(PART FOUR)

Dear Matthew,

I know your iron clad commitment to sexual purity. I admire your decision to keep a close guard over your passions, reigning in all those desires that can make life a constant battle for a man. I have just the faintest clue of how hard it must be and that sets me to praying for you every day; for strength, for wisdom, for protection from an enemy who would love to sideline you through spur-of-the-moment stupidity.

And then I go to a gathering of Believers on Sunday and see all those beautiful young women vying for men’s attentions. Some are chaste and subtle and content to remain hidden until God brings them to a man in His time.

But others are not. Many are not. And they dance their bodies before the eyes of men who must look away or burn with forbidden desire. Too much skin, too tight jeans, too bold in their beauty.

Why do they do it?

What are they saying?

What do they want, these women who love God and allure men with suggestions of more?

Here’s what I think— because I’ve been there and done that and just barely escaped giving more of myself than I ought. And we’re all the same, us women. Deep down we need and want and long for the same things.

Five Things Every Woman Longs For:

1.  Every woman longs to be desired.

This is why women flirt, why some uncover too much. There is this little girl inside of every woman that longs to draw a man to herself. To be sought after, to be wanted. And yes, this goes for the sexual area of her relationships as well. A woman cannot separate her sexuality from her soul. To be desired sexually feels like being desired as a whole— that is what every woman thinks and believes and feels.

2.  Every woman longs to be loved.

It is a woman’s deepest need; for a good man to love her for who she is, to love her no matter what, to love her forever. Every woman is born wanting this and many— far too many women spend their entire lives hoping and wishing and working and sacrificing everything in order to get this kind of love. Yet few ever do. And I think God weeps.

3.  Every woman longs to be cherished.

To be valued and considered, to be wanted. To be treated like a fragile piece of crystal rather than a disposable plastic mug. Paul goes so far as to command husbands to cherish their wives, comparing women to the Church and husband to the Savior. (Ephesians 5) This translates in a woman’s mind to carefulness— with her feelings, with her body, with her soul.

4.  Every woman longs to be protected.

It is there even in the fiercest of women, this need to be watched over and guarded from harm. Instinctively, a woman knows that God created men to protect women, to represent God’s warrior-like protection over His creation. Which is why a woman who marries a man who did not protect her purity while dating or engaged, often feels an inexplicable distrust of him.

5.  Every woman longs to be led.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again… and again… and again. Women want to be led. Not bullied, not dominated, not forced. And we all know there are mean men out there who are tyrants. But the complaint I hear by far most often from women is not about abuse— it’s about passivity. Men who cannot summon the energy or the confidence to step out and lead, or initiate, or communicate where in the world they’re headed.

To lead takes tremendous courage, I know, but dear sons who are listening, I pray you will have the courage to lead as you are led by Christ.

From the heart of a mom who prays for you and for your friends,

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? 

I was 14 the first time I stepped through the doors of a real church. Oh I’d tramped through countless cathedrals in my early years growing up in Europe. Taken tours, listened to lectures about commissioned artistry, admired stained glass windows and plunked my pennies in the locked offering box. And I’d occasionally sat through traditional services under a scratchy straw Easter hat swinging my soon to be hopelessly scuffed white patent leather Mary Jane’s.

But those churches seemed set in a different dimension entirely than the church that drew me in, caught my heart, and, if I may be so bold— saved my life.

Los Gatos Christian Church met in a refurbished warehouse nestled in the hills near my home. With its redwood walls, load bearing beams, and exposed aggregate floors, it looked like no other church I’d ever seen.

And it was packed; wall-to-wall people. And decidedly unchurch-like-loud with the voices of genuinely happy people all shoving past each other to lay claim to a cold metal chair to call their own.

From the moment I walked in those doors I knew I wanted whatever these people had. I wanted in. I wanted to be a part of this, to lay claim to my own seat right in the front row.

And this church, according to the new generation of experts in the know— did it all wrong.

It was, in the derogatory terms that make me cringe, a Big Box church. An attractional model.

And that, in case you didn’t know, is bad— very bad.

Not a small group program in sight.

But for me, what happened every week in that big box felt very much like a massive family reunion. With aunts and uncles and second-cousins-once-removed, and a whole cadre of white haired grandparents who thought I was “so cute, and way too thin, and wouldn’t I love to come for dessert?”

Gosh they loved me well.

I vividly remember one of my first weeks there when a bunch of kids way too cool for this still dorky-recent-expatriate, invited me to tumble into their fleet of teenage cast-off cars and meet at Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlor.

Believe me, no one in my rich suburban high school had ever invited me anywhere in the months since I’d arrived back on American soil. In my brand new J.C. Penny Catalogue clothes (the height of fashion in 1970’s expatriate Europe) I stuck out like a sore thumb— or a geek— or maybe it was a dork back in those days.

But these kids didn’t care. They just swooped me into their happy world and fed me ice cream.

When the pastor of that church strode over to our waitress abusing table and, at the behest of the kids, performed his comedic face shaking, spittle loosening imitation of who-knows-what, I was stunned.

And oh-my-gosh, he wore a suit! No black robe, no choking clerical collar, just the kind of clothes everyone’s dad wore to work every day back then.

And they called him Marvin. Not reverend, not His Holiness, not even Mister.

Nowadays the guy would be lashed in blogs and denigrated in seminars bemoaning his CEO status. This was top down leadership at its peak. But all those leadership faux pas didn’t seem to stop God from using him to change the lives of hundreds— maybe thousands of people.

And me.

Over time I began to learn that the thing that drew these people together and welled up in singing and clapping and laughing and note-taking camaraderie wasn’t a thing at all— but a person.

They told me about Jesus, certain I would want to know. Not in the least bit subtle or seeker friendly.

And I did want to know. And I did want Him. Because if He could create their brand of actual life-giving happiness in me— well, who wouldn’t do anything to have that?

So I signed on, joined up, and started taking notes with everyone else.

Was I genuine? Sincere? Probably not.

Mostly I just wanted to fit in with a fantastic group of new friends. I copied them in every way I could. From the way I held my Bible— a cool new paperback version called The Way— to the sweater I now wore over my skin baring halter-top.

But before long, my craving for these church people’s approval gave way to a craving for more of this Jesus they so obviously loved. And with their help I learned and grew to understand things I’d never known before. I began to change, not just on the outside, but somewhere down deep.

I fell in love with Jesus.

I remember sitting at the end of a dock at a camp called Hume Lake. I’d been roused from my bunk by the sound of each of my friends slipping out into the early morning.  I knew where they were going and felt that subtle pressure to go there to.

It was my first attempt to try this thing they all did called, “a quiet time”.

The words of Matthew drew me in as I underlined, I think, most of the book. I skipped breakfast that day (well, the place was infamous for the glue like oatmeal they served) to power through those words that seemed to come to life.

No wonder most my friends got up at ungodly hours every morning to do “devotions”. I felt my soul fill up as I feasted on the words.

The day I was baptized wearing a funky white robe while every one of my friends and new family swayed to the Old Rugged Cross, was the highlight of my life. I filled that baptistery with salted tears of the purest joy I had ever known.

Just remembering the pastor who taught me… the kids who included me… and all the people who loved me… brings back that rush of well being that comes only rarely in real life.

Why do I love the Church? With all our flaws and failures and inadequacies and ridiculous fads?

Because when I needed what they had—

They gave me Jesus.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Now to be perfectly honest, that church no longer exists. The building is there, occupied by a different church under new leadership. Los Gatos Christian Church slowly died and was buried. May she rest in peace.

But maybe churches are not meant to live forever. Maybe some die and new life emerges from the fertile soil of a once great church. And maybe this church my husband started with my son— the one my son now leads— maybe we’re one of those emerging churches, different, but so much the same as that place that brought me home.