This Is Getting Hard

Our house has been on the market about two months now. (Phillip has been gone about three months, as it took us a while to get the house ready to list.) We have had many showings but no offers. There has been very little in the way of negative feedback. I know that all we need is for the right person to see it, and that could happen any day--maybe today! Two months is really not that long. But a little voice inside me has started asking, "What if?" When we first put the house on the market I didn't look much past Christmas. And my vision of Christmas was that by that time surely we would have sold the house. I pictured us spending Christmas together in a new house in Oklahoma. But now that little "what if" voice has made itself known, and lately it has been getting louder. What if we don't sell any time soon? What if fall drags into winter, and winter drags into spring, and we're still here, waiting?

It's not just the living apart from my husband that makes this hard, although that's the biggest part of it. It's the realization that this is Caitlin's last year at home before college, and she could end up spending it without her father as a daily presence in her life (and vice versa). It's the realization that Evan has already missed out on one year of singing in his dad's children's choir, and now he is working on year two. It's the realization that we gave up a lot of things on the assumption that we would not be here to participate in them. The feeling of loss regarding those things will be even greater if it turns out we could have kept them in our lives one more year.

And yet as I write this, I feel like a big baby. I know of women who have had to spend much more time living apart from their husbands than I have. I know of women who are permanently without their husbands, rearing children on their own. Who am I to complain? The children and I have the familiarity of our home, our well-traveled paths, and each other. I have more free time than I've had in years! Meanwhile, Phillip is all alone, trying to learn a new job while not having a place he can really call home (he is boarding in a parishioner's house). He has the much harder "row to hoe." And yet he doesn't complain, but spends his time on the phone trying to build me up after working 16-hour days. He puts me to shame.

Once upon a time there was a church I loved too much. It's not my church anymore. There were some friends I needed too much. They're not in my life anymore. I have been told that I love my husband too much. He lives in another state now. Maybe if I loved this house more it would finally sell. . . .

More Begging

Since writing my blog post of a couple of days ago, I have seen the same point made several more times (in much more learned fashion than I made it). Here is one example.

Begging the Question

The misuse of this phrase is one of my pet peeves. I wrote about it almost six years ago and obviously the people who should have read my post didn't because the situation has only gotten worse.

I was talking to my adult son the other day, and he pointed out an example of begging the question (the real thing, not the thing that people incorrectly call begging the question) that is cropping up quite a bit of late. It is happening in the debate over same sex marriage, which is coming to the fore as the Supreme Court hears several cases on the issue.  We keep hearing from those who favor same sex "marriage" that marriage is a civil right that should be equally available to all citizens. But this begs the question because it builds the desired conclusion into the premise. The point of contention is not whether anyone who wants to get married should be able to. The point of contention has to do with how we as a society define marriage. Is marriage by its definition something that a same sex couple can participate in? Those who subscribe to the Judeo-Christian view of marriage would say no. So the very use of the phrase "same sex marriage" assumes an agreement regarding terms that in fact does not exist. Question, meet unsupported premise, begging for validity.

If you, like I, are annoyed by the misuse of this phrase, maybe this example will come in handy. On the other hand, maybe it will just heighten your frustration since most of the offenders are television talking heads whom we will never have the opportunity to instruct!

This Is Marriage, Part 2

As illustrated in the previous post, being married for a long time means being able to communicate, sometimes, without even talking. It also means accepting the other person even as he or she changes over time. For example, in the old days my husband and I would sit in the same room together and he would read politics while I read Shakespeare. Now we sit in the same room together and he reads theology while I post silly pictures on Facebook. What is rather surreal is when he reads the theology out loud while I am posting the silly pictures.

Sir, I am too old to learn. - William Shakespeare, King Lear, 2.2.99

This Is Marriage

When your husband lifts his eyes from the pages of Koehler's Dogmatics long enough to look deep into your own, and, relying not on words but on the strength of nearly thirty years of communicative history, to send the silent but unequivocal and performative message: "Coffee."

Here you go, love. Mind if I join you?

He speaks (or not); therefore, he drinks. 

Phillip and Cheryl's Excellent Anniversary

A week ago yesterday my husband and I embarked on what turned out to be a magical celebration of our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect two days. Thanks to a gift of "points" from my sister-in-law, we were able to enjoy a luxury stay at the JW Marriott in downtown Chicago. The only cost to us was parking (even internet and taxes were included)!

We left home Sunday after church. The first thing we did upon checking in was to report for our previously scheduled massage at the Valeo spa in the basement of the hotel. When we arrived at the front desk the smiling hostess asked if we were there for an "experience." We nodded nervously, trying to pretend we knew what we were doing but secretly hoping we weren't getting in over our heads (the same ones, by the way, that have "Clueless Suburbanites" tattooed across the tops). Nevertheless, our names were quickly located on the schedule and we were taken to separate locker rooms to change and then shown to our gently lit "transition" room, where we were invited to enjoy some hot tea while listening to the relaxing music.

When the time came for our massage we were taken by our respective "providers" to a room set up with two massage tables next to one another. I wish I had snapped a picture but in my awe failed to do so. Our masseur and masseuse left the room so we could get situated on our tables and shortly returned for our 30-minute candle-lit treatment. After our massage we were invited to enjoy a soak in the hot tub, complete with aroma and light therapy, not to mention chocolate-covered strawberries (we passed on the wine, anticipating drinks later in the evening). I began to see the wisdom of calling the whole thing an "experience," for in its appeal to all the senses it was definitely not your garden variety massage! It is only the second time in my life I have had a massage; it was my husband's first. He followed up with visit to the steam room while I had another cup of tea. Then it was back to our room to get ready for supper.

Probably the most pleasant surprise of the weekend was our upgrade from a basic room to a luxury suite. My sister-in-law had informed the management that we were celebrating our 25th anniversary, and they said they would do what they could to make it a special getaway. I have to hand it to the JW Marriott--they went far beyond what we ever anticipated, upgrading us to a luxury suite:

Our "front" door--we stayed in the "Quincy" suite

View out one of our windows--we had a corner room, so we had two different views

Living room with welcome tray of bread, cheese, fruit spread and Evian

Wet bar with stocked refrigerator (we were told not to move things around in the refrigerator unless we wanted to purchase something--doing so would trip the sensor so that we would get charged for the moved item even if we didn't consume it)

Bedroom (note the mounted reading lights on each side of the headboard)

Sitting area in bedroom

Guest bathroom (not that we had any guests, but it was nice to have a second facility!)

Tub in main bathroom (I have a photo of my beloved soaking in this tub but I'm going to leave that one to your imagination)

The mirror had a built-in television screen for watching while soaking.

Shower (it was big enough for five people--seriously). It had two shower heads, one regular and one huge "rainshower" head (seen in the ceiling)

Two sinks

Vanity (I really need one of those lighted magnifying mirrors for home--then again, perhaps blindness is bliss)

Walk-in closet with complimentary his-and-her robes

The plan for our first evening was dinner at Fogo de Chao. This was not our first time to go to Fogo, but it is definitely not a place we get to visit that often. If you ever get the chance to eat there, grab it. It is a dining experience unlike any other--one price, all you can eat. You can see how thrilled I was as we headed out to dinner!

While we waited for our table, we enjoyed a couple of caipirinhas (Fogo's signature drink) at the bar.

Phillip is getting ready to "go green" (indicating to the meat-serving gauchos that he is ready for some protein)!

My plate after a trip to the salad bar

My plate after being visited by several gauchos. The side dishes--polenta, fried banana (further south it would have been plantain) and black beans--are seen at the top of the plate. The meats pictured are chicken, sausage, and some cut of beef (can't remember which).

Dessert was compliments of Fogo!

View of the Chicago River while walking back to the hotel after supper. It was a gorgeous evening.

Monday we slept in and then walked to the Art Institute, stopping for lunch on the way at The Berghoff (another one of our Chicago favorites).

I have been to the Art Institute several times with children, but this was Phillip's first time to go. We spent most of our time looking at the paintings (and we didn't make it to all the rooms--sorry, Medieval/Renaissance masters!).

One of my favorites: Renoir's Woman at the Piano. I often use it for my profile pic on Facebook.

The painting below was a new discovery for me this trip: Renganeschi's Saturday Night, 1912, by American painter John Sloan. I have now looked at a little more of his work and really like it. This painting depicts some young women eating out, enjoying female companionship without male escorts, reflecting the changing mores of the time regarding what was acceptable behavior for women. The description of the painting at the Art Institute noted the way the woman on the right is wrapping her legs around the chair legs, indicating her bourgeoisie background (she doesn't know how to sit properly). I can so relate to this painting. I don't know how to sit, either, and I love spending time with my girlfriends.

I have recently discovered a passion for sushi. Monday night we ate at Roy's Hawaiian Fusion.

This was the dessert we ordered (chocolate souffle with ice cream).

This was the dessert our waiter brought out for free upon discovering we were celebrating our anniversary! (Have I mentioned how much I love this town?)

On Tuesday it was time to check out (sigh). We wrapped up our time together with lunch at Rick Bayless's Frontera Grill.

I can't think of anything else to say except, "Honey, can we have another 25th anniversary next year?"

If you missed my 24th anniversary post, here it is, featuring some historic pictures, including a few from the day I cast my lot with a certain cantor, making the best decision I have ever made in my whole life. Here's to 25 more, my dearest husband. Thank you for giving me my best life now, every moment of every day, and for working as hard as you do in love for God's people and for us, your family. I love you with all my heart. :-)

Ring Tales

No, this is not a post about The Hobbit.

I recently read this blog post by a friend whose ring fell down her drain and was damaged in the disposal. I feel so terrible for her!

It reminded me of a story with a happier ending, although the happy ending was long in coming. Here's a news item about a Swedish woman who lost her wedding ring 16 years ago but recently found the ring encircling a carrot that she picked from her garden!

Here's my ring story. About five years ago I quit wearing my wedding set because I was told the prongs were so worn that I was in danger of losing a diamond. My set has seven diamonds totaling half a carat. The estimate on retipping all those diamonds was frightening--to do so would have cost way more than my husband originally paid for the ring. So I retired my wedding set and started wearing a plain gold band that my mother-in-law had given me. My husband and I decided that some day we would get a new setting for my wedding ring but that it would have to wait a while.

This past fall while raking and bagging leaves I suddenly realized that the gold band I had been wearing on my ring finger was no longer on my finger. Cold weather = skinnier fingers = slippery rings. I assume the band fell off my finger into a pile or bag of leaves. There was no finding it.

My husband and I had already been talking about an anniversary ring--we celebrate 25 years in March! So guess what that dear man did? In December he took me shopping for an early anniversary gift. It is similar to my wedding ring but a little bigger (1 carat instead of 1/2 carat). It is a traditional 3-stone ring with one central diamond, two slightly smaller ones on each side, and eight diamond chips set into the band, four on each side.


Yes, I'm a happy girl! I still have my original wedding set, and I hope some day one or more of the diamonds will find another home--maybe in a new setting for my daughter or a future daughter-in-law. For now it is safe in my jewelry box and the ring above is on my finger! I have decided, after reading my friend Glenda's post, that I may need to have it sized down because it's a little loose (but I am waiting to see how it fits in the summer). I have also developed the habit of taking it off at night (8 hours per night of rubbing on the sheets is VERY hard on the prongs and causes them to wear much more quickly than they otherwise would) and of not wearing it when I am going to do manual labor (although I do wash dishes with it on). The trick is putting it in a safe place when taking it off. The kitchen counter does not qualify as safe! My safe spot is in or on top of my jewelry box.

I am enjoying my beautiful new ring and unlike Bilbo Baggins am very glad it doesn't make me invisible, since I love looking at it on my hand!

Proverbs 31 Women, Revisited

Last year at about this time I wrote a blog post called "A Proverbs 31 Woman." Here it is.

Recently on Facebook that post received renewed attention. It was discussed by someone who blocked me from the discussion and who further refused to allow a link to the post to be included on the thread. That same person alluded to my post on his blog here. I am the writer who is said to have "virtually laugh[ed] off Proverbs 31 . . . saying that text does not really apply to individuals but is really about Christ and the Church."

Since I could not participate in the discussion on Facebook and since I am not allowed to comment on the above writer's blog (or at least have been rejected enough times in the past that I no longer wish to try), I must defend myself here. Please notice that the author quoted above says that I "virtually" laughed off Proverbs 31. That is an interesting qualifier, providing the writer an out. But the truth is that while yes, there was humor in the post, it was self-deprecating humor, laughing at myself. I do not laugh at God's Word. I am a poor, miserable sinner and I neglect it and daily fail to follow it perfectly. But it is my only hope in this world. So I take seriously this accusation and hereby refute it. "I am not ashamed of the Gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes." (Romans 1:16)

The blogger includes me in a group of examples of what he says illustrate an "aversion to sanctification caused by phobic allergic reaction to any talk about good works." I fail to see how my blog post illustrates that phenomenon. The point of the blog post was not to discount good works. As I have been catechized by several dear, faithful Lutheran pastors over the past 25 years, I believe that good works flow from the new man (or woman) in Christ. I am called to keep God's Law perfectly, but because I was dead in my sin and unable to do so God sent His Son to live the perfect life for me and then to go to the cross to pay the price for my sins. I look to Christ Crucified and see that my sin put Him there, and I am devastated, crushed by guilt. But then my Saviour extends to me forgiveness and the gift of faith, and as His love is poured into me it flows right back out again in the form of good works--not of my doing, but of His. "I can do all things through Him Who strengthens me." (Philippians 4:13)

Regarding the charge that I claimed the passage did not apply to individuals: that is nowhere stated. To state that I see one thing (a picture of Christ and His church) in the blog post is not to discount other things that may be there. In fact, as I go line by line through the passage, showing how I fail to measure up, what am I doing if not applying it to myself? Am I not an individual?

A year has passed since I wrote that post and if I were to write it today I would probably change one thing. I concluded in the post that Proverbs 31 is gospel. But as illustrated by the examples of all the ways I do not succeed at being a Proverbs 31 woman, it is also law. So I should have said it is both. And isn't that pretty much the case with all of God's Word? It kills us with Law and then brings us back to life with Gospel. And in our new life in Christ, we go forth in joy, sharing His love by proclaiming what He has done and gladly serving those He places before us.

As I wrote last year, I sometimes hear women, Christian friends of mine, despairing of their ability to be Proverbs 31 women. They want to be, but they are beaten down by their sin and overwhelmed by life and they are tired, so very tired. The purpose of the blog post was nothing else but to encourage those dear ladies, to tell them that far from being discouraged by the passage they should find comfort in it because while they might not feel like Proverbs 31 women, they are. In Christ they are! And what else would they want to be? They are clothed in the spotless robe of Christ, adorned by the beautiful jewels of His righteousness, equipped to do excellently while their works praise them in the gates.

Twenty-Four and Counting

(Rerunning this post, updated, from three years ago.)

Once there was a little girl named Cheryl . . .


. . . and a little boy named Phillip.

Cheryl lived in Texas. Phillip lived in lots of places--Virginia, Malta, Maine, Nebraska--until one day, he too came to reside in the Lone Star State.

Cheryl & Phillip both loved playing the piano--so much so that they ended up majoring in music at the same school. When Cheryl was a freshman and Phil was a sophomore, they met and became friends.

Then they became more than friends. . .

. . . and the day came when they invited all their loved ones to come to a wedding! First was the rehearsal . . .

. . . then the wedding. Phew! We did it!


It was a grand day, with cake, punch, music . . .


. . . and lots of friends and family.


When the festivities were over, Cheryl and Phil made a quick getaway . . .

. . . and drove off to start their new life.

In time there was a baby . . .

. . . and another . . .

. . . and another.

Phil and Cheryl lived happily ever after, turning one year of marriage into five, ten, fifteen, twenty, and as of today, twenty-four.

Happy anniversary to the one and only love of my life, the one who completes my days, and without whom I can't imagine living. As we stand on the threshhold of the next twenty-five years, I can't wait to see what lies ahead.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you." (Jeremiah 29:11-12)