Tag Archives: husbandlove

Fathers and Sons

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I keep a good supply of blank cards in the house.  My husband eschews sentimental Hallmark cards; he prefers to write his own sentiments.  And one of his fortés is note writing.  I’ve started to photocopy some of them before they are sealed and given to the recipient.  We celebrated Father’s Day yesterday; I secured Curt’s permission to share snippets of the cards he wrote to his father and to our son who is a father.  You would never find these expressions of masculinity in Hallmark.  He had a Boromir moment when he wrote his 70 year old father:

If I had to go to war, I would make you my captain.
If I had to survey the enemy, I’d make you the lead scout.
If we had to shed some blood, I’d give you first shot.
Whatever the challenge,
whatever the odds,
I would be optimistic with you
as either rear guard or leading the charge.
You have served me well already, fighting for me.
It would be my pleasure to fight next to you and for you.
Thank you for being a good soldier.
Continue to fight the good fight.
Your son always…

To our son he was Polonious, with several brief exhortations.  Stay the course. Pray often. Sweat hard. Live life heartily.  These nuggets of fatherly wisdom were sandwiched between these words:

From a father to his son who is now a father:
You are doing well.

Run your race well,
and you can be assured Gavin will run his race well.
Go before him.
I will always be behind you, cheering.
Always, Your Dad

[Addendum:  We gave our son, the father of Gavin the Great, this book.  The back cover says “Recapture Sunday afternoons and long summer days.  The perfect book for every boy from eight to eighty.” Check the video out at Amazon.]

  . 
Speaking of Gavin, he was my helper Saturday while I continued my kitchen project.  As I was organizing a drawer, here’s what he was doing:


 

    

My Storybook Hero

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I love and respect my husband. 
Sometimes I just can’t contain it.
Here is what he has done this week:

Worked full time at the hospital. 
This week he remodeled a radiology exam room.

Visited with the neighbors.

Cut down a tree and, with our oldest and youngest sons
(Carson, where are you?), split and stacked it.

The wood for winter 2007-2008 is in!

Read us a chapter of Leepike Ridge after dinner most nights.
This is the Slow Train method of reading, but we enjoy
experiencing this marvelous book together.

Burned the midnight oil studying and writing a sermon
to preach this Sunday. 
The topic?  Psalm 92, A Sabbath Psalm

Kept me warm.

Vegetable Stir Fry

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This is for you, Dana.  I can never repay you for the most delicious black bean salad ever, but here’s a down payment.

Put one glug (~ 1 T) of olive oil to a heated pan. Add chopped onions.
Red onions give a lovely color, but sweet Walla Wallas or Vidalias work just as well.

 

While the onions cook are cooking, chop up a pepper or two.
Any color is great: I love red.

These two jars are staples at my house.  I get them from Costco.
They are on the splurgy side of life, but my husband just loves both.
It’s quite an easy way to make my man happy. 
And since he keeps me warm (in many ways) I love to keep him happy.

This isn’t looking real purty right now,
 but those sun dried tomatoes are bursting with flavor.
At this point last night I went to get the ingredient that makes a difference:
frozen sugar snap peas.
Horrors!! 
What I thought was peas was lima beans!! 
Do I substitute limas and hope no one notices?  Yikes!
What’s this?  Oh, frozen cubes of pesto  from the garden: let’s try them.

 

At this point I added some cooked morel mushrooms, which are very dark.
While it tasted divine, I refused to take a picture.
Fortunately I had taken a picture last week so let’s substitute it:

Isn’t that a beauty?

I only add salt for seasoning.
If it’s a special day you could add a sprinkle of parmesan cheese.

I vary this according to what veggies are in the house.

You could add:

Cubed potatoes (add them first and cook them well)
Broccoli or Cauliflower
Fresh tomatoes in place of the sun-dried tomatoes
Zucchini
Thinly sliced carrots
Green beans
Corn
Mushrooms
Asparagus

The Reading Life/The Cleaning Life

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On Mother’s Day we told the kids stories from our first year of marriage. We lived in a self-contained apartment on the bottom floor of a brand new house in the country.  Our landlord (the guy upstairs) Doug was a jovial, gregarious, nice guy who loved to talk.  My husband Curt is genial, but he’s a man who puts his head down and works with a will.  Thus, while Doug was drinking coffee and talking about his plans for the day, Curt got the grass mowed.  Doug loved to analyze the differences between himself and Curt:

“In this world there are dreamers and there are doers.  I’m a dreamer and Curt is a doer.”
“In this world there are thinkers and there are workers.  I’m a thinker and Curt is a worker.”

Ya gotta love the guy. As easy as it is for me to laugh at Doug, I do the exact same thing myself.  For years I’ve held a dichotomy between readers and cleaners.  I noticed that my girlfriends who loved to read and swapped books were (like me) on the slobbish side.  And the women I admired who cleaned the lintels on a weekly basis, women who wouldn’t dream of leaving the house with a dirty spoon in the sink, didn’t tend to gush over the latest book they’ve read because Good Housekeeping was the extent of their reading repertoire.  

The person who sports bona fide credentials in both camps neatly exposes this false dichotomy.  My dear friend Lisa’s middle name is organization and she has more bookshelves and books than some public libraries.  Lerrina is organized, energetic, and cleans like a whirlwind so she could sit down and read for two hours.  Elisabeth Elliot writes of order, cleanliness and discipline in the home, but her quotes and literary references are evidence of an active reading life.  Even Laura Bush loves to Clorox shelves in her free time and yet she is a librarian who cannot not read.  

Reading that paragraph made me think: well, the key must be to have an L in your name.  Yeah right, CaroL!

As always, my husband is my saving grace.  He loves order and he lives order. There’s no sense gnashing my teeth that I don’t have a native love of dust-mopping, doing crunches and drinking nonfat milk.  I wish I did.  How many days have I been lost in a
book, hear my husband’s footsteps on the threshold, look up and see the
house with his eyes?  My young son saw me scrubbing some porcelain one day and he innocently asked, “Who’s coming over?”  I have oodles of books on this subject and have tried various methods.  All have been successful to some extent; the question is always how permanent is that success? 

I’m convinced that if I don’t love a clean house
I won’t be consistent in keeping it clean.

It’s as simple as that.  But it’s not easy.

So we’re back to the prayer that keeps getting prayed:  Change my heart, O God. 

Last night Collin was out collecting for the paper route, Curt was vacuuming the garage and otherwise taking dominion over his space, and I started (again) a project I conceived in August 2004.  It occurred to me in August 2004 that if I just pretended that I was moving and took everything out of my kitchen and cleaned, organized and put it back together in perfect harmony it would be a happy thing.  I know better than to take everything out in one day.  Over the years I’ve completed sections but never all of them at one time.  The kitchen is the command center of our home.  It is the room where I chop onions, crunch my Kashi Go Lean, blog and read blogs, teach my son, and talk on the phone.  As self-indulgent as it may be, I’m blogging about it to make sure it gets done.  Maybe I’ll even post pictures.  After, not before. There. 

  

Guys Holding Babies

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“He’s just like his dad,” she said. “He loves to hold babies.”

 

She was describing my grandson, but a memory of my own dad flashed into my mind. He would stand at the back of the chapel, a baby cradled in his arm as he shook hands with folks leaving.  Even though he had carried around seven babies of his own, if there was a baby in the room, he delighted in holding it. 

I’m thankful to have grown up in a culture, in a community, in a family that valued, cherished and loved on babies.  I’m thankful now to be part of a community of friends who teach both their sons and daughters to hold their little siblings, to comfort them when they are distressed, to give of themselves to these little ones.  In fact, around our parts it is such a common blessing that it almost goes without notice.  

But I look. And I see. 

I see the Matthews and the Lukes and the Adams and the Dannys and the Steves and the Gabriels and the Michaels and the Nathans and the Jesses and the Micahs – all those older brothers who comfortably and naturally tote the little tots who are their sisters and brothers.

Because, you see, I was once the little baby who was held and cherished and protected.  I had my own Dave and Johnny and Jimmy and Danny who found joy in carrying me from the car to the house, who picked me up when I was too tired to trudge forward, whose arms went prickly dead while cradling my sleeping form through a church service. 

We often think of the nurturing of children as a strictly female occupation.  But there is a particular security in being noticed and graciously treated by a father, a grandpa, an uncle, a big brother. 

If I were evaluating a potential husband I would watch closely when he was around children.  Certainly there are different levels of ease depending on how much experience and time he has been around little ones.  But there is a general disposition which will come out.  And a friendly exchange, a playful banter between a three year old and that potential husband would melt my heart faster than a dozen roses or a box of chocolates any day of the year.


 
My beloved holding our second son after he cut the cord, etc.

It is such a joy to watch my son as a daddy; he’s one of the best!

My dad holding his firstborn.   JWH, October 3, 1922 – February 14, 1987

A Father’s Blessing

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Curt’s words to Carson and Taryn:

A Father’s Blessing

May God bless you with faith,
for without faith it is impossible to please God.

May God bless you with repentance,
because every faithful man and every faithful woman remains a sinner.

May God bless you with courage,
to reject the foolishness of the world and to keep the law of God in all of life.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.
Amen.

Fifty Words

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Fifty Words for My Beloved

Tough-minded,
Tender-hearted,
Bold but careful,
Confident, cheerful.
True and faithful,
Patient and grateful.

Just arbitrator,
Wise problem-solver,
Honest articulator,
Handsome provider,
Genuine promise-keeper.

Funny in a quiet way,
Humor laughed at every day,
Strong in strength which won’t decay,
For his people he does pray,
Trusting Christ on Judgment Day.

Guess who has a birthday this week?  In past years the MagisterPater has been writing odes to his sons and essays to his parents.  This time we’re giving him 50 words. 

Great Calibrators of Faith

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Our family has an “unknown” in our life today.  

It’s one of those situations where you have to wait and see, hold your emotions in check, wait some more, take a breath and wait again.  

We focus on the unknown when it’s really time to review what we know.  God is good.  The Lord reigns.  He is able. Lord, have mercy.  Those three-word sentences pack a powerful punch, don’t they? 

I’m thankful for unknowns, not because they make me happy, but because they can be great calibrators of faith.

Unknowns bring our vision into focus and remind us that our help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.

We all subscribe in some measure to the myth of personal sovereignty; we all like to be in charge; we all have plans.  We plan for a straight road ahead and all of a sudden there is a curve!  

My husband’s words:  “As you know, the Lord sometimes draws straight with crooked lines.”   

Monday Marriage Musings

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A few years ago three young men in our small church left home to go to college in Washington, Kentucky and Florida.  Last Christmas each brought home his “beloved”  to our valley for a visit.  The three couples spent one day snowboarding together. This Christmas, within a space of three weeks,  these three young couples will be getting married in three different states.  It is such a joy to see how God has blessed these ones we’ve  known and loved and watched since they were young boys.  I’ve had each of them as students and one of these dear boys is my own son.  

In my daily reading, any sentences appropos to marriage get my attention like a flashing light in a rear view mirror.  I would enjoy sharing my gleanings on a weekly basis, as time allows. 

Funny story:  When my beloved and I were engaged we were given a list of books on marriage to read.  One of the books was Elisabeth Elliot’s Let Me Be a Woman.   Curt was told to read this book even though it was written for women.  At the time he was binding cardboard boxes at the dump for City Garbage when he wasn’t  taking classes.  His co-workers were rough, crusty, unpolished…..raw.  His lunch hour was prime reading time but he knew there was no way he would survive in that job if he were caught reading that title.  He removed the dust jacket and was always careful to hold the book so the spine didn’t show!

Surely it is impossible to love “too much,” for love is from God, who is Love.  Usually we love
too little and too sentimentally.  Our love, God-given though it be, is usually mixed up with
possessiveness and selfishness.  It needs strengthening and purifying.  Human love is often
inordinate, which means disorderly, unregulated, unrestrained, not limited to the usual bounds. 
If we love someone more than we love God, it is worse than inordinate – it is idolatry.  When
God is first in our hearts, all other loves are in order and find their rightful place.  If God is not
first, other loves, even those which are in no sense sexual, easily turn into self-gratification and
therefore destroy both the lover and the beloved.    Elisabeth Elliot in Loneliness


Fine Art Friday on Thursday – Kee Fung Ng

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Sampan Girl by Kee Fung Ng

Girl with Little Brother by Kee Fung Ng

Chinese Chess by Kee Fung Ng

Girl with Little Sister by Kee Fung Ng

 

This seems to be my China week.  I saw the Chinese cello maestro, Yo-Yo Ma, in concert (still glowing!).  Blog sistah Amy is over in China on a medical mission and blogging about it at Amy Loves China. On a more prosaic level, my siblings and I went out to a favorite Chinese restaurant, New Star. My sister Margo, a New Star patron for almost 30 years, is on a first name basis with Tom, the owner. 

While we were eating my eye was drawn to a large painting on a wall in another section. Four children are sprawled all over the bow of a junk, dangling their legs.  The children’s faces were joyfully serene.

As I walked over to get a closer look, my sister summoned Tom, who graciously answered my questions.  According to Tom, Kee Fung Ng is little known here in the states [although he does have a gallery in San Francisco] but is very well known in Hong Kong.  He felt lucky to have an original Ng painting.  They used to have another one in the store but his father liked it so much, he took it home.  Father has passed; step-mother still has painting. Exit Tom.

Googling “Kee Fung Ng” found these plates. They don’t compare to the painting in New Star, but it’s the best I can do.

~   ~   ~  ~   ~

I see two of my best friends from childhood soon!  Ruthie is coming over today to spend the afternoon with me.  And Michelle (Micky to me) is stealing me away Friday for a day in downtown Chicago.  There’s something about the pulse of the inner city, particularly the Loop, that gets my countrified blood accelerating.  Will we hit the Art Institute or see the King Tut exhibit at the Field Museum? I’ll let you know next week!  Both of us much prefer museums to shopping, but however we spend the time, we shall be talking and listening to one another. 

Dear, old friends are such a comfort.  We’ve been through thick and thin, hither and yon, painful moments of grief and great times of fun together.  No matter the amount of time since we’ve last talked — it takes only a moment to pick  up the threads of the relationship and be knit together.  

By Saturday evening I will be back in my own home!  My guys at home are back-packing so I won’t see them for another day after I return.  Sigh. Hat tip to Diane for quote:

An enormous part of my past does not exist without my husband. An enormous part of my present, too.  I still feel somehow that things do not really happen to me unless I have told them to him.   ~ Anna Quindlen