Love is like a box of chocolates.

I don't have any experience with true love.

For the past couple weeks I have been thinking about what it would actually look like.

I used to look for similarities in a mate, but I am finding the value in sharing differences.

This is the picture that was shown to me (inspired by a real event), and what I hope to have one day.  This picture has become quite complex over the weeks as my thoughts continue to mature, but here is the gist:

A family friend gives you and your significant other a box of assorted chocolates for Christmas. 

You both have a passion for chocolate, but differ in your specific tastes.

You love the dark chocolate pieces.  He doesn't care for them.

He loves the milk chocolate pieces.  You don't care for them. 

You both love the mint chocolate truffle.  He sacrifices his pleasure for your enjoyment and insists you eat it.  But of course, you bite half of it and insist he has the rest.

During a conversation with an elderly neighbor, you discover that she absolutely adores white chocolate.  Both of you run home, grab the white chocolates, and deliver them to the old lady, fulfilling her need and bringing her much joy.

The box is empty and everyone is appeased.  

"The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce: Restored to the Good of Both Sexes"

John Milton.  I will never dote on him like my Shakespeare, but he speaks of some gripping matters.

In "The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce", Milton fights the canonical law that states the only reason you can get divorced is adultery.  He delves into Matthew 5 where the church had taken Jesus' words and turned them into law, and argues that Jesus never meant that adultery was the only reason for divorce.  I will not focus on that for the purpose of this post since it is fairly convoluted.

Milton refers all the way back to Genesis to discover what the purpose of marriage is.  Why did God create Eve?  In the garden, Adam was romping around with all the animals, but he was still lonely.  There was a void that needed to be filled.  We all know the verse: "It is not good for the man to be alone.  I will make a helper suitable for him" (Gen 2:18, NIV).  God creates Eve to be Adam's helper.  This is marriage.  If Adam, in Paradise, needed a helper, how much more now does man, in a fallen world, need a hard-working, God-fearing, suitable wife to help him?

Considering we are fallen people, we make mistakes.  We may choose a spouse who is in fact not compatible.  Unfortunately, you probably won't find that out until after you're married and living in close quarters.  Milton actually condemns how hastily people get married.  We lazily go about our youthful lives, taking time in making decisions... except when it comes to marriage.  Society, friends, family, and even the Church, tend to influence us in the wrong direction and we become so desperate to get married that it doesn't matter to whom.  Upon marrying the wrong person, Milton says this:

Lest therefore so noble a creature as man should be shut up incurably under a worse evil by an easy mistake in that ordinance which God gave him to remedy a less evil, reaping to himself sorrow while he went to rid away solitariness, it cannot avoid to be concluded that if the woman be naturally so of disposition as will not help to remove, but help to increase that same Godforbidden loneliness which will in time draw on with it a general discomfort and dejection of mind not beseeming either Christian profession or moral conversation, unprofitable and dangerous to the commonwealth, when the household estate, out of which must flourish forth the vigour and spirit of all public enterprises, is so ill-contented and procured at home, and cannot be supported; such a marriage can be no marriage, whereto the most honest end is wanting; and the aggrieved person shall do more manly to be extraordinary and singular in claiming the due right whereof he is frustrated than to piece up his lost contentment by visiting the stews, or stepping to his neighbour's bed, which is the common shift in this misfortune; or else by suffering his useful life to waste away and be lost under a secret affliction of an unconscionable size to human strength.

As a woman, I have the power to either fulfill or increase the loneliness that man feels.  I have a lot of work to do before I ever put on that white dress.

Since the purpose of marriage is to fulfill that void of loneliness, there must be more to marriage than carnal pleasures.  There needs to be a total unification of spirit, soul, and body, in that order.  Believing that the only plausible reason for divorce is adultery, is believing that sex is the most important thing in your marriage.  This is shocking to realize.  What if your wife starts worshipping Satan?  (Extreme, ok, but you get the point.) What if she becomes a woman who cares not about you and your being, but only about your wallet?  What if your husband is emotionally or physically abusive?  When there are deeper impending issues, and when the man's loneliness is not being properly filled, THAT is when he commits adultery.  When a man is brought into a state of grief and loathing, or there are issues of idolatry and the unhappiness of souls, it is a much more legitimate reason to get divorced than simply adultery (which of course can be a path that unhappiness leads a spouse).   

Jesus on divorce says: "Therefore, what God has joined together, let man not separate" (Matt19:6, NIV).  But who says that your marriage was actually brought together by God?  God is merely a witness at your ceremony, not necessarily the one who joined you two.  Why should man try to keep together what God didn't even join in the first place?  In keeping with the character of God, if your marriage brings about more hatred than peace, it is not of Him.  When your marriage upholds peace and love, that is when God is in it and when God has joined the two.  In fact, by living in a situation where the relationship cannot be remedied, a failing marriage will affect the rest of your relationships, especially that with God.  Milton asks:

Where can be the peace and love which must invite God to such a house?  May it not be feared that the not divorcing of such a helpless disagreement will be the divorcing of God finally from such a place?  But it is a trial of our patience, they say: I grant it; but which of Job's afflictions were sent him with that law that he might not use means to remove any of them if he could?  And what if it subvert our patience and our faith too?

By being bound in a marriage that allows sin to enter, the effect is more separation from God, rather than seeking him out together.  But if you remove yourself from a hateful marriage, you allow God to have full reign over your single life once again.

...God prefers the free and cheerful worship of a Christian before the grievous and exacted observance of an unhappy marriage...

In a nation where divorce is 50%, and even higher in the church, it frightens me to even consider marriage.  Just because I may be against ever getting a divorce in favor of working through problems, no matter how hard, doesn't mean that my husband won't leave me without my consent.  After reading Milton's take on this issue (of which I just presented a mere smattering), I am no more willing to divorce, but encouraged to make sure I become the right woman and marry the right man, thus preventing the need to ever separate.

How I regained my faith at a Caspian show

The beauty of instrumental music is that you're not explicitly told what to think or how to feel.  You can simply close your eyes and formulate your own interpretations while the artists silently guide you through theirs.  There are no lyrics that set the tone of the song, or reveal the thoughts of the creator.  Like a piece of well done, fine art, you can listen to the same song a hundred times and it will speak to you in a multitude of ways depending on your season, your circumstances, and your mantra.  Without words, the song is able to organically flow through you, becoming something deeply personal.

With a band like Caspian, the audience is left with an unanimous reaction: happiness.

While leaving the show Tuesday night, my always encouraging and supportive cousin, Eve, held onto her good friend and guitarist, Phil's forearms in the most endearing way.  Through her frosty breath she praised him for a job well done.  "No matter how many times I see you guys play, I am always left feeling happy.  It takes so much talent to play the type of music you play and not make everyone depressed or longing to kill themselves."  Then, she put into words everything my soul was longing to shout but could not articulate. "You instill a deep rooted joy through your music."

Could it have been that my very own cousin was the answer to my pleading prayers I had lifted up just an hour earlier in the basement of that Middle Eastern restaurant?  It was there that I begged God to give someone else the revelation I was having.  It was there that my faith in Him was restored.

I love going to shows.  I love discovering music that is new to me.  But this was a holy night.

During the first two songs I found myself crammed near the stage with my Stoli Raz and seltzer, bobbing my head, closing my eyes, and swaying with the rest of the crowd to the piercing tunes oozing from Caspian's weapons of choice.  

The music was beautiful.  The notes were so tangible that I could have plucked them out of the air as they swirled around me.  

But then I realized what was really happening.

My eyes were opened. 

God was there.

I found myself being so thankful that God created beautiful things like music and that these boys were thoroughly utilizing the talents He gave them.  Whether they realized it or not, they were honoring Him by creating space for me to worship.  It was space that had always been stifled and occupied by other people's voices.  A space that longed for the expression of my very own heart, uninfluenced by anything but Caspian's instrumental background.

My soul sang a new song to the Lord.  First, I whispered quietly into my cup as I pretended to suck up the icy remains.  But soon enough, propelled by the melody, I was screaming out Jesus' name and singing Him love songs. Since God dwells in the praises of His people, I knew He was present in that space.

It wasn't only the notes swimming through the crowd of six hundred that night; it was the Holy Spirit.  Searching. Touching souls.  Waiting for someone to recognize the ultimate source of her emotion and passion that emerges with the aid of the music.  There is no giant schism between the "secular" and the "sacred."  God shows up in the most unusual of places and displays His glory.  He is so desperately after every one of us that He will use every method to wake us up, realize it's Him, and mutually grasp His heart, (even if it's enjoying loud music with an eclectic mix of people, drink in hand, underneath the aroma of falafel and tabouli).

And that's when I became myself again.  I wanted my revelation and my renewed faith in the one true, everlasting, perfectly good God to be shared with everyone.  Like Abraham bartering with God on the edge of Sodom and Gomorrah, I naturally began interceding for everyone within that room, just like I used to do.  I begged that He would show just ONE person that night where her joy and movement ultimately came from.  How the one that is touching her heart isn't Phil Jamieson and his guitar, but Jesus and his Spirit.  Just one.  

I have faith that He heard my prayers.

And I have faith that is where His heart is.

I am falling in love

In the words of Will Ferrell:  "I'm in love!  I'm in love!  And I don't care who knows it!"

I never thought I would say this.  I never imagined I would become so enamored with this person, so swept away in his wooing words and his immense passion.  People told me I would fall in love with him, but I didn't take heed.  I to

ok their encouragement as a far off dream.  "This could never happen to me," I convinced myself.  "I will never have the love they do!"

But I am drowning in the ocean of his expressed feelings.

I am proud.

I want to scream it from the top of my lungs and the depths of my soul!

I LOVE WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE!

I've cried... in public... while reading soliloquies, at the death of characters I have become fond of, when I realize my own nature in certain persons, and even at the sheer genius of his use of language.  Wow.  Even though I am aware of the plots and outcome of every play before I dive into the text, the suspense and intensity he creates forces me to remind myself to breathe.

How dare anybody ever turn the man I love into a cliche.  "To be or not to be"... Just a common household phrase!?  Nay, Shakespeare was nothing less of phenomenal.  Do you realize the profoundness of this statement within the context of the rest of Hamlet's life!?  His turmoil!? The brilliance of his speech!?  I implore you all to read it and find out!  

Fall in love for yourselves.  It will not be love wasted.

...plus, he's a hottie.

Gettin' all Christina Aguilera up in this joint!

...I'm gonna tell ya what a girl wants.

Perhaps I AM a words of affirmation kind of girl.  In reality, I think every girl desires to be loved with every love language, but I am just now discovering how much I love words.

An old friend called me a "jewel" this weekend.  It was nice.  It was reassuring.  It was a big ol' boost to my confidence!

I can't help but think about what I was doing a year ago today.  I was coasting into a beautiful summer in Durban, daily losing power over the hectic evening thunderstorms, and the government mandated neighborhood power cuts.  I was learning how to teach English to French speaking Central African refugees during the week and learning how to surf on weekends.  I was spending my days with an eclectic mix of fellow students, and my evenings with the most incredible Church family I have ever been a part of.

I still remember my last night in Durban.  After laughing like crazy over cookies and pterodactyls at Pippa's, we headed to Spiga's for some late night dinner... and laughed some more.  When it came time to say goodbye, I was given a multitude of hugs and even a few gifts.  But, the waterworks didn't start until a dear friend of mine hugged me forever and said, "You are a precious legend."  (For the record, it took over a year to reach "legend" status amongst my Americanized South African friends, and only a month and a half for those who didn't fly the coop... what's up with that!?).  

Anyway, the point is as follows:  Girls like to be affirmed.  It doesn't matter if it is a romantic situation or not!  They like to be told nice things and cared about through words.

That's all.  Just another realization I had this past weekend.

If grace is an ocean, we're all sinking.

Someone prayed for me tonight.  I didn't want it.  But they did anyway.  Turns out I needed it.

It's so hard to ignore the insignificant thoughts.  To focus on the things I know to be truth and the unchanging things that matter.

I still have unanswered questions.  But, for the moment grace is surpassing them all.  

It's comforting, but also a bit scary, to find out that some friends of yours have been going through the same exact thing and have been entertaining the same exact thoughts.  

Jesus is up to something and those against him are not happy.

I wish some fictional characters were real... and my friends.

You know you are a nerd when you thrive off of the local library's bi-annual booksale and the one gift you want for Christmas this year is a bookshelf (perhaps not as nerdy as my desire for years to have an overhead projector... but that is for another time). You know you are a bigger nerd when your excitement busts through the windows when your mother tells you she was already planning on giving you said bookshelf (even if it is just to clean up your room because there are literally books stacked in every corner... you should see it... I could build a fort!).

A year ago, the high school English department head (yes, the same woman who sparked the infamous political fiasco in the work room from my earlier post) asked me what my favorite part about reading was.  At that point, I was completely dumfounded... and just plain old dumb.  Everyone knows I love to read, but no one has ever asked me why.   I made up some bull-crud about how I like to be transported to the author's world and yada yada.  Although true, that question has lingered and the answer has matured.

Over the past four months as I have re-entered college and begun to tackle a book list of 50+ masterpieces that every English teacher needs to be well-versed in, I am finding that over and over again, these author's are able to tap into the core of human nature.  The ability to reveal such things so eloquently, and the realization that there really "is nothing new under the sun" (thanks Solomon!) is fascinating.  The way a slew of words written centuries ago continues to speak to my inner-being makes me chuckle.  This is my favorite part about reading.

I found myself literally crying over the death of one of Steinbeck's characters who felt like my own grandfather (with an Irish farmer twist), and yelled at Edith Warton's weak male characters (because her females who were discovering what love is wouldn't do it themselves).  This is what makes reading so good.  The intricacies and reality of human behavior and emotions are embodied and eternalized in the written word.  

Currently I am drudging through one of Shakespeare's lesser known plays, Coriolanus.  It is not my favorite, but majestic nonetheless.

Coriolanus is basically this Roman war hero who is a huge a-hole and ends up being a traitor to his people.  After he is banished, his lunatic of a mother approaches the men who exiled him, proclaiming that it was wrong to banish a man whose wounds he accumulated for Rome spoke louder than his words against Rome.

The tribune replied:

"I would he had continued to his country

As he began, and not unknit himself

The noble knot he made." (Act 4 scene 2 line 30-32)

Coriolanus was a noble Roman.  He was a loyal Roman in regards to his service on the battlefield in protecting his fellow citizens.  The people looked upon him with much respect, knowing not his heart.  But when he spoke as he did and showed his true feelings to Rome, all loyalty was broken.  

Acting upon the love you profess is necessary (oh how I know the hurts of someone who is all talk and no action).  What is less talked about in the Church is that you can't just do things without love.  Coriolanus is guilty as charged.  He desired to unify, build up and fight for Rome, but he loved not the Romans.  In fact, his character showed him to be a proud man, unwilling to apologize and humble himself for his wrongs.

What of us?  When we use our spiritual gifts, are they backed with love?  When we attempt to edify our Church, is love the underlying bedrock?  When we feed the poor, do we do it in love, or in pride?  If our words left our hearts and went immediately to our tongues without the filter of the mind, what would it say?  Would our heart scream of love for others and love for God, or would it proclaim solely love for self?

Are we all a bunch of CoriolANUSes (pun intended), acting in pride and raising ourselves above others?  Or are we acting as the image of God, remaining loyal in both heart and deed to the one who created us, and the others he created?

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.  If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.  If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing"  1 Corinthians 13:1-3, NIV.

This isn't rocket science.  It's just a realization I had today.  I suppose this is yet another facet of the wonderful call to "integrity" that we are given.

Baskerville

Digging his head deeper into the refrigerator, Tim pushed aside the relish and the expired yogurt.  "What do you want in your coffee?  I have a little bit of milk left... sugar... and some of that hazelnut cream stuff if I can find it...but who knows with these roommates of mine."

Mary craned her neck around the corner into the kitchen.  

"Oh that's alright.  I'm fine with just a little bit of milk...no sugar.  I'm a pretty plain and simple girl."

Tim made the coffee concoctions and joined Mary on the torn sage couch that once made its home in his Dad's house since before he was even out of diapers.  He handed Mary the oversized mug and she thanked him.  Eleven years ago, Tim kissed his first girl on that couch; a spunky, freckle-nosed brunette with two long braids hanging over her shoulders.  He had kissed her spontaneously after watching one of those ooshy-gooshy movies that girls her age like, and she proceeded to wipe the kiss from her lips, expressing her disgust.  

Now, he looked at the woman sitting next to him on that couch and could not believe a girl like her had never cringed at his kisses.  Mary turned her body to face him, her elbows resting upon her knees, one hand twirling her sun-kissed locks.  Her hair never needed much maintenance.  It was always messy, but beautiful that way.  Her other hand lifted her mug to her lips until she had to let go of her hair to assist in supporting the weight.  For a moment, they sipped in silence.

"I don't know ... I don't think you're a plain and simple girl...I think..."  

He had already told Mary he loved her and she had received it, to his surprise, with much gratitude and reciprocity.  The fear that the vision in front of him was exactly that - just a vision - caused him to brush his fingertips over the tattoo on his forearm as he always did when he got nervous.  Mary, attuned to his behavior after their months spent together, followed his fingers with her eyes that morphed to the color of the couch.  She waited anxiously for what he would say next.  He searched for the words.  How could he ever describe this woman who wore old hand-me-downs yet looked like a beauty queen, who expressed herself in the most extravagant paintings and was always up for a last minute hike without a map, or for an afternoon of sitting in the garden with a good book.  And out it came...

"...you're a total Baskerville."  

He looked up at her just in time to watch her eyebrows go from a height of anticipation, to the depths of confusion.  

"Baskerville?  What does that mean?"

He couldn't find the strength to explain, afraid that she would vanish as soon as he verbalized his feelings.  He touched his tattoo again and hoped she could discover his hidden meaning without him having to use his own words.  

"Look it up."

The corners of her lips turned up with the prospect of an adventure within this puzzle.  The gigantic coffee mug soon hid her face so all Tim could see was her eyes smiling at him from above the brim.  He chuckled at how he ever let a girl make him stumble over his words, but was pleased nonetheless.

After a day of treasure hunting through numerous internet search engines with no pot of gold in sight, Mary approached Tim, who sat with a book in his hand by the weeping willow next to the pond.  She stood over him, the sun on her back turning her into a silhouette wrapped in a halo of light.  Tim stared at the angelic figure in front of him.  Her voice, laced with frustration, broke the silence of his dreaming.  

"Ok, so I looked it up and all I could come up with is that Baskerville is a font!"  

She crouched down opposite him allowing the sun rays to flood in and warm his body once more.  He loved her at every angle.

"It is a font," he assured her.  

While laying his book at his side, he tucked a piece of her unruly hair behind her ear, taking his time so he could touch her as long as possible.

"Sooo... you think I'm a font...?"  

One eyebrow lifted as she demanded a reason.

"Well... kind of.  We learned about Baskerville in one of my computer classes.  This guy in the 1700s, or something like that, dedicated practically his entire life perfecting this font of his.  When you look at Baskerville, it looks like your everyday, simple, run of the mill font.  But, when you look deeper, you see how perfect it is... the proportions, the serifs, how refined it is.  It is the perfect font."

Mary's face softened and she felt warmth coming from behind her eyes.

Tim continued.  "Ya... And this was during the printing press days where they had to use those stamps, ya know, on that big machine.  Quite the tedious process.  Well, this guy, so treasured his font that he rarely printed anything with it, afraid the letters would become damaged, since all the stamps became worn with use.  And when he would use his font, he dipped the letters in an ink of pure gold... well, that's what they say at least."

Mary's face scrunched, trying to allow her sincere, touched smile win the battle against the tears that came forth.  She leaned in and kissed him.  Her eyes, now the color of the weeping willow fighting the spring breeze behind them, trickled tears down Tim's cheeks.  Without wiping them from his face, he allowed them to soak into his skin, wishing he could write her a book filled with his adoration.  

*Based on a true story ... unfortunately, not my own ... sigh*