more surrendering to do. Maybe he had to count the cost of trusting God for the less-than-absolutely-perfect-ideal. Maybe I had to let go of him in order to begin the journey to learning that “I dare not trust the perfect frame but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.”

All I really know is that as soon as he asked, I said YES!

And do you remember what I hinted at in the first part of our story? Early on in our relationship Phil set a high standard for physical boundaries in order to protect both my purity and his own integrity.

Lots and lots of affection…

With purposeful restraint of passion.

For us, what that amounted to was no kissing. Okay, maybe a peck on the cheek from time to time— but none of that lip-locked, hot and heavy, body-entangling kind of kissing.

But when he asked me to spend the rest of my life with him, making a commitment to love and protect and cherish and lead and provide for me… that’s when he kissed me for the first time.

Magic. Beautiful, melting, magic.

And I know that sounds corny. I know that no one does that. I know its kind of… strange.

But for us… for the hope of our future… for the kind of all-in-forever romance we both craved— it was just the right way.

Tomorrow I’ll finally get us to the alter… and then we can begin this series…

Together we'll commence the conversation and the teaching and the learning about why ... and what to do... with the absolutely true fact that…

He’s Not Your Prince Charming.

From my heart,

Diane

On the Sunday after Phil broke up with me, I slipped into church reluctantly. I knew he’d be there, on the platform leading worship. I knew I would cry, unable to hold back the grief at the loss of the life I’d dare to dream of. 

I wanted to be strong but I wasn’t. Wanted to be cool and remote, but my red nose and swollen eyes wouldn’t fool anybody.  And so I tried to avoid anyone I might know by finding a seat in the back corner, as near the exit doors as possible.

All my fears and feelings of inadequacy and fakery and not-good-enough-ness kept my shoulders slumped and my head down. I wanted to believe what I’d been taught, that God had a wonderful plan for my life. But how was this wonderful?

What I hadn’t factored in was a redeeming Savior and His relentless pursuit of a woman who needed to know Him in a way that would fill up all those achingly empty places in my soul.

All I remember about that morning was the words of the hymn we sang:

My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness,

I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

On Christ the solid Rock I stand, All other ground is sinking sand,

All other ground is sinking sand.

Every word sank deep. Soothing, true, hope-filled. This was what I was longing for, what I needed. A hope built on One who would love me always, no matter what. 

Could it possibly be true? With all my less-thans, all my pretending to be better than I was, could I learn to wholly lean on Jesus’ name?

It was a theme that would echo over and over again in my life. That when dreams die and wishes don’t come true, when things happen that I don’t want and when I can’t make the hurt go away, Jesus is there...

Really there.

I went home elated. Fully surrendered, ready for whatever God had for me. I wanted more of Him. I wanted to be able to sing the last verse and mean it…

When He shall come with trumpet sound, Oh, may I then in Him be found;

Dressed in His righteousness alone, Faultless to stand before the Throne.

Something significant happened deep inside me that day. In losing something I wanted, I gained more of what I needed. 

A deeper trust.

A greater intimacy. 

A new sense of adequacy.

I was just beginning on my journey to finding Grace.

And even though I said I would finish our story today, I just can’t. Not yet. It would seem not right to tack a happily ever after ending right here.

I knew our break-up was final. Phil didn’t need space, he needed peace. And I was powerless to put that peace in his heart. It was over.

The real story is that God met me here in this broken place.

And so I’ll just have to tell you the rest next week…

And then we can get started on why I wanted to start this series in the first place.

Until then, thanks for listening,

From my heart,

Diane

part 1

part 2

Once upon a time I fell in love with Phil.

I fell in love for all the obvious reasons—all that tall-dark-handsome stuff. Throw in a really cool car, the fact that he was a drummer, the brown suede jacket (with fringe!) he wore, his way of smiling that insisted on response… and I fell head over-heels.

Falling in love was easy.

Riding the ups and downs and tensions and worries of wondering if this was The One? That was hard. 

Pain-filled. Humbling.

Our relationship didn’t develop slowly with friendship first. Instead we rushed headlong into romance. It was a fun, exhilarating, all-absorbing, drastically life changing time.

Everything about Phil was intense: every conversation, every decision, every date.

He was 26 years old, had finished college, then found his niche in music ministry. Just two years earlier, he’d quit the rock band that had defined his life for 9 years and was now a pastor at one of California’s first mega-churches. 

The man spent every minute living, breathing, and thinking ministry.

He had strong ideas about everything.  And I do mean everything.

I loved that! I’d only been a Christian for about 3 years when we started dating and I was still figuring it out, wishing for a rule book to get it right. Or at least clear instructions about what I should do and what I should avoid and what I ought to say,when. 

The attrition rate of new Believers during those Jesus Movement days scared me—  how could I avoid being one of those who “fell away”?

Phil read his Bible voraciously and made sure I was reading mine. For him, this was no rote discipline of duty. He read to discover, to absorb truth, to know God.

He thought about what he read, scribbled notes in a journal, underlined, questioned and studied. And then he talked to me, inviting me into conversation— the depth of which I’d never before experienced.

Our conversations centered around the Scriptures we were reading.  We memorized verses together, mulling over this way of living in alliance with God. It was a heady and exhilarating time with a whole unknown world opening up to me.

But I was scared.

This man was just so much better than me. Smarter, quicker, stronger, more focused and absolutely sure of his calling. I was a freshman in Bible College surrounded by students who had been raised with at least some background of faith. While I was untangling the Patriarchs’ stories, getting lost among the Prophets, and barely understanding the Sermon on the Mount (Blessed are the poor? Are you kidding?), everyone else seemed to know everything. 

And that, I think, is when I first started to pretend.

I’d nod my head knowingly, keep my mouth shut, and fake it. I copied the way others prayed, God-blessing everyone I could think of.

When Phil prayed I’d add all the expected amen and yes, Jesus affirmations in order to sound more sincere.

 Instead of understanding that growing a backlog of faith takes time, I hurried to catch up in order to feel adequate, accepted, good.

With no concept whatsoever of grace, I performed the way I thought I ought to, the way I thought Phil wanted me to. Phil was an idealist and I longed to be his ideal.

And that, no doubt, set me up for some deep disappointment down the road.

Phil was as intense about our relationship as he was about everything else. After 3 dates in 4 days, he initiated “the talk”.

He wasn’t interested in dating just to date. He was on track to marry and wanted to pursue this relationship with that in mind. What did I think?  

Well I would have eloped then and there, that’s what I thought. But I managed to say something somewhat sophisticated like me too, and so we were off.

We had rules.

No kissing on the lips, quick forehead and cheek kisses were okay. Limited hugging, but lots of hand-holding. We avoided being alone at my house and I was absolutely not allowed in his.

Phil was shockingly upfront about why. He’d not lived a pure life before giving his life to Jesus and no way was he going to mess up now. Keeping a safe distance just made sense. 

And those rules worked to make me feel like the most cherished woman in the world. Phil was protecting my purity while guarding his.He wanted more of this relationship than groping in the back seat of a car. He chose to keep his hands to himself while he handed me his heart with the purest trust.

Phil opened his life to me and let me in. He probed the corners of my introverted self— he discovered me.

I’d never had anyone want to know me the way Phil did. Slowly, timidly, I let him see the real me. I shared my worries. Let him see my inadequacies. The more we talked the more I could see my place in his life. He needed help, was barely managing to keep up with the frantic pressures of a mega church music pastor’s life. 

Our differences seemed destined to compliment rather than conflict. 

But there were two problems. Two glitches to the Ideal.

First of all, I was almost 9 years younger than Phil. Was that okay? The second question worried him more. While Phil’s ministry revolved around music, I could barely carry a tune. I couldn’t sing, play the piano, or read music. How in the world would I be a music pastor’s wife? 

His fellow pastors ridiculed the questions when he worried out loud to them. They teased him out of his intensity and told him to relax, forget the “role”. He needed a wife, not a pastor’s wife. 

Still, that sense of sureness eluded him.

We’d been told that we would just know.

Everyone said it: You’ll just know when you find the One. 

But Phil didn’t know.

He knew he loved me and made no bones about his attraction to me. He knew I loved him enough to lay aside my plans to join his, we knew our parents approved, that our goals coincided… but he didn’t just know. 

And so we broke up.

Because he didn’t know.  And he needed to know... 

Our story could have ended there. I thought it would.

Tomorrow I’ll tell you why it didn’t.

Feel free to e-mail in your questions for this new series about love and marriage from a Biblical perspective at hespeaks@ajesuschurch.org

Make Her Feel Safe

Dear Matthew,

I woke up this morning feeling safe.

Pushing back the thick down comforter, I slipped out of bed while your dad slept soundly. Jackson led me excitedly to the laundry room as he does every morning, where I filled his bowl with 2 scoops of dog food, which he wolfed down as if he was afraid he might starve. I get the impression that he’s just not sure if I’ll remember to feed him one of these days and so he starts off every morning on a mission to remind me. Just in case.

And I think I used to be just like our dog.

Unsure that anyone would love me enough to take care of me every day.

Always. No matter what.

Would this be the day when Phil would stop loving me?

Would he be too busy to care today?

Too distracted to remember my presence?

Too enamored with all that the world outside our little home offers to notice me?

And so I’d wake up every morning asking those same questions, just a little fearful, hesitant. Watching to see if what I feared would come true. Feeling that maybe I needed to remind him that I’m hungry for his love, for assurance, for that pat on the back.

And every day for 35 years your dad has just loved me. Again. Until I finally feel safe and secure and sure that yes, today he’ll still love me. No matter what.

Matthew, I want you to understand that every woman, in her own way, enters every relationship feeling just a little unsafe… and that she’s looking to you with just a hint of fear behind her eyes… and that you can either fuel those fears or choose to go on a mission to make her know she's safe with you. No matter what.

And so, my dear son, in case you’ve missed the clues while growing up in this home where love has made your mama feel safe, I’d like to make another list.

This is how your dad did it:

1. He tells me he loves me. Over and over and over again. Using words. Lots of words.
2. He is affectionate with me. Ruffles my hair, holds my hand, sits close.
3. He looks at me when I talk. Not over my shoulder or out the window- at me.
4. He stays aware of me, choosing to see my beauty and look away from other women.
5. He lets me be who I am, never hinting that if only I’d do more or be different he’d love me better.
6. He never yells at me— ever.
7. He prays with me whenever he senses that fear again.
8. He seeks out my advice.
9. He guards me from bad guys- locking the door, looking around, letting me know that he’s on it.
10. He pays the bills. On time. Every time.
11. He goes to work. Every day.
12. Sometimes he empties the dishwasher…

I could write a whole letter on each of these dozen ways your dad has chased my fears away. There are stories and reasons and Scripture and so much more to say about making a woman feel safe.

This is how a man loves a woman, Matthew. Every day. For a lifetime. Starting now.

I love you!

Mom

 Be strong and courageous!

Joshua 1:8

Speak truth, each one of you...

Ephesians 4:25

My dear son,

I’ve been writing for a long time now my answer to your question, "Mom, what should I look for in a wife?"

I’ve talked about gentleness and joy, strength to serve, and strength in God. I’ve also written hard things about tendencies that ought to raise red flags before you decide for a lifetime.

Now I sense a need to write some instruction for you and your men-friends about how to really love a woman.

I want you to know beyond what you see, to delve a little deeper into the way God crafted His Eves. We’re so entirely different than men that it’s not only possible, but probable, that if you treat a woman just the way you want to be treated, you’ll get it all wrong.

And so, from a mom to her son, some advice...

Women long to be led. 

We really do. The number one complaint I hear over and over again from beautiful young women is how uncomfortable they are with the lack of clear relational direction they get from guys.

Did he just ask me on a date?

Or are we hanging out?

If so, why?

Does he want another buddy?

Or could he possibly be interested in me as a woman?

Am I supposed to pay when we go out for coffee? Or is he?

The guessing game just drives women crazy!!

When a woman is left to guess at what you mean when you haven’t been entirely clear she feels confused… and just a little bit resentful.

Delightfully joyful women become subdued, peaceful women turn anxious, shy women withdraw, while others assume more than you meant. Not good.

BE CLEAR! 

If friendship is all you’re after, say it right up front.

I enjoy your company, I’d just like to be friends with you.

or

You’re fun and interesting, could we hang out sometime just as friends?

or

I’ve enjoyed talking to you, would you go out with me so we can get to know each other better?

or, in the words of your father more than 35 years ago:

Diane, You’re a beautiful woman and I want to know you more, but I don’t date just to date. I’d like to take you out with the purpose of getting to know each other with the future in mind. Would that be okay with you?

To which I could barely croak out a yes, as I started making plans to elope.

Seriously, Matt, I think I fell in love with your dad in that moment of clear, gentle leadership. And that’s the way he’s been leading me and loving me for all our lives together.

It isn’t easy, I know. I’ve agonized with you, and your brother before you, over the sheer terror of transparent leadership.

There is risk involved, great risk!

You could get laughed at (unlikely), rejected (possibly), or hurt (it happens).

You will have risked and won or risked and lost but you will have been honorable and forthright and courageous.

You will have led like a man.

Praying for courage and honesty for you and all your friends,

Love,

Mom

 Am I right girls?