I Got You Babe

It was snowing paper towels. We were on our hands and knees, wiping up vomit, when my husband leaned toward me. "You know, I wouldn't want to be doing this with anyone but you."

I smiled at his words. We had said them to each other over and over again through long nights with crying babies, through unexpected deaths and cancer with loved ones, through painful choices made and endured, through self-discovery and change, and the list goes on . . .  And the list grows with each passing year.

But after twenty-five years of marriage (today is our  twenty-fifth wedding anniversary), we're still saying it.

I'm not an expert in marriage. I'm not even an expert in my own marriage. But this I know: I wouldn't want to be doing life with anyone else than the man who took my hand twenty-five years ago and committed himself, before God and others, to stay by my side for better and for worse.  And who can turn the most disagreeable task, like cleaning up vomit, into a romantic promise by saying those precious words yet again, "You know, I wouldn't want to be doing this with anyone but you."

Right back at ya, Babe. I pray we get another twenty-five. Happy Anniversary!


Thanks for allowing me to digress this week and throughout advent. Next week we'll explore why kids don't tell when they're abused--important knowledge to have in the effort to protect our kids. 

Merry Christmas! Tamar's Redemption Style

She entered the room. Everyone stared. Some whispered. They thought it was a bold move by the one who had created the latest scandal, showing up in public, displaying the evidence of her choices for all to see.

She cradled the evidence, the newborn, protectively, nervously, in her arms. She had come to this gathering to honor her dad.

Her father ignored their stares. Her father ignored their whispers. And right in front of everyone, he strode toward his daughter. He welcomed her, his face beaming. Then he snatched up the evidence, and cradling the newborn in his large, worn hands, he moved from person to person saying, "I'd like for you to meet my new grandson."

Nothing else matters to her regarding that day. All the stares and whispers are but a faded memory. She understood that she was loved. She knew that her child was cherished.

And it was her father who helped her take her first step toward healing, her first step toward her heavenly father--her first step toward redemption.

Merry Christmas! 

Luke 1:17 ". . . He will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children . . . " (NLT)