Still Feeling the Love

I'm still giddy.

Never mind that I'm a middle-aged woman who's now been married for a quarter of a century, I feel like a young girl in love. I can't think straight. I dawdle at my keyboard. I look at pictures of my husband and me. I re-read the kind comments of others. I sit. I smile. I thank the good Lord in heaven.

Though my silver anniversary has passed, my joy has not. God's design for marriage is perfectly wonderful, isn't it? Who knew that after twenty-five years together a couple could still have so much fun, would still pick the other first, would still want the other? I never gave it much thought, I guess, but what a lovely plan God created in the idea of mates, establishing a life time together to truly know each other. So beautiful.

Tuesday night as we toasted to us under a hazy, moonlit sky, all felt right with the world. This is what marriage is supposed to be--comfortable, exciting, fun, to rest in each other without shame or expectations, to know love and acceptance here on earth the way God offers. Is this what Eden felt like every day?

Forgive me for laying on more sap this week (and please understand all is not roses in the Boesiger house!), but I just can't help it. A special occasion brings your blessings front and center. It tells me the work is worth it. The sacrifices, the biting of tongues, the giving up of what you'd really like for the sake of another, it's all worth it for the joy of becoming more and more one. It takes time and effort and a whole lot of patience, but the prize is priceless.

So here's to marriage, God's physical illustration of Christ and His bride. May we live up to His standard and experience the joy He intended.


For more Thankful Thursday posts, visit Laurie at Women Taking a Stand.

25 YEARS

I lay awake, listening to him sleep. Turning to my side to face him, I can't help but smile. This man makes me laugh. This man believes in me. This man provides and comforts, protects and inspires. He makes me proud, happy. He holds me, melts me, takes my breath away.

And for twenty-five years I've had the privilege of ending every day like this, in the sanctuary of this bed, next to this man who loves me like no other.

I am a blessed woman.

He's been there for everything--good, bad, exhilarating, crushing--yet right now, in the quiet of night, listening to him sleep, this ordinary moment seems just as sacred, as definitive of us as any other. This daily ritual defines us as man and wife. Twenty-five years are built one day at a time, moment by intimate moment, some tough, some thrilling, some completely mundane, ALL contributing to a lifetime together.

Simple actions, like the way he slides his hand down my hip when walking past, stack a brick onto the wall of us. Hugs in the kitchen, me nuzzling his neck to catch a glorious whiff of him or the way he smiles when I walk into church, add another. We're made stronger with nights stretching into the wee hours of the morning, laying in bed, our limbs tangled together, talking about life and God and dreams. I rest secure in the comfort of his strong hand enveloping mine and his satisfying belly laughs at my silly comments. We are solidified by kisses coming mid sentence and knowing glances and whispers in my ear without regard for who is watching.

It has taken time to get here, time and experience and patience and prayer. Our early years were good, but now is better. Much better. Now is experienced and seasoned and learned. Now is passionate and comfortable and secure. Now is home.

"What God has joined together, let no man separate." I recognize His touch in our marriage, the joining of two imperfect, selfish people in a way that can only be explained by God's intervention. I see it. I welcome it. I am in awe.

God has loved me very well through my husband. And as I lay here, watching him sleep, tears slide into my pillow out of overwhelming gratitude for a man who models unconditional love and faithfulness.

And for a God who gives very good gifts.


Happy 25th Anniversary, my dear sweet Kevin. You make me happy. You make me better. You show me God. I love you so very much. Thank you for 25 fantastic years.



Related Links:

The Crazy Way We Met
On The Way to Us
Our Wedding
Our Honeymoon: Enough Memories to Last a Lifetime
Happy Anniversary
Still
Two As One
Twenty-Four Years

When You Want to Know What to Do

It was a dark and stormy night.

Really.

I had no idea as I left my house last Saturday night that I'd be driving into a MAJOR thunderstorm. The further north I drove, the darker and more ominous the sky got. Huge clouds moved across the road before my eyes. Soon winds shook my van and the rain, slapped around by strong gales, forced me to pull over for a few minutes.

It wouldn't have been a big deal except that my back seats held my nephews who are six and four. Other than an occasional, "Um, I'm kind of scared," they did pretty well with the storm, but when we got to their house where the power had been knocked out, everybody was upset, even the dog!

We managed to find a flashlight and decided to pass the time by reading books in bed. The six-year-old thumbed through his bookshelf and started a small pile, when suddenly he had an idea and ran over to his dresser. He picked up his Bible and brought it over to our stack of books, placing it at the bottom.

"We'll save this one for last," he said and then added, "When you want to know what to do, you look in here."

We settled in, reading about Lightning McQueen and Mater, followed by a book about Wall-E and five little ducklings. Book after book after book, yet their questions kept coming.

"When is my daddy going to be home? Is Mommy coming? Will they be here soon?"

We reached the bottom of the stack and I climbed out of bed to grab a Kleenex. The only book left was the Bible and since there were no pictures to show them, I kneeled next to the bed to read instead of sitting between them. They settled into their pillows and listened quietly. As I read about David and Goliath, the questions, the anxiousness stopped. We moved on to Noah's Ark (What? It seemed appropriate for a stormy night.) and their little eyes drooped. Before too long, they were fast asleep.

Were they just tuckered out? Would we have achieved the same effect had we started with the Bible? Maybe it's a stretch, but it made me think about the power of God's Word. Can uttering it calm even a child's anxious soul?

And then I remembered his words, "When you want to know what to do, you look in here."

At only six-years-old, he believed it. He knew there was something special about the Bible. That's supernatural, isn't it, when a child recognizes its value? Can you teach a kid to know that or does God through His Word turn on the light switch? My young nephew's conviction and the effect of the Bible's words on both boys convinced me it is more than a book.

"When you want to know what to do, you look in here."

Amen, buddy. Don't you ever forget it.

For the word of God is living and active . . .

Hebrews 4:12

Thanks to my friend Mark Canfield for his awesome pic!

7 Quick Takes (Volume 145)

1) Miss Innocent One and I drove out to church and spotted a runner along the way.

Me: Hey, I ran out to the church this morning too. Do you think she lives as far away as we do?

Miss Innocent One: You ran all the way out to church and back?

Me: Well, I putzed out and walked the last mile. It isn't as far as you think.

We neared the runner and I got a better glimpse.

Me: Oh, she looks like a hard core runner. She probably ran WAY farther than me.

Miss Innocent One: Mom, you don't even know her and you think she's better than you. Geez. Give it a rest.

What is wrong with me when even my twelve-year-old has better sense than me?

2) I thought I made a gorgeous meal and felt disappointed it wasn't gobbled up.

Me: I can't believe no one ate these beautiful potatoes. They were really good.

Kevin: I ate them. I'm somebody.

Me: Yes, you are. You're all my body-s.

Yeah, I know that isn't a word, but somewhere in my foggy brain I wanted to prove I could spread the cheese with the best of them. (Is it possible the stress of motherhood has depleted my brain cells? Yes, let's blame it on the kids.)

3) Drama Queen got her cast off this week. Get a load of this grimy hand. Ick.


Don't get too excited, though. We found out last night it isn't completely healed which means the verdict is final. Since she can't drum until it's completely healed, drum line is out this fall for sure. She decided she wasn't going to drum line camp even if it was healed, being be so out of shape and not knowing the exercises she was supposed to learn over the summer, so she wasn't upset. I've been very proud of her attitude. She's enduring it and moving on. Now we wait to hear if she'll have to go back into a cast or wear a brace and for how long.

The upside is since she won't go to drum line camp, we get to keep her home for a week longer. I'm not sure if she agrees that's a positive or not, but I don't think she minds too much.

4) More proof I'm losing brain cells:

Me: Ugh. I caught sight of myself in the Walmart doors and thought, "Fatty, fatty 2 by 4."

Kevin: You are NOT allowed to say that.

Me: Who even invented that phrase? A 2 by 4? It's like two inches wide. Must have been a skinny person.

Kevin (motioning with his arms): It's not a 2 by 4, it's twice as wide as you are tall. "Fatty, fatty 2 by 4 can't get through the kitchen door."

Me: Well, you probably figured that out because you weren't traumatized by being called that as a child.

Kevin: Where you called that?

Me: Not to my face, but I bet there were murmurings.

I had to save face somehow. Do you see why my poor husband constantly shakes his head?

5) Ladies Man spent the week at high school band camp. These kids were working every day from 8:00-4:30. Monday and Tuesday the heat index reached 115˚! Each afternoon when I went to pick him up, tons of kids walked out to the parking lot looking fried and exhausted. Here's just a picture of his feet. His face and arms were even darker.


6) My mom is on vacation with my sister and her family this week. I wonder how she fared with the zip line course and white water rafting that was planned. I hope there are pictures!

With Mom gone, Drummer Boy was left to fend for himself again. What do you bet he ate the most of? Taco Bell or Subway? I hope he ate! He's been a busy guy running between his instructing gigs at Lincoln Northeast High School and Norris High School. Next week he'll be at Norris a few days and then on to UNL drum line camp (minus his sister--boo). Summer's over for this guy.

7) We've got a Big Hairy Deal coming up next week. I'm not revealing what it is until Tuesday, so I guess you'll have to check back then. Suffice it to say, I am super excited, blessed and humbled by it. God is so good.

Until then, occupy yourself by reading more Quick Takes at Conversion Diary. Have a great weekend, friends!

Thankful for Texting

"No texting at the table!"

It's a common phrase at our house. Anybody with teenagers knows exactly what I'm talking about.

Drama Queen is super fast on the draw. Even the nurse sawing off her cast remarked on her skill as she texted two friends with one hand! According to his sister, Drummer Boy is the king of the abc method. And Ladies Man texts on his cell phone AND his iPod.

How many of you parents of texting teens have wondered along with me how much your kids really hear with a cell phone in their hand? I can't tell you the number of times I wished we never added texting to our kids' cell phone plans.

Yet, yesterday I had to change my tune a bit. You see, I've done a horrible job of connecting with my brothers in adulthood. There's a ten year age difference and we never seem to have much in common. When I was in high school, they were tying my friends up with jump ropes playing Cowboys and Indians. When they were in high school, I was having babies. While my kids graduate from high school, theirs are starting Kindergarten and in utero! We see each other on holidays and have no ill will, but our lack of easy communication has always bothered me. I don't call like I should. I talk to their wives instead of them. I stink, really.

But this week a friend of theirs died and I couldn't let it pass. Not knowing how upset they might be and knowing one of them in particular has a tough time talking about anything, I hesitated to call. They weighed heavy on my mind as I went through my routine, but when my phone chimed the familiar beep, the light bulb went off. Could I let them know I was thinking of them through a text? Lame? Maybe. Better than ignoring it entirely? I thought so. So I texted. Nothing monumental was said by any of us, but we "talked" and I felt good about our interaction, hoping they understood my heart leans toward them more than they know.

So I can't believe it myself, but yesterday I had to say I was thankful for texting and the connection it provided for my brothers and me. It's no replacement for real live communication, but it's a start in the right direction. It may be a crazy thing to be thankful for, but it made this chicky's day to hook up with her little brothers.



For more Thankful Thursday posts, visit Laurie at Women Taking a Stand.

The Secret to Feeling Younger

I never thought at 47 I'd consider myself young. My teenagers remind me on a daily basis how "old school" I am.

"No offense Mom."

Yeah. No offense.

But Monday I had the unique opportunity to lead a short Bible study at an assisted living facility. Those people can make you feel like a million bucks!

"My, but you're a pretty young thing!" said one of the first to arrive. (I confess if the wall wasn't behind me I would've turned around to see who she was referring to!) When they asked if I had children, I passed around pictures and got, "What? You don't look near old enough to have kids in college."

They were so sweet and so attentive and yet my stomach was all gurgly. It's an intimidating venture, I tell you, to be designated the leader of a group who have truly lived, who've experienced decades more pain and sorrow than you. I've done it once before when I was asked to speak to a group of seniors about grieving. Grieving! When I saw the average age was around 85, I nearly turned around. How could I say anything they didn't already know?! That feeling came flooding back as women entered the chapel Monday.

"You just be yourself, honey," one kept saying.

I chose to look at verses on anxiety and worry (hmmm, any clue where my head's been lately?) and when I asked them what they worried about, one woman said, "Honey, I had seven kids. I don't worry anymore. I just call one of them and let them take care of it." Don't you love it?

Though she made me laugh, I also thought, "Uh oh, this could be a long lesson if everyone is like her!" But across the table, the lady who said "just be yourself" smiled at me and I went ahead with what I prepared. I figured I didn't wander into the room by accident. God brought me there so I trusted Him to make something of it.

We flipped pages in Bibles (and flipped and flipped and flipped), joked, talked, laughed and prayed together. I'm not sure if any great truths were learned, but that's not my job. I was to show up with a lesson. God is the one who gives it light.

My delightful time with them taught me an important lesson. I'm no theologian or amazing orator. I'm old school to teenagers and a whippersnapper to seniors. In any group of people, the only unique quality I have is myself and my relationship with God. If I don't give that, I'm offering nothing special.

Oh, and have you guessed the secret to feeling younger? Hang out with people older than you!

A Prayer for Strength and Love

A Prayer

My God (oh, let me call Thee mine,
Weak, wretched sinner though I be),
My trembling soul would fain be Thine;
My feeble faith still clings to Thee.

Not only for the past I grieve,
The future fills me with dismay;
Unless Thou hasten to relieve,
Thy suppliant is a castaway.

I cannot say my faith is strong,
I dare not hope my love is great;
But strength and love to Thee belong:
Oh, do not leave me desolate!

I know I owe my all to Thee;
Oh, take the heart I cannot give;
Do Thou my Strength, my Saviour be,
And make me to Thy glory live!

by Anne Brontë



Photo Credit: s. alt