Sniffing out the work of God in the world…
One year ago today I performed a wedding I’ll never forget. The bride was lovely — as she always is (on the outside and the inside). The groom was smiling with a look that indicated he’d hit the jackpot. Which he had.
Happy anniversary, Matt and Jenna. I love you both and am so thankful for you both. Hope you got to see Chris and the others from Highland at Impact this morning!
I first saw her in Patty Cobb cafeteria on the Harding campus. She took my breath away. She still does.
I kept spotting her after that — sometimes by accident; at other times on purpose. I saw her alone at a seminar on evangelism at the College Church. (I never said anything to her. What’s the right pick-up line for an evangelism conference? Perhaps some — BOONE, QUILE, ELLIOTT — can leave suggestions in the comments.) I saw her at the Lily Pool devotionals. I watched her play volleyball (in tight jeans, as I vaguely recall).
Twenty-seven years ago today we were married at the Westside Church of Christ in Searcy. Dwaine Powell, my former roommate, performed the ceremony, meaning that the oldest person on the stage was 22.
The truth? It’s been hard at times. We both had “issues” to deal with; we spent too much time mad at each other; we went years with little sleep (during Megan’s ten years of life); and we couldn’t find each other in the fog of grief for a couple years after Megan’s death.
AND YET . . . we now have the marriage we always wanted. We got here only by tying a knot in the rope and holding on during some of the hard years.
But even during the hard years, she took my breath away.
May 11, 1978 was a very good day. This one is even better.
My first date with Diane was 28 years ago today. Fifteen months after that we got married and took off for Hot Springs (yes, we heard all the jokes) for our honeymoon.
This will not be the most romantic Valentine’s Day, I suppose. We’re caught up in the daily tasks of helping Chris recover from the accident.
And yet . . . after all these years with the Love of my life . . . there’s something deeply romantic about it. For all these years we’ve cuddled, fought, forgiven, traveled, danced, prayed, laughed, and poured our lives into Matt, Megan, and Chris. There’s something deeply romantic about a quite evening with Diane to continue helping Chris.
For the occasion I’ve ripped a CD of some of our favorite love songs:
Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love”
Eric Clapton’s “Change the World”
Steven Curtis Chapman’s “I Will Be Here”
The Dixie Chicks’ “I Believe in Love”
Collin Raye’s “Love Remains”
Terri Clark’s “I Just Want to Be Mad” (pure eroticism)
Jim Croce’s “Time in a Bottle”
John Mayer’s “Your Body Is a Wonderland” (hey, we’re married!)
Dan Fogelberg’s “Make Love Stay”
Righteous Brothers’ “Unchained Melody”
Norah Jones’s “Be Here to Love Me” and “The Nearness of You”
James Taylor’s “How Sweet It Is”
Beatles’ “Something”
Help me out here. Any glaring omissions? What are some other great love songs?
The state with the lowest divorce rate in the most recent statistics? Massachusetts. Nine of the ten states with the lowest divorce rates are blue states. Of the states with the highest divorce stats, all ten are red states. Add to this the findings of George Barna, a “born-again Christian,” who found that “born-again Christians” have about the highest divorce rates in the USA.
What’s that about?
Trust me. You don’t want to read on. First, I read a little Nicholas Sparks this summer. Then I listened to a bit of Josh Groban recently. I’ve temporarily lost my male ability to bottle up all emotions inside.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
But here’s the thing: when I picked up Diane at the airport Sunday afternoon, I was surprised all over again by her beauty. How can that be after so many years?
To be honest, I hadn’t really missed her for the couple days she was in Houston. (It’s one of our private little secrets–that, while we love being together, we also don’t mind a day or two alone! She was in Houston; Chris was on the middle school campout. I was pigging out on play-off games.)
There are so many things that I love about Diane that I had no idea about so many years ago.
I love how much children love her. Recently, a third grader (whom she taught in 2nd grade last year) came up to hug her after school and said, “Mrs. Cope, look in my backpack.” Inside was her treasure trove: every note that Diane had written to her last year. “You’re like a mother to me,” the little girl said.
Right now she’s gone to work out. But before that this evening, we sat and listened AGAIN to MLK’s “I Have a Dream” speech. I love how, after so many times, it still touches her.
I love how when (as happened at least once when she joined me someplace where I was speaking) a woman came up to her and said “It must be wonderful being married to him!” she just smiled and said, “Oh, yes.” Fighting the gag reflex is one of her strengths.
I love how she loves her boys and her daughter-in-law. And, of course, I love the memories of her with Megan.
I love how she’ll stay at church as long as someone wants to talk–even though it drives me nuts when I’m tired.
I love watching movies with her, eating out at a nice restaurant with her, and grabbing burgers off the grill to watch “Raymond” with her. Things are only half as funny when she isn’t watching with me.
I love her low threshhold of tolerance for “look-in-the-mirror-and-tell-yourself-how-much-God-loves-you” exercises. At moments like that she comes within an inch of falling off the cliff of explosive laughter. . . . And I have the gift of sending her over that precipitous cliff.
I love her laugh. The best laugh I’ve ever heard. Angels applaud.
Sorry. Soon I’ll get back to more trivial things, which is where I really excel.
A dad’s reflections.
Matt’s been blessed with some nice honors. (To fast forward past parental bragging, go to next paragraph.) This weekend he received the ACU “honor man” award, and the Lemoine Lewis Alpha Chi award (for a 4.0 average).
But much of his character was molded by a frail younger sister who never spoke a full sentence. In his first years, he often waited for his turn while we cared for Megan. He dealt with the embarrassment of being at restaurants when she was loud–to say nothing of her propensity for throwing food that she didn’t want. And yet in her life and death, he experienced what we did: a profound sense of the meaning of the kingdom.
As we count down to the wedding (one month and one day), of all the things I could say about my future daughter-in-law, this is perhaps the most insightful: Megan would have absolutely loved her!
In Christopher De Vinck’s incredible book The Power of the Powerless, he writes about his mentally-handicapped brother, Oliver. He tells about two girls he brought home with him. (Trust me, had Megan lived longer, Jenna would have been just like the second girl in the story.)
When I was in my early twenties I met a girl and I fell in love. After a few months I brought her home for dinner to meet my family. After the introductions, the small talk, my mother went to the kitchen to check the meal, and I asked the girl, “Would you like to see Oliver?” for I had, of course, told her about my brother.
“No,” she answered. She did not want to see him. It was as if she slapped me in the face, yet I just said something polite and walked to the dining room.
Soon after, I met Roe, Rosemary, a dark-haired, dark-eyed, lovely girl. She asked me the names of my brothers and sisters. She bought me a copy of The Little Prince. She loved children. I thought she was wonderful.
I brought her home after a few months to meet my family. The introductions. The small talk. We ate dinner; then it was time for me to feed Oliver.
I walked into the kitchen, reached for the red bowl and the egg and the cereal and the milk and the banana and prepared Oliver’s meal. Then, I remember, I sheepishly asked Roe if she’d like to come upstairs and see Oliver. “Sure,” she said, and up the stairs we went.
I sat at Oliver’s bedside as Roe stood and watched over my shoulder. I gave him his first spoonful, his second. “Can I do that?” Roe asked. “Can I do that?” she asked with ease, with freedom, with compassion, so I gave her the bowl, and she fed Oliver one spoonful at a time.
The power of the powerless. Which girl would you marry? Today Roe and I have three children.
The post is already long today. So why quit now? . . .
This story makes me really thankful today, on my 26th anniversary, for the love of my life. When I first saw her in the fall of 1976, I melted before that beautiful face, those Caribbean-blue eyes, the Farrah Fawcett hair, and a smile that made you glad you’re alive just to see it.
But who knows what lurks behind such a beautiful exterior? In this case, time has proven that behind all that beauty is a woman of great strength, great courage, and great faith.
I just came across something I wrote from Africa a year or two ago. (Stop reading here if your tolerance for middle-schoolish romance prose is low today.)
I sit here at an isolated balcony table at Gately of Jinja, surrounded by African beauty: Lake Victoria, surging trees, secretary birds, full-bloomed flowers, an azure sky, and colorful bushes. Plus, there is an easy wind off the lake.
The moment is nearly perfect, as I prepare for the East Africa Men’s Retreat. But not quite perfect.
For I’m nine time zones away from Diane. Humor is only half funny if she isn’t there to laugh. Beauty is a bit unformed if she isn’t around to enjoy it. Her blue eyes are the prism through which all beauty and joy come fully alive for me.
Tomorrow, I promise to return to my normal mindless observations about world issues like guacamole and little league baseball.
With both of us working outside the home, we have found ways to share house-cleaning and parenting duties. I am the bed-maker, the morning picker-up-er, and the dish rinser. I also cook about half the meals. (Plus I’m really good at running to Joe Allen’s or Subway for carry-out.)
But sometimes it hits me that there is a whole other world I’m oblivious to. This afternoon Diane is leaving for about 28 hours. The stuff I’m now in charge of is, well, more urgent than my normal routine. Pick up Chris. (”If you don’t pick him up, he’ll be stuck there.”) Feed the dogs. (”If you or Chris don’t feed them, they won’t eat.”) Give Chris his allergy and antacid meds (reflecting two of my genetic gifts to him). Pack his lunch.
These are things I rarely think about. Somehow they just get done. Because I travel so much, Diane is used to covering all home bases. But this is rare. I am, for 28 hours, the . . . adult parent . . . default parent . . . last-line-of-defense parent. I can do this.
(On the other hand, if any of you happen to drive by Thomas Elementary around 4:00 and there’s one kid that looks like me standing around, would you pick him up and bring him to church?)
As I mentioned last night, Richard Beck wrote me about research that’s been done concerning theories people have about love. They found that there are basically two competing theories at work.
Some are destiny theorists. They believe that there is one right person for you, and that when you find them it will be wonderful. Somewhere out there is a “soulmate.” This group tends to discard romantic relationships when there are problems.
Others are growth theorists. They believe that love is something that emerges over time as you work through lots of ups and downs. Research shows that they wind up much happier in their relationships.
I’ve heard so many people over the past decade use the “soulmate” language. No wonder most of them are so frustrated in their dating lives or in their marriages. Forget Cinderella, Prince Charming, Richard Gere and Julia Roberts. Love takes time, patience, energy, commitment, and service.