“…But still there was no helper just right for him.

So the Lord God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep. While the man slept, the Lord God took out one of the man’s ribs and closed up the opening. Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib, and he brought her to the man.

“At last!” the man exclaimed. “This one is bone from my bone, and flesh from my flesh! 
She will be called ‘woman’
, because she was taken from ‘man.’”

This explains why a man leaves his father and mother and is joined to his wife, and the two are united into one.

 Now the man and his wife were both naked, but they felt no shame.”

Genesis 2:20-25 NLT

(If you missed last week, click here)

Dear girls,

When Adam first laid eyes on Eve, his attraction to her was instant. Her beauty lifted him out of a state of deep sleep, propelling him to want her as his own. She was the perfect counterpart to his maleness, the answer to all the loneliness he’d felt for so long.

The power of Adam’s response to Eve shook him to his core, revealing his deep vulnerability.

A man in command of all of Creation, he craved physical and emotional and spiritual connection with this one so like himself... yet so deliberately, delightfully different.

Everything made sense when Eve came into his life: the longings he’d wondered about, the twinges of emptiness, the shape of his body, his driving desire for more.

For the first time in his existence, Adam needed someone. And every son of Adam since has felt that same need.

And you, my dear, beautiful daughter of Eve, are the one made in the image of God, the one who holds Adam’s sacred need— his great vulnerability— in your power. Your God-created beauty lifts him from the weariness of work and struggle and striving and conflict… into a world of wonder and delight.

When the softness of your skin brushes his in a whisper of invitation, every sense is awakened.

When your eyes tell secrets only he knows, his heart responds.

When you bring him into the circle of your warmth, wrapping your arms around his strength, his carefully protected core is unveiled.

Your man needs you. He wants you. He hurts without you.

And perhaps that is part of the reason why the Creator gave us so many words about safeguarding this treasure of sexual intimacy. Because the act of intercourse was meant to be so much more than two bodies selfishly seeking satisfaction. So much more than all the hurt and pain so many misused women know. Infinitely  more magical and mysterious than the movies show and magazines reveal.

And so, my dear girls, in the weeks and months ahead, I will set aside my natural reticence to talk to you from time to time about the way God designed your husband’s intense sexual cravings to be satisfied by you. And about how He created you with the same need, though awakened in different ways, so that you would find release and rest and deep satisfaction in the arms of your husband.

And for those of you who are not yet married, I hope to open your heart to understand the treasure you hold in your own beauty. I want you to understand why storing that treasure in a safe place for your husband-to-be is the best way to fully embrace your own sexuality. I want you to know that protecting your purity is the surest way to be able to fully and without inhibition give yourself to that God-chosen man when the time is right.

This is not easy for me to write about. What if I am misunderstood? What if my words add shame to a woman’s guilt? What if I say it wrong or crass or weird?

It was one thing to sit on the edge of my daughter’s bed at night and whisper sweet wonders about the honeymoon ahead… and quite another to let those words leak out to whoever may be listening.

The reason I am willing to choke back my reserve and push the words on paper is first of all because I genuinely love you. As the apostle Paul wrote, “It is right that I should feel as I do about all of you, for you have a very special place in my heart…” Philippians 1:7 NLT

And I believe that in the midst of all the devastation and failure and addiction and sheer ugliness of sexual perversion, the Church has lost her voice.  We have forgotten to speak and sing and teach about the beauty and the artistry of sexuality as God created it.

A very long way to say, I think its time for us to talk about sex.

Can we readjust the way we think about this gift? Can we begin to see ourselves as the beautiful answer to our husband’s great vulnerability? Dare we believe that the love we give is sacred?

Next week I want to tell you a story about a beautiful woman whose pure, uninhibited love lifted her young husband out of despair and into a life of success and riches.  And lo and behold, it’s a story straight out of the pages of Scripture…

Are you with me? Will you give me grace to stumble my way along as we talk “privately” about how to love our husbands in the way they long to be loved?

Will you let me know? I’m writing alone in my chair by the window, wondering what in the world I’ve gotten myself into…

From my heart,

Diane

My child, listen to what I say…tune your ears to wisdom,
and concentrate on understanding.

Cry out for insight, 
and ask for understanding.

Search for them as you would for silver; seek them like hidden treasures.

Then you will understand what is right… and you will find the right way to go.

For wisdom will enter your heart,
 and knowledge will fill you with joy…

Proverbs 2:1-11 NLT

My dear girls,

Once upon a time… I thought loving a man was simple.

I was so sure of myself— certain I knew what to do, how to be. I’d read the fairy tales; admired Rapunzel’s allure, seen the Beauty love the Beast back to himself, watched in wonder as Snow White came fully alive.

I could do this too. I could love a man and keep on loving him for a lifetime. Our love would be so full and so generous and so beautiful as to wrap us up in romance forever and ever.

And I was wrong. I fumbled from the get-go. A month into our marriage I knew my methods weren’t working the way I’d thought they would. My formulas were falling apart and I didn’t know what to do... so I just did the best I could. And it wasn’t enough.

Now, thirty-five years of loving later…  I know why my loving fell short.

And it wasn’t because of lack of effort— I tried hard. I read books and watched people and did all the things I thought I ought to do.

Plain and simple, my loving fell short because of it was mostly about me. About me being loving and loveable and alluring. About me loving him so fiercely that he couldn’t help but return my love with passion and loyalty forever.

And when Phil failed to respond to all my ferocious loving the way I’d been so sure he would…

I got mean.

I got defeated.

I got mad.

I got hurt.

A lot of I messing up the romance I'd imagined. 

Here is the amazing beauty of our Redeemer in the midst of our messiness…

He let’s us fail.

He let me fail. And in that failure, He began to teach me the first lessons of brokenness, of what it means to find my hope and delight and joy in my real Prince Charming.

In Jesus.

In those days of defeated loving, I stumbled upon a jewel of a book. It’s still one of my treasured favorites, written by a man who knew what he was talking about- Roy Hession. In The Calvary Road, he wrote:

The Lord Jesus cannot live in us fully and reveal Himself through us until the proud self is broken.  This simply means that the hard unyielding self, which justifies itself, wants its own way, stands up for its rights,  and seeks its own glory, at last bows its head to God’s will, admits its wrong, gives up its own way to Jesus, surrenders its rights and discards its own glory— that the Lord Jesus might have all and be all.

In other words, it is dying to self and self-attitudes.

As this stubborn, perfectionist, idealist, determined woman began to yield and break and die, something strange occurred in my soul.

A desire began to grow; a pulsing, driving desire to love my husband for the sake of my Savior. Not for me and what I expected to receive in return— but just for the One who was so tenderly drawing me close to Himself.

Rather than renew my self-efforts of trying so hard to love the way I thought I should, He began to teach me how to love my husband His way.

And that led me to understand why my loving had not produced the response I’d expected.

In one word: ignorance.

I didn’t have a clue how to love a man— my man— the way God had designed him to be loved. All that work and I was missing it!

And I think I’m not alone in my ignorance. I think most women are missing it— not by a mile, but by just a few millimeters of mis-done loving. We’re loving in the ways we know how and wondering why it’s not enough. Why our men don’t act and feel lavishly loved by us.

And then, as women are prone to do, we think there must be something wrong with him.

Of course.

And all this defeat over not quite getting it right, and wondering why and what’s wrong with him and with me and with us, led me to that age-old invitation imbedded in the book of James:

If any of you is deficient in wisdom,

let him ask of the giving God (who gives) to everyone liberally and ungrudgingly, without reproaching or faultfinding,

and it will be given to him.

James 1v5 Amplified Bible

That’s me!

Deficient in wisdom.

Ignorant and knowing it.

Falling far short of the kind of love I’d always imagined would wrap my man’s heart up tight.

And so I went searching. I asked this giving-God for wisdom.  I asked Him how to love my man for His sake.

And do you know, my dear girls, He just started pouring it on! Words and phrases, verses and stories, snatches of insight here and there that are opening my eyes to see the way to loving a man well. To loving my man well.

But the best discovery of all has been the simplicity of God’s way. Not as in easy to do— but as in easy to know.

Going back over and over to the Scriptures, asking Him for wisdom, searching for the treasures there, I’d hoped to find a whole long list of ways to love a man well.

I found only four.  Four ways the Creator of men specifically directs women to love their husbands.  Not 101— just four. Yet within those four ways He designed our men to be loved, are hundreds and thousands of possibilities.

And so, over the next several weeks- all summer, probably— that’s what we’ll be talking about here on Mondays. And for just a hint of what’s ahead… here are the four:

Sexuality and friendliness and help and respect…

Be his lover, be his friend, be his partner, be his admirer.

I can hardly wait to get this conversation started...because, after all these years, I’m finally understanding how my husband needs to be loved by me. And guess what? He’s eating it up! As in responding like… well, like a well-loved man.

From my heart,

Diane

Okay girls, whether you're married or still waiting for the right one and the right time, now is the time to learn how to love a man God's way. Can you tell us what you know? Or who you've seen do this well? I'm hoping for some guest posts from women who've become experts in the art of loving wisely.

Hi Friends! You may have come to the blog this morning looking for a new post in our series called He's Not Your Prince Charming and... well.. there isn't one this week.

Why?

Mom's a bit tired from doing something she's dreamed of doing for many years.

This past weekend my parent's (Phil and Diane Comer) spent two days with hundred's of young parent's pouring real life wisdom into them on how to raise pastionate Jesus followers.

They've spent the past several months working on a training called INTENTIONAL to teach parent's what the scriptures say about raising children who love God with passion and people on purpose.

Lives and future lives where changed this weekend.

Mom will be back next week with a fresh post in the Charming series!

Enjoy the day,

Elizabeth

Dear Girls,

What to do when you don’t know what to do with difficult differences...

We’ve talked quite a bit about handling conflict for the past few weeks. It told you about our first fight, then about four things I wish I’d known when I married Phil (Tip#1), (Tip#2), (Tip#3), (Tip#4)— things that would have cut down on conflict and made it easier to come to a place of peace.

Today I want to talk about the best way to handle those areas of your personality that don’t fit very well with your husband, or your boyfriend, or your friend-who-might-turn-into-more. I’m not talking about major sins or mistreatment or the kinds of things that must be confronted and dealt with— just those clashing points that come up over and over again.

Differences that make life difficult. 

But first, I think I need to open up our lives just a little more in order to make this so practical that you’ll really know what to do when you don’t know what to do… Here’s reality at our house: Phil and I are polar opposites.

He is a crazy extrovert. Which means that he never tires of being together. Phil’s idea of a good day is all about companionship and talking and me coming along as he does what he needs to do. He wants to experience life together. That’s wonderful, right? Well…. I am a raging introvert. Which means that I crave time alone. My idea of a good day is all about aloneness. Space. Time to think inside myself and not talk, then write about what I’ve been pondering and reading. I crave time alone.

As if that’s enough to polarize the two of us, there’s this: Phil makes decisions by examining and eliminating all the negatives. Because of this he makes really good decisions. But the process is… negative. Every possible problem must be looked at. Every solution rethought to make sure its right. Over and over again. I have a low tolerance for negativity. I want everyone to be happy, happy, happy all the time. All that examining and processing can seem overwhelmingly negative to me.  And since happy all the time is not realistic… we sometimes clash.

So… what to do?  How can Phil and I… and you and whoever it is you are called to love, reconcile all those differences while remaining true and loyal and lovely to each other… and our own selves? And since next Monday I’ll be posting The Solution, for now I just want to unveil the way women deal with these differences by default.

These are our go-to modes of overcoming those differences that cause difficulties in relationships.

Default method #1: Ignore it

This is when I just brush away the irritation and pretend it isn’t there. I look away. Hide. Play nice.

For years and years I tried this. I thought it was the valiant thing to do. After all, I reasoned, Love covers a multitude of sins so I’ll just cover over this and hope it goes away. Only what really happens is we start to stack all those clashing differences into a stone wall. And over time that stone wall becomes impregnable until we take sledge hammers out to knock it down.

And that’s a messy and inevitably hurtful process. Or worse, we stuff and stuff and some small incident blows all that stuffed stuff way out of proportion. And that’s another messy and inevitably hurtful process.

Default method #2: Grin and bear it

This method is an outgrowth of default method #1.  A little more honest, but just as ineffective. This is when I decide, through gritted teeth, to accept him as he is. So when he does something I don’t like I just pretend to be okay with it and blame myself and slather a smile over my face.

It doesn’t work for long. Inevitably my smile slips and shows the frown of disapproval underneath. Or I withdraw into a silent funk, unreachable, unresponsive, cold. What man wants that kind of companionship? Ugh.

Default method #3: Fix it

When ignoring it doesn’t work, and grinning and bearing it leaves us with more of a grimace than a grin, most of us set to work to try to fix it.

I’ve tried this a million times. And even with a humble husband who receives my “suggestions” seriously, this has never once worked. Instead I leave the poor man feeling poked and jostled and generally disliked. For instance, when I want to neaten him up a little. Not for my sake of course… this is most certainly in his own best interest. (please note the hint of sarcasm here!)

So I zip his brief case, mention for the umpteenth time that its not designed to be filled so full, remind him that Steve (our amazingly talented son-in-law) would be appalled at how pushed out of shape the case has become, and try to “help” him tidy it up. Which leaves Phil feeling shamed, disrespected, and uncomfortably dishonored. Not exactly a friendly way to love my man.

Not one of these default methods of dealing with differences honors my husband. Nor do they work in the long haul. Oh, he may try for a while to please you, but eventually that trying wears him out and he goes back to being who he is.

And all three of our defective default methods slip you and me into that contentious woman category so bluntly described in the book of Proverbs. These verses just make me cringe… “It is better to live in a corner of a roof than in a house shared with a contentious woman.”Proverbs 21v9 NASB

Or, as the Amplified Bible drives it home… “It is better to dwell in a corner of the housetop than in a house shared with a nagging, quarrelsome, and faultfinding woman.” Proverbs 21v9 Amplified

As if to make sure we get it, the writer of Proverbs repeats his frustration just a few chapters later… “Better to live on a corner of the roof than share a house with a quarrelsome wife.”Proverbs 25v24 NIV

And then there’s the one we Northwesters fully get… “A quarrelsome wife is as annoying as constant dripping.” Proverbs 19:13 NLT

I refuse to underline those verses in my Bible. And every month when my Bible reading takes me to those chapters… every 19th, every 21st, every 25th, something in me shrinks back at the shear honesty of the description.

Drip…drip…drip…

And when I walk into our upstairs bathroom, there I see it again. Unbeknownst to us, our shower was leaking for a long time, dripping inside the walls. And though its been fixed now, the damage is there. Swollen baseboards, contorted wood, painted over ugliness.

Dear girls, we’ve got to stop the leaking of our frustrations onto our men. We can’t ignore it. Grinning and bearing it will not work. And our manic attempts to fix him only lead to ugliness.

Remember what I said about confession? Maybe you and I just ought to take a little time alone with the Father and talk to Him honestly right now…

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Can you see yourself here? Do you try to ignore your differences? Are you pretending? Raising a ruckus by determining to fix it? Can you leave a comment that will encourage us all to be honest with ourselves?

P.S.S. The Solution… next Monday

Packing List Item #4

Dear Girls,

Yesterday, I wrote to you with a simple strategy for dealing with conflict in a grace-filled way: be slow to blame.

When I decided to stop blaming either one of us for the other’s reaction, life just got nicer. Our relationship went smoother. Slights could be overlooked, not such a big deal.

It was a lesson learned the hard way for me, after too many late-night arguments that just couldn’t be resolved no matter how hard we tried.

Today I have one last simple truth to pass on to you. Another one of those I wish I’d known all those years ago when Phil and I were first married.

Packing List Item #4:  Be quick to confess.

When I was growing up my parents taught me to say I’m sorry. It was a way of getting out of trouble more than anything else. As a perpetual people pleaser, that phrase soon became my way of making sure nobody was mad at me. I’m sorry was supposed to make everything okay. And so I managed to I’m sorry myself out of most conflict.

Then I married Phil.

Somehow my I’m sorrys failed to have the same effect on Phil as they’d had on my parents. He didn’t just shrug his shoulders and cluck his tongue in silent disapproval over my immaturity.

Instead my loose words hurt him. My cold withdrawal wounded his heart towards me. It didn’t take long to realize that my failure to walk in the Spirit had the power to actually do harm to my husband.

And that’s when I learned the powerful healing that comes with confession.

The word for confession as it is used in the New Testament means simply, to agree with God. It is to see my sin for what it is— a black, harmful choice I make to do wrong.

Genuine confession begins first of all with a deeply spiritual sense of conviction. Somewhere nagging at my insides starts an insistent voice. It sounds subtly different than that shaming voice we speak to ourselves. These are words that woo us into the truth.

If we will learn to listen, to stop in our tracks and pay attention to that voice rather than slap it away like an irritating insect, we have an opportunity to sync our spirit with the Spirit of God.

And girls, this takes practice. Especially if, like me, you’ve spent years of your life coughing up incessant I’m sorry’s.

In this era of transparency and openness I am surprised at how seldom we actually choke out the word sin when describing our own responses.

We have “issues”. We “struggle”. But sin? That’s usually reserved for the really awful stuff like murder and adultery.

Yet when I roll my eyes and heave a great sigh when Phil does something that irritates me… that is sin.

When I spout off in frustration at yet another mess left for poor-me to clean up, because nobody cares about keeping this house clean but poor-me, and why-oh-why won’t anybody help poor-me… that is sin.

Sin.

Sin against the man I love, and sin against the God who gave His life so that I wouldn’t have to wallow in that kind of soul-sucking muck.

And that is what confession is all about.

It is recognizing that what I did was wrong.

It is refusing to blame others for the way I acted.

It is agreeing with God that I don’t have to react that way anymore because He has broken the chains that once held me hostage.

It is realizing once again that I am free to choose a better way.

If we will learn to lean into that voice of Spirit-inspired conviction, then for one sacred moment we will hear those soul-healing whispers; words that offer relief and rest rather than shame and guilt. Freedom.

God transforms our offering of honest humility into an almost unrecognizable beauty— not because we tried so hard to be good, but because His goodness washes over us when we admit our utter dependence on Him.

James goes so far as to say this, “Confess your sins to each other… and pray for each other so that you may be healed.” James 4v16

Peter knew the same truth: “So humble yourselves under the mighty power of God, and in His good time, He will honor you.” 1 Peter 5v6 

Dear girls, I wish I had packed this liberating truth in my suitcase before embarking on this journey of marriage. I think we would have resolved conflicts sooner and had less of them if I’d been slow to blame and quick to confess my own sin.

We’ve learned this one together, Phil and I. And it’s made all the difference in our story.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Okay girls, ‘fess up! Is this as hard for you as it is for me? Do you see yourself as the perpetual victim? Have you figured out how to hear those Spirit-words of conviction and felt the freedom He brings with confession?

Your comments are giving me the courage to let you in a little closer by opening up the corners of the real me.

PACKING LIST ITEMS

On our journeys around the globe these past few weeks, I’ve been writing letters home to my girls about things I wish I’d packed and prepared for this life-long journey of marriage. These are four things I wish I’d known right from the beginning that would have better prepared me for this strange and exhilarating task of loving a man for the rest of forever.

#1 - I can choose how I feel

#2 - Be careful what you say

#3 - Be slow to blame

Packing List Item #3

Dear Girls,

Once upon a time I married the man of my dreams. This man who swept me off my feet in a grand display of princely romance was everything I ever wanted. I was absolutely sure we would love each other forever and ever, never arguing, never fighting, never enduring a moment of disharmony.

After all, we were Christians. And Christians don’t fight… of course they don’t.

Uh oh!

We fought. And when we did I thought my world had fallen apart. We were bad. Broken. Less-than. Shamed.

Then one sunny day near our one-year anniversary, a godly older couple sat us down for dinner at their house and opened our eyes to reality. After three decades of marriage, Hans and Alice admitted that they still had conflict. Instead of calling those conflicts fights, they labeled them emotional disagreements. 

They laughed at the looks on our faces as they told us the truth.

Conflict between a husband and wife, they explained, is inevitable.

After all, the goal of marriage is oneness, and melding two distinctly different people into one heart and mind and purpose is a messy process. Emotional bumps and bruises happen along the way and have to be talked out.

Learning over the years to handle those emotional disagreements with grace and forgiveness is the tricky part. No one does it perfectly. No one gets it right every time. We learn and grow and repent and accept the less-than-perfect reality of who we are.

Over years and years, I’ve learned that all those glitches and arguments and hurt feelings don’t have to be someone’s fault. They just are. We bump into each other by accident. 

And I’ve learned that…

Just because my feelings are hurt does not mean he hurt my feelings…

Just because I’m angry does not mean he made me angry…

Just because I don’t feel loved doesn’t mean he is doing a poor job of loving me.

The truth I wish I’d known when I married Phil is this:

The wise woman is slow to blame and quick to cover with grace.

And that’s something I wish I’d known when I married Phil. Such a simple truth that would have made our beginnings so much better.

What every husband wants in marriage is not to be put on a wobbly pedestal, only to be shot off every time he makes a mistake.  What he craves is a refuge place where he can be who he is without having to live up to an impossible standard of rightness.

Phil was not my Prince Charming. He wasn’t supposed to be! Trying to heave him onto that platform of perfection was just setting both of us up for failure.

Pack Item #3 away girls...be slow to blame. Knowing it now may make all the difference in the world.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S.  Tomorrow I have one last simple truth to pass on to you.  My dear girls, I wish I had packed the next liberating truth in my suitcase long before embarking on this journey of marriage. I think we would have resolved our conflicts sooner.

Packing List Item #1 - I can choose how I feel

Packing List Item #2 - Be careful what you say

On our journeys around the globe this week and next, I’m writing letters home to my girls about things I wish I’d packed and prepared for this life-long journey of marriage. These are four things I wish I’d known right from the beginning that would have better prepared me for this strange and exhilarating task of loving a man for the rest of forever.

Read #1 here.

Dear Girls,

Years and years ago I read a newsletter (this, before the era of blogs) in which Elisabeth Elliot challenged her readers to go one full week without complaining.

I couldn’t do it.

I’ve always considered myself a positive person. I don’t whine, I don’t complain… or so I thought. But I couldn’t manage even one 24-hour period without a negative complaint slipping out of my mouth. I just kept starting over every day until finally giving up.

What struck me is how ridiculous most of my complaints were.

I love rain… yet made complainy fill-in statements about the rain.

I was healthy and rested and well… yet made complainy fill-in statements about being sleepy or achy or something really inconsequential.

I absolutely loved being a mom at home with four great kids… yet made those mom-like complainy statements about how hectic or messy or stressful my life at home was.

Words, I have learned, are powerful definers of how we feel.

And yet we use them so carelessly at times, tossing out complaints just to fill in the space of silence.

What if we took seriously the weight of our words?

What if we decided to choose to guard our mouths and speak only lovely words?

What if we stopped complaining? Permanently?

“Let no unwholesome word proceed from your mouth

but only such a word as is good for edification,

according to the need of the moment.” Ephesians 4v29

What would happen if we did that?

My dear girls, I think it would make all the difference in the amount of joy we squeeze out of this life God has for us.

I think it would make all the difference in the amount of love we were freed to lavish on our husbands and friends and children.

And so, PACKING LIST ITEM #2 is simple.

Be Careful What You Say.

Because after a while, what you say is what you feel…

and then you become convinced of the untruth that you should never have said in the first place…

and eventually all this saying and believing can really wreck havoc with what you say… and what you feel.

It really is a matter of purposing not to say certain things, of putting a muzzle over our mouths, of choosing every one of our words carefully and wisely.

We have the ability to choose to speak only the Spirit-filtered truth because we are Spirit-filled people and that ought to make a difference in what comes out of our mouths.

I wish I’d known that when I married Phil. I’m trying to learn it now.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Are you learning the power of your own words? Have you noticed how hard it is not to complain? Do you know someone who is really great at using words to bring courage instead of carnage?

We’d all love to hear your stories.

On our journeys around the globe this week and next, I’m writing letters home to my girls about things I wish I’d packed and prepared for this life-long journey of marriage. These are four things I wish I’d known right from the beginning that would have better prepared me for this strange and exhilarating task of loving a man for the rest of forever.

For those of you not-yet-married, lean in and listen well. You’ll need to know these truths.

For those of you married many years, remember…

He is the One who lavishes love on you when you don’t deserve it. And He has enough left-over love to give you the grace to start anew and begin loving your man skillfully and well.

PACKING LIST ITEM #1

Dear Girls,

For the past several days Phil and I have been with each other 24/7, crammed into too tight airplanes, sharing suitcase space and water bottles, enduring jet lag and sweltering humidity. Not exactly a formula for romance.

Or is it? Might I frame it this way instead?

For the past several days Phil and I have relished time with each other, flying around the world, eating exotic foods, enjoying sunshine and fascinating cultures and unprecedented beauty. A lovely romantic time in our lives.

Which scenario is true?

This is either a stressful, uncomfortable trip to endure as best we can… or it’s a delightful, intriguing adventure together.

The fact is:

I can choose how I feel.

I get to decide how I feel about the daily realities of life. I am not a slave to my feelings.

When a woman is single... she can choose to delight in this unique time to serve God unencumbered. She can choose to take time to develop and grow and explore who she is as a woman. She can pour herself into relationships with abandon.

Or… she can complain about being lonely and wish she were married and blast all the men who really ought to “step up to the plate” and ask her on a date.

When a woman is pregnant... she can choose to align herself with the Creator of life and relish the miracle her body is making.

Or… she can complain and whimper and groan about all the ways she is experiencing discomfort in the process.

When a woman is married... she can choose to love her husband. She can breathe in the scent of him, run her hands over his muscles, delight in all his maleness.

Or… she can try to take all that testosterone and tame it by wishing he were capable of being her BFF and listening sympathetically and sensitively just like a girl.

Oh how I wish I had known this truth 35 years ago!

I not only enslaved myself to my overly tender, easily hurt feelings, I practically tied my poor husband in knots. The guy could barely go a day without stepping on my toes in that perfectly innocent obliviousness of a man with better things to do than walk on egg shells.

Now I know that…

Marriage can be either a delightful game of discovery together or a continual contest of one will against the other.

It’s my choice.

Do I get on board and join my man, giving all that I am, relishing all that he is, trusting God to meet my needs as I pour myself into meeting his?

Or do I demand that he love me the way I want to be loved and insist he meet me at the half-way point?

It’s my choice.

Do I let my feelings sabotage my joy?

Or do I allow the Spirit of God to overcome my feelings when I choose to love His way rather than demand my own?

It’s my choice.

And that, my dear girls, is something I wish I’d known 35 years ago when I married Phil.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Have you had the delight of making a choice and finding your emotions catch up with what you know is true? Can you tell us about it? Was it hard? Surprising? What helped you choose rightly?

I am loving the honesty of your responses. Sharing your stories of both triumphs and regrets is the best way I know to bring courage to each other. Keep ‘em coming!

One month after my 19^th birthday I married the man of my dreams.

Phil was exactly what I wanted. Strong yet tender, godly and good, he exuded charisma and made me feel safe and valued.

I was new to faith but absolutely determined to follow God with abandon. I’d cleaned up my fairly innocent life in order to align myself with every single rule I could ferret out.Phil was way ahead of me, steeped in the wisdom of the Scriptures and unerringly strict in his application of those words to his own life.

I admired him more than any man I’d ever met and loved him with a passion that consumed me.

When we got home from our fairy-tale honeymoon and Phil went back to work, I set about creating a home for the two of us. I cleaned and scrubbed and painted our little house on the corner while soup bubbled on the stove and ruffled curtains let in the fresh California sunshine. At night Phil came home and filled me in on all the comings and goings and conflicts and victories of life as a worship pastor at our church.

Perfect.

So far I’d lived up to my pledge to meet Phil’s every need. And though we’d had a struggle or two over hurt feelings and misunderstandings, we’d managed to be nice and make up every time.

Until my hair dryer broke.

One of my favorite ways Phil loved me was when he offered to dry my hair. I’d sit on the floor at his feet while he used the hairdryer and a soft bristled brush to dry my long blond strands to silky perfection. So soothing and so romantic.

Then one day some stray hairs wound around the motor of that hair dryer and all of a sudden Phil saw it spark. We smelled the awful scent of burning before it quit. Permanently. Now what? We had precious little money for much else than groceries and gas and our house payment. Running out to Target to buy a hair dryer was not an option.

Phil, ever the valiant warrior, promised to fix it. I put it out on our shiny-new-never-before-used-wedding-gift workbench so he could.

The next morning, as was his habit, Phil got up just in time to read his Bible and before rushing off to the office, gobble down one of my homemade breakfasts (because every young bride who reads the stacks of books on marriage knows that making breakfast for her man is essential to a good and lasting marriage).

Okay, I reasoned, no worries, he’ll fix it tonight. But that night came and with it responsibilities that kept us both out late. The next morning he dashed off in the nick of time to work.

A week went by. I hinted. I mentioned. I suggested.

Phil assured me he’d get to it as soon as he possibly could. He promised. Several times. With a big compelling smile and a compliment on my sun-dried hair.

Inside I was starting to sag. Maybe he didn’t love me. Maybe I was just becoming too much trouble. Or maybe it was his problem. Maybe he was a workaholic. Maybe he wasn’t doing what every-husband-ought-to-do.  Hadn’t he promised to love me and cherish me and provide for me, and all that? Wasn’t fixing hair dryers part of his job?

Every day I mentioned that hair dryer. At least once. Okay, maybe more than once. A lot. And of course there were the notes…just to remind him…no pressure. And Phil started to get irritated.

Then finally we had a day off. Nothing planned but a bike ride in the sun, maybe a lingering breakfast somewhere close by. Time together to enjoy being newlyweds.

But for that hairdryer on the workbench it would have been a fabulous day.

When Phil never so much as mentioned fixing the hairdryer as we planned out our fun day, my insides sank lower. This was it! He didn’t love me at all!

Of course I didn’t act hurt. I didn’t ask if his neglect of my hairdryer meant he didn’t really love me and therefore couldn’t be bothered. Instead, in typical female fashion I looked and sounded annoyed. Hands on my hips, scowl on my face, all those flirty womanly ways buried behind a façade of belligerence. 

And to my extreme consternation, instead of bowing at my feet, apologizing profusely, and immediately making his way to the workbench to fix my poor hairdryer, Phil got mad right back. And that’s when two worn out, strong-willed, misunderstood, hurt people jumped onto the Crazy Cycle.[1

All day long we tried to “resolve” it. And all day long we just kept stepping on each other’s toes and causing more hurt. Every single grievance got dredged up and hashed and rehashed. Tears and apologies and more rounds of blaming.

Just ugly, defeating, discouraging meanness.

All these years later I shudder when I remember that sinking feeling of failure I felt. Our love would never, could never be the same. I was sure of it. We were not the perfect couple. Phil was most definitely not my Prince Charming. And I would never be the perfect wife.

The fairy tale was over.

And that, my dear daughters, is the real beginning of when God began to grow me up so that I could learn to love for a lifetime.

The journey has been long and often painful.  We’ve instigated and endured many days of “trying to resolve it”. And yet here we are, nearly 35 years later and as I write this Phil brought me a lovely half-caf coffee with just a bit raw sugar stirred in and a dollop of whipped cream on top… just the way I like it. I mean, girls, who does that?

Later we’ll talk about conflict and some do’s and don’ts I’ve learned along this bumpy road to real romance. But for now, here are just a few things I think you should know…

 1.  Rules don’t work.

I thought if I followed “the rules” meticulously then my husband would always be happy. But I’ve learned that there is no one-way to love a man well. Instead we study him, listening carefully, watching for signs of stress or that sigh of distress that signals unspoken need.

 2.  Books don’t tell everything.

I love to read. Books have taught me how to clean my house, how to cook, how to pack for a vacation, how to house break a puppy and toilet train a child. But books will never be able to tell me how to love my husband. Loving a man well over a lifetime is a skill learned by sitting at the feet of the Father who made both of you and asking for wisdom to know how.

3.  My husband needs more than me.

I cannot and never will meet all my husband’s needs. I am not enough. I’ll never be enough. And as hard as that is to swallow, it’s freeing too. Being freed from the need to make my husband happy also frees me to lavish him with my love and to honor him as a man.

 4.  He wants to be your Prince Charming

Phil wanted to fix my hair dryer, he really did. He wanted to prove his valiant conquer-the-world-status to his adoring bride. Your husband longs to be your hero too. He wants to sweep you off your feet and enamor you with his strength. He wants to fix everything for you. But he can’t. And that’s okay. Some things can only be fixed by that same Father who teaches how to love well. And some things won’t be fixed until all this broken world is made right on the day He comes to get His Bride.

I wish…  that Phil had just told me that he couldn’t fix that hair dryer on the workbench if his life depended on it.

I wish… that I’d just told him I’d take my broken hairdryer to someone who could fix it for me rather than hold his less-than-admirable-fixing skills as a test of his love.

But I’m glad we’re both freed now from expecting too much from each other and from ourselves. Because the more we learn to depend on God to meet our needs and fix our brokenness the more we’ll be able to love with abandon.

Because, you know girls, He’s Not Your Prince Charming…

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Are you learning this lesson too? Is God patiently and persistently teaching you that He is enough? Will you tell us what you’re learning? I cherish your stories…

Keep checking back this week… I’ve got some notes to help you along the way that will be posted in Glimpses.

---

[1] That’s what our friends, Emmerson and Sarah Eggerich’s so aptly name what happens to every married couple in their book, Love and Respect. If you haven’t already, please read it! It is profoundly insightful and helpful.

“Therefore I am now going to allure her;

 I will lead her into the wilderness

and speak tenderly to her.

There I will give her back her vineyards,

and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope.

There she will respond as in the days of her youth,

as in the day she came up out of Egypt.

Hosea 2v14,15 NIV

All week I have been praying for the many women who wrote in response to last week’s faltering description of what a marriage looks like when both husband and wife lay all their wants and needs at the foot of the Cross. (Why he's not your Prince Charming)

And all week I’ve been pondering what to write next, waiting in the early stillness to hear that Voice.  In light of the cry from so many women whose hearts yearn to know more of what it means to be gathered into that kind of intimacy with God, to have their fears calmed and their needs met, I just cannot blithely blunder into a post about marriage.

So every morning I’ve asked… what should I say, Lord? I barely understand this myself, how can I communicate Your wisdom to women who crave more than concepts? Women who need to know how? Women who are awakening to Your call to come close? Is there a tidy formula I can line out? Steps 1…2…3…?

Instead of giving me words with which to tie a tidy bow around this gift of the gospel and the Cross and the way to both intimacy and dependency, I have felt His leading me to understand His love just for me…

My insistent read-through-the-Bible-in-a-year-in-chronological-order chart placed me in Hosea this week. Three days to whip through 14 chapters. But I can’t do it. Can’t get beyond chapter two and that first bit of chapter three. His words have captivated me, held me in grip of sorrow.

Because I am that woman I have so often self-righteously despised. Hosea’s wife, the promiscuous woman whose wayward wanting of more is an appalling picture of who we become when we refuse to be satisfied by God and God alone.

I know, I know, the story is supposed to be about Israel’s straying from Yahweh. But I cannot help myself. I am her!

And maybe some of you are too.

When you are sad  who do you tell first?  Your husband-who-is-supposed-to-listen-without-solving-it?  Your Facebook friends? Your mom? 

When you are worried do you first make lists? Check websites? Go for a run?

Is the measure of your worth tied up in people’s approval? Their kind comments and adulations about something they think you’re good at? Or is your value today dependent on whether or not your husband thinks you're beautiful and tells you- again?

Then maybe, like me, you are in danger of missing the greatest love of all. Maybe He’s right there waiting. Watching as you scurry and fret and work yourself to exhaustion to get it right.

And then this morning He spoke. Not in booming pronouncements or attention getting steps… but in that soft way He has of satisfying the place no one sees. That aching, wanting place.

"I will allure you to the wilderness because I love you... Because when you don’t feel good and nothing makes it better and you can’t get it right and no one is enough… I will bring you in close and fill you full… of Me."

The wilderness, my dear girls, is just where He wants us.

Not because we’re failures.

Not because we’re not as godly as that woman who seems so happy all the time.

And certainly not because we’re not good enough mothers or lovers or friends or worker-outters or whatever it is we think we’re supposed to be right now. 

That wilderness is where He wants us because it’s where we hear Him. 

He whispers there, outside the cacophony of all the sounds that compete for our attention.

Tender words.

Words of hope.

The kind of real hope that isn’t dependent on us doing more. Or being better. Or getting it right. 

“Throughout the Scripture, we see that God sometimes does His most powerful work in wilderness settings. Therefore, if you’re in such a place right now, take heart and take hope. As He did with His people, God has drawn you there in order to humble you and prove you— but also to do you good.”  (Jon Courson, Hosea)

Do you know what this means?

That very feeling of failure that nags at you is His whisper to come…

Your inadequacies are your beauty. Because in your weakness, He is so strong that He becomes all you need and when He becomes your everything, you finally become who you really are.

Beautiful.

Enough.

Wholly His.

Will you let Him lead you into that wilderness place?

Dare you stop trying to solve it and just listen?

Will you trust Him with the tensions in your story, knowing the real happily-ever-after ending will be worth it even if the right now is not the way you wish it was?

The wilderness never lasts forever, dear ones. He draws you there, speaks tenderly to you, and then causes you to blossom, producing hope in the midst of the “Valley of Achor”, that place of trouble.

And then… then He becomes all that you ever wanted.

“I will make you My wife forever,

showing you righteousness and justice,

unfailing love and compassion.

I will be faithful to you and make you Mine,

and you will finally know Me as the Lord.” 

Hosea 2v19,20 NLT

Hoping… and praying… that we will grasp this kind of love…

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. Are you in that wilderness place, wondering why? Or have you been there in the past and found Him faithful even when life hurts? Will you tell us about it?

Next week I’ve got another story I can hardly wait to share... it's about our first fight... and what I know now that I wish I'd known then... because, dear girls, he's really not your Prince Charming!

Dear Girls, I’ve told you my story… 

And I’ve written endless letters to my son about what kind of woman to marry… though on that day I married Phil I wouldn’t have qualified!

But here I am nearly 35 years later…

Still married. Very much in love with my husband. Happy and thriving.

And honestly, I wonder why. So many of my friends and family have seen their marriages ripped apart. Or drift apart. Or generally disintegrate. Good people, godly men and women. People who started out in love and who ended up hating each other.

Why?

Is it because they married a jerk? Or that they themselves were hidden jerks and marriage unveiled their jerkisms? But that doesn’t make any sense because who does not have those moments of appalling jerkiness? I have often been that impossible-to-please-person in our marriage. And Phil has had his less-than-stellar moments too.

No, its not our goodness as people that has made our marriage work. Nor is it simply our commitment to keep working on it. Sometimes that very commitment brings out the ugliness in each of us. (We’ll talk about conflict later.)

I think Phil and I found a secret along the way that kept us from failure. Not so much a nobody-knows-but-us kind of secret, but more of a mystery-that-can-be-explained-but-is-not-logical kind of secret.

It’s simply this:

I have discovered that I am incapable of satisfying Phil

and Phil has discovered that he is incapable of fulfilling me.

And…

I have discovered a deep satisfaction in Christ that has taken pressure off of Phil to spend his life attempting to satisfy me and

Phil has found a deep satisfaction in Christ that has taken the pressure off of me to be enough to satisfy him.

And…

That deep down satisfaction has made us free to love each other well and skillfully because we are so well loved by God Himself.

Isn’t that the mysterious secret of Ephesians 5? That marriage is meant to be a picture of the way Christ loves His Bride and the way His Bride responds to that love?

Not a paradigm of Phil loving me so well that I respond in perfect love… but a picture of Phil being so well loved by Jesus that he cannot help but love me well… and me being so well nurtured and nourished by Jesus that I cannot help but apply those skills to lavishing the same kind of care on Phil.

So marriage becomes the place where the Gospel is lived out in our lives. Two imperfect people being loved so perfectly by God that they in turn love each other in a faltering attempt to demonstrate how well loved they are.

Or, as Tim Keller so brilliantly puts it:

The gospel is this:

We are more sinful and flawed in ourselves than we ever dared believe,

yet at the very same time we are more loved and accepted in Jesus Christ than we ever dared hope…

the hard times of marriage drive us to experience more of this transforming love of God.

But a good marriage will also be a place where we experience more of this kind of transforming love at a human level.

(The Meaning of Marriage, pg 48)

And that’s the main purpose of this series: To remind you that the man you married is Not Your Prince Charming. And to point you to the One who is.

Because only then will you be free to love lavishly. Only when you are all caught up in a passionate love for Jesus will you be capable of passionately and persistently loving your husband over years and decades of real life living.

And so before I start in on the bits and pieces of gathered wisdom I’ve discovered in His Word over the 35 years we’ve been married, I want to urge you, my girls, to fully embrace this truth:

That the gospel is all about God’s all-consuming love lavishing all that He is on all that I am.

It is about me dying with Jesus on that Cross. Dying to my dreams and my must-have’s and my rights and my way. Dying even to my happiness.

And then it’s about staying hidden so tight in Him that He resurrects all those broken places and fills me with Himself.

And then I change. Slowly, imperceptively at first. Simply by being so near Him that His breath warms the skin of my soul and colors my world in a way I’d never thought possible.

Joy comes. Rest. Delight. And so much love that I cannot help but spill it somewhere, on someone…

And I become who I am meant to be. He makes me holy… which is really all about being wholly who I am.

The way I respond to my husband changes. The way I handle worry changes. The way I handle all those irritating, soul-stretching everyday-bumping-up-against-each-other interactions that happen in close proximity with another person… changes.

I change...

because...

He changes me...

when I choose to die with Him...

daily.

May we fully grasp the reality of this Gospel— this news that is so good it changes everything, even and especially the way we love.

From my heart,

Diane

Three passages to sink your soul into this week:

1. Romans 6- notice that word choose used over and over in the NLT
2. John 6vs28-35- that word, believe, actually means to fully entrust yourself to God. That’s my “work”.
3. John 15- to abide has to do with tucking myself into God.

Phil’s proposal took me entirely by surprise. I’d spent the week grieving over losing him, wondering how in the world to pick up the pieces, and finally getting to the point of complete and total surrender.

I knew he loved me. And I didn’t doubt for a minute that I loved him.  But I was powerless to take away the worries that nagged at him— his need

to know for sure... to dissipate all doubt... to have everything perfect.

And so I’d let him go. And in the loosening of my heart’s grip on Phil, I’d discovered a greater joy in Jesus than I’d ever experienced before. I knew He would take care of me and that knowing left me riding on a high of unexplainable peace.

So when Phil called and asked me if I’d go out with him on Friday night I was immediately confused. Why? Hadn’t we dragged this out long enough?  Never in a million years did I suspect he would ask me to marry him.

When Phil came to pick me up, my family started acting extremely strange— smirks and grins and giggles. I was embarrassed and not a little annoyed, suddenly wishing I lived on campus rather than commuting to college across town. Couldn’t they see how hard this was for me?  Closing the door behind us, I let out a sigh of relief.

And that’s when Phil asked me to marry him. Right there on the front porch of my family’s home— the home he was asking me to leave so that I could join my life to his.

I don’t remember more than a few snatches of the words he used, in fact, I’m still not sure I even answered with any sort of clear affirmative.  What I do remember is an overwhelming sense of being loved and the awkwardness of our first kiss that left us both laughing out loud with the joy of it.

Yes, yes, yes!

He wanted me. This man I admired more than any other was telling me that he wanted me forever. I could hardly believe it, and yet I knew without a doubt that this was right, that God was in this, that He had brought us together.

When finally we came down from the high of that moment, the planning began. How long till we could pull together a wedding? Could we do this quick now that we’d decided? Was four months long enough? Was there any reason to wait?

We settled on a July date and got to work. Or at least my mom got to work. I mostly walked around with my head in the clouds and let her do all the details.

But a funny thing happened in all the flurry of planning and doing and dreaming— Phil and I began to argue. We’d never argued before. Not once. Now it seemed that my feelings were hurt all the time and he was frustrated and we spent hours and hours working out what we couldn’t understand. What was wrong with us?

The pre-marriage counseling we got was minimal. Our pastor met with us a couple of times but we were so sure we knew how to do this that we weren’t listening much. There were no personality tests or workbooks to fill in, though I was reading everything I could get my hands on and tucking away a whole list of rules to follow for the perfect marriage.

And all that kissing was keeping us heated up so hot that I’m not sure our brains were registering much anyway. Tension was mounting as we counted down the days one at a time. To my mom’s frustration, we spent more time planning our honeymoon than our wedding!

I was certain we were going to have the Ideal Marriage. Of course we would— Phil was my Ideal Man, after all. And I was reading my way through a stack of books to learn how to be the Ideal Wife.

Clearly we were heading for a crash but just as clearly we couldn’t have seen it.

And that is why I want to write this series. Because we did crash and we didn’t see it coming. And there are things I learned in that crash that no book every mentioned.

Things about conflict and oneness and humility and honesty— about two strong-willed people attempting the impossible task of melding their lives into one without destroying each other in the process.

And perhaps most important, I want to write about why he’s not really your Prince Charming no matter how much you love him. And how I, as a woman, as a wife, could choose to spend the rest of my life honoring and loving him skillfully… or draining him of every ounce of dignity by trying to make him into my Ideal.

But I didn’t know any of that on my wedding day. I just knew I loved this man and I had lived for months in that uneasy fear that if he discovered who I really was he’d change his mind.

When July 15^th dawned clear and bright and he stood in front of our church and family and pledged his faithfulness for the rest of forever, I breathed a great sigh of relief. The hard part, I was sure, was behind us. Now my Prince would rush me off into our Happily-Ever-After where we would be… happy forever!

And now, nearly 35 years later I can’t help but laugh… and shudder a little… at my fairytale take on life. I had so much growing up to do, so much learning about real life and real love and real happiness.

So come along with me and learn from the rest of my story. Learn what I wish I’d known then, what I want my girls to know now. Learn from my mistakes and learn from my discoveries. Listen better than I did and you’ll undoubtedly avoid many of my blunders.

Most of all, it is my hope and my prayer that you will discover your real Prince Charming. And he’s not the guy you’ve got your eye on.

He’s the One, the only One, who will make you all-the-way-to-your-bones happy.

And He’s the One who will give you the strength and the will and the wisdom and the skill to love your man well.

To all of my girls, with all of my heart,

Diane

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

OUR LOVE STORY

Part Two

The first time Phil asked me out I wasn’t even sure he had.

For several weeks after I graduated, he seemed to seek me out, though without the least hint of flirtatiousness. Somehow I’d find myself engaged in conversation with him and the flock of energized young people that always seemed to surround him.

We talked about dating standards, how far was too far, and the book that was propelling him to a higher calling: The Shadow of the Almighty by Elisabeth Elliot.

Jim Elliot, the martyred missionary, was Phil’s hero. He read and quoted and studied Elliot’s too-short life. “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.”  Jim Elliot

I listened in awe. Who was this man? Dare I believe he might be interested in me?

One night we found ourselves sitting across the way from each other at the same restaurant. Phil was trying to listen to his friend justify his engagement to a woman he barely knew and constantly fought with. But his eyes kept wandering over to my table where I listened half-heartedly to the beginnings of a romance between one of my best friends and our young youth pastor.

Neither of us could stop looking at each other. 

When I walked as slowly as my feet could possibly take me to the bright yellow 1974 VW Bug my parents had given me when I’d graduated, Phil quickly cut off his futile conversation and hurried to catch up with me.  "Luis Palau is speaking at Mt. Hermon this Friday night and I’m thinking of going. I’ve heard you say he’s your favorite speaker, do you want to ride with me?" 

I mumbled some sort of barely coherent agreement and drove home on Cloud 9.  "Had Phil Comer just asked me out?"

When I saw him later in the week and he arranged to pick me up at the bank I was working at, I knew this was it. I had a date with the coolest guy in the church and I was terrified. 

Looking back I wonder why I was so afraid of Phil Comer. And why that fear kept me bound up and hidden even as his love for me coaxed me out of my self-protective shell. I was a confident girl, at least on the outside. People liked me, I fit in. But somewhere deep inside I felt like I was faking it. No, that’s not the whole truth— I knew I was faking my faith. 

Every day I got up early to read my Bible. I memorized stacks of Scripture, first with the Navigators system and then with my own 3x5 cards lined up on my bathroom mirror. I 'witnessed' to friends at school, inviting scores of kids to church. I sang in the church choir even though I could barely carry a tune, went to Bible study and took copious notes, sat in the front row every single Sunday. 

But every night I went to bed haunted by my inadequacies. 

What if my friends at church discovered who I really was? What if one of those nasty words that seemed to lurk right in the forefront of my mind slipped out? What if I 'backslid' like so many of the seemingly faithful had done? 

Could everyone tell that all my working hard to be a good Christian girl wasn’t working its way into my heart? Would Phil discover that I wasn’t good enough, that no matter how I tried I just couldn’t seem to get it right? 

On that first date I kept all that worry contained, measuring every word, every gesture, every expression on my face. But it was hard to stay uptight and pretending with Phil. His faith was so real, penetrating every facet of his life. The man oozed passion for God and talked like no one I’d heard before. 

Phil put me at ease by drawing the conversation to his favorite topic: Jesus. By the time we’d gotten to our destination I’d forgotten to be nervous, caught up in a conversation that held me in a grip of fascination. Phil asked questions, not about me and my history, but about what I thought. He introduced topics that brought the Bible right smack dab into the middle of life. With an honesty that startled me, he let himself be less than perfect. 

On our way home we stopped at one of those breakfast-all-day restaurants and I silently struggled with a dilemma. My dad was expecting me home at 11 and at this rate I wasn’t going to make it. No text messaging to bail me out. How could I tell this fully-into-his-career man that I’d have to find a payphone and call daddy? Before I’d drummed up the courage to do what I knew I had to do, Phil glanced at his watch. “Why don’t you call home and let your parents know we’re going to be late? Tell them we’re about 15 minutes away.”  Like it was just fine. Like he didn’t see me as a barely-out-of-high-school-girl. Like problems could be solved with simple solutions instead of worried and churned over until they became great moral conundrums of impending disaster.  

And that’s the way it’s always been with Phil. Simple. Black and white. Low on drama, high on solvability.  For the first time I could remember, I relaxed fully with a man. Me, the introvert whose stiff awkwardness made the social dance of dating mostly miserable. 

In the coming weeks and months I would discover that being with Phil allowed me to be more fully myself. A me emerged I hadn’t known. Because he respected my ideas and encouraged my input, I grew bolder and bolder about sharing what I thought. I read him passages I had underlined in my many books. He liked that.  

I teased him when he tried to imitate my British tea drinking habits by ordering his with cream and sugar and then failed to realize the combustibility of the squeeze of lemon he added for good measure. Thirty-six years later we still laugh about the curdled mess that filled his cup on that first date. 

And so began our journey down a road that would lead to a lifetime of learning to meld two distinctly different and seemingly incompatible lives into this state the Scriptures call 'oneness'.  It would not be an easy road. Nothing like the fairy tales I’d fill my head with. I would get my feelings hurt. There would be risk. I would learn to be honest, to trust God instead of connive to get my way.  

Most of all I would begin to understand what no one had ever told me before— that a woman’s love is wrapped up tight in her respect for a man.  

But that’s a topic for another day… as Our Love Story continues next week.

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

Last week I let you know that we are beginning a new series of letters— this time to My Girls.  For months and months I’ve been writing letters to my son, all about how women think and respond and are deep down inside.

This will be a series of letters about things like finding satisfaction and dealing with disappointments and learning how to love the men in our lives with skill and wisdom.

In order for you to understand the context of my own story, for the next couple of weeks I’ll be inviting you into the intimacies of how I met and fell in love with Phil all those years ago.

I’ll tell you what I saw in him, why I fell in love, and what I thought my life would be.

In the weeks ahead I’ll let you know mistakes I made and lies I believed. I’ll tell you what I was thinking then and what I think now. How I’ve changed and what I wish I’d known.

But first, let me start at the beginning…

____________________________________________________________

 OUR LOVE STORY

Part One

I was born with my nose in a book.

My earliest memories are of my mom’s crisp white blouse against my cheek as I snuggled into her while she read me stories. In story-land her voice smoothed to a musical cadence, her beautiful hands spread out the pages of pictures, and her words transported me into the dreamland I craved.

Maybe that’s why I emerged from childhood with fond nicknames from my family: bookworm, dreamer, ding-bat- Di. Over and over I heard my parents admonish me to “get your nose out of that book long enough to see the world around you!” 

I lived in story, just popping in and out of real life for brief visits. 

Is it any wonder my fairy tale-take on romance mixed and melded with my Bible reading and sermon-hearing as I entered the years of dating and marriage?

Growing up, my family did not know or follow Jesus. My parents were good people determined to offer the kind of home that had eluded them in their childhood: stable, loving, affectionate, firm.

When they stumbled on a church that preached Jesus and taught the Scriptures, all five of us went forward to the prayer room and surrendered our lives to the One who changes everything.

That decision set my parents on a road to reorganizing their marriage under the wisdom of the Word. I watched from the sidelines as they figured it out one halting step after another.  Learning to communicate, to lead, to submit, to humble themselves… in my teenage-know-it-all-ness I didn’t appreciate the transformation taking place.

All I saw was that I was going to do it differently— I was going to do marriage right.

I was fifteen when I first met Phil.

 For two years I sang in his 100-voice high school choir and never dared say a word to him. I stayed safely in my shell— a shy high school girl who could barely look at, let alone speak to the coolest man in the church.

In those heady days of the Jesus Movement of the 1970’s our youth group was alive with an almost electric sense of purpose. Our generation was being awakened to truth and beauty in the midst of a souring sexual revolution.

We were high on marriage, adamant about honoring each other, and busy dating.

Nearly every weekend we dated. With friends and in groups, the young men we got to know through the youth group were quick to ask us out. It would have been considered rude and snobbish to say no.

Socially awkward, with remnants of that little girl shyness still clinging to my insides, I dreaded almost every date. What would I say? How could I avoid those long, uncomfortable silences?

I’d make a list of questions to ask and things to talk about as I got ready, barely able to push past that sinking feeling that I was in for another evening of trying too hard to be fun and talkative… when all I really wanted was to be home, quietly curled up with a good book.

Don’t get me wrong. The young men in our church group were interesting and good guys. They became pastors and leaders and elders and missionaries; CPA’s and attorneys; doctors and successful businessmen. These were cream-of-the-crop young men who treated us well and kept their hands to themselves. Most of them prayed before our dates and walked us to the door when they brought us home.

And every girl in church was in love with Phil Comer.

He was tall and lanky with wavy brown hair and laughing blue eyes. He drove a souped up 1970 Lemans, wearing aviator sunglasses and soft suede desert boots.

Bigger than life, he exuded charisma and warmth. When he opened his big Bible to teach, his passion for following hard after God caught me in a maelstrom of emotion.

I wanted to be the kind of Christian he challenged us to be. I wanted to become the kind of woman he would notice.

I wanted him.

Towards the end of my senior year of high school something happened that made me dare drum up the courage to actually talk to him.

Phil’s cousin had been in a terrible accident and was dying from her wounds. Every day he made the trip to San Francisco to see her, to share the Gospel, and to pray with her. My family had just started praying together for the first time in our lives and his story had caught at our hearts.

So I told him.

And when I’d finished my awkwardly rambling words about praying and my family and who-knows-what-else, out popped the words I immediately wanted to grab back:

… I just want you to know I love you.

I meant we, really I did. We, as in my family. We, as in us: he was loved and prayed for by us.

But that’s not what I said.

And its not what he heard. 

From that moment on I couldn’t seem to quell my growing infatuation with the man. He was all my storybook-dreams come true.

He was smart and driven, a drummer who’d left his rock band with a captivating story of conversion— he was just so incredibly cool. Phil was a warrior, a leader, compelling, charismatic… and way out of my league.

Unbeknownst to me, my accidental confession had ignited Phil’s interest. He tried to get to know me, but I was so painfully shy I avoided him. How could I talk to him? What would I say? Exactly which shade of red would my face flame to?

All my worries haunted me enough to stay a safe distance away.

But that didn’t stop Phil.

(…to be continued tomorrow)

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

For weeks and months now I’ve been writing Letters To My Son, a series of answers to his question, posed a year or so ago,  “Mom, what should I look for in a wife?”

Such a simple question.  Such a long and involved way of answering.

I think he assumed I’d answer by talking, the way mothers do, about beauty being more than skin deep and all the fine qualities a good woman should have.

And I suspect he thought all this talking would take an hour or so.  At the most.

And now I’m finally just about talked out.  Thirty-five letters and ten months later.

I’ve loved your responses, mulled over your questions, treasured your insights. What has emerged from my mail is a generation of men and women who want to do relationships right. Who’ve seen what happens when a man and a woman mess up.

And you want more for yourself.

You have astounded me by your willingness to read and learn and ask questions and gather wisdom and wait for the right time.  You have no idea how honored I’ve been to be a part of the conversation.

But now I think its time to talk about some other things.

Because, you see, I’m hoping all this talk about dating and marriage and falling in love and honoring God and each other will actually lead to some of you falling in love and getting married!

And so, at the urging of some of my advisors...

(part of our blog team: Elizabeth, Kristi, Abi and Fallon)

and my niece, Brittany...

I am embarking on a new series.

A series I’m calling He’s Not Your Prince Charming.

While the Letters were written for men about women,

this new series will be written for women about men.

I'll be attempting to explain what I’ve seen and to make sense of what the Bible says about how men work and what they’re called to and why its sometimes so hard to fit our lives with theirs.

Now I am certainly no expert on men or marriage or much of anything else. I’m just me- a woman,  a wife, a mom. You know my story, how God allowed my me to go deaf and in turn taught me what it means to listen.

And since that near failure of my faith and the subsequent failure of my hearing, I have focused on listening to God in the everyday messiness of life and relationships.

And in all that listening, I’ve gathered some things to pass on to you. About what love really looks like, about conflict and communication, about honesty and humility and intimacy. I want to tell you how I found  joy in the midst of tension and rest in spite of my perfectionism. I want you to know that marriage can be both a crucible for building character and a refuge from all that performance-based scrutiny that is real life.

But first, I want to tell you more of my story.

Because this will be a series of letters to my girls about things like finding satisfaction and dealing with disappointments and learning how to love the men in our lives with skill and wisdom.

A mixed bag of lessons learned along the way of listening with both my Bible and my heart wide open.

So for the next couple of weeks I’ll be inviting you into the intimacies of how I met and fell in love with Phil all those years ago. I’ll tell you what I saw in him, why I fell in love, and what I thought my life would be.

And I’ll let you know mistakes I made and lies I believed. I’ll tell you what I was thinking then and what I think now. How I’ve changed and what I wish I’d known.

Most of all I will remind you over and over again that fairy tales are not real life. That our stories include great beauty and dark disappointments.

That falling in love is not the end of the happily ever after, but the beginning of learning to love our neighbors as ourselves.

From my heart,

Diane

P.S. I’d love to hear your questions. Though I’ll not be able to answer every one (partly because I don’t know!), I will attempt to include answers in every post.

I promise to pray and ponder and listen in the hopes that we can mine for God’s wisdom together.