You would think that after 22 years of knowing God, going to church, and being around encouraging people, I'd always feel pretty secure as a person. But I sometimes struggle with the lie that, despite my rich theological environment/heritage, I must be a disappointment to God.
This lie bleeps loudest when I consider my less-than-holy dealings with other people - particularly knee-high people who scream when they don't get their way and can't even get themselves a glass of water without help.
Now, the Bible has a TON to counteract the lie. I have a scriptural crush on Hebrews and am reading through it at the moment. There's so much truth in there about how my debt has been paid "Once for All" and how Jesus is able to save forever those who draw near to Him through faith because He always lives to intercede for them. There's even an Old Testament quote in there where God talks about how, in the New Covenant, He will remember people's sins no more.
"Yep, yep, yep. True, true, true" as E.B. White's Goose said. But sometimes it's my heart that needs reminding - not my head.
And who does God use to give me these reminders? See aforementioned knee-high others.
About a month ago, Selah learned how to brush my hair without threatening my roots. I LOVE having my hair brushed. And lately, she's adopted a particularly endearing habit of informing me of my truest identity while she combs through my fine, graying tresses: "Mommy, you're a princess!"
*sniff*
Another time, I shoved my to-do list aside and just let Caleb lay on me while I sat on the couch. He was touching and chewing stuff and just being a happy baby when it hit me - I'm delighting in this kid. He's not producing a product. He's not having a deep conversation. Heck, he's not even being particularly clean or neat. He's just being. Being happy. Being happy in my presence. Being happy in my presence, and being close enough to nuzzle.
I literally teared up thinking about that.
Yay for heart reminders!
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Only For A Season - A Poem
And... We're back! At least for monthly posts :-).
Ever have a summer job that made you wonder why you were getting paid? The summer befrore Jason and I married, I worked in a retail kitchenware store and often spent hours alone at the the register. Who buys kitchen supplies at 9:00am anyway?
During one particularly slow day, I scribbled the following poem on a napkin and dreamed of my wedding in December. Enjoy!
Only for a season
Shall that seat near you be empty
Only for a season
Shall you hunger for my hand
Only for a season
Will you just see flicks with Lee
But I am also waiting
And our pain He understands
Only for a season
Shall I miss your handsome smile
Only for a season
Shall I not be at your side
Only for a season
Shall you race a lonely mile
But know that He is with you
And I long to be your bride
Only for a season
You’ll eat icecream on your own
Only for a season
Desire shall be fettered
Only for a season
My voice shall ring just on the phone
And you’ll find new motivation waiting for December
Only for a season
We’ll pray with hands un-intertwined
Only for a season
Our hearts both burn and ache
Only for a season
Shall we endure this discipline
Emerging from this blazing trial pure
Should we partake
Only for a season
Will you not gaze in my eyes
Only for a season will my face begin to fade
Only for a season
Will patience you despise
But God’s still sculpting us into His shape
From lumps of clay
Only for a season
Will your lips yearn for my kiss
Only for a season
Will you feel a sort of lacking
Only for a season
Dear Jason, you I’ll miss
But soon our pain will turn to joy
And mourning turn to dancing
For Jason dear, we merely mirror
The Truth of Jesus’ love
And how though we
Still sinners be
Receive grace from above
He is the Groom; We are His church
United two as One
And our love imitates His own
As we rest upon His Son
Why we’re so blessed
Though hearts feel torn
I cannot guess His reason
But this I know
He loves us more
Than only for a season
Ever have a summer job that made you wonder why you were getting paid? The summer befrore Jason and I married, I worked in a retail kitchenware store and often spent hours alone at the the register. Who buys kitchen supplies at 9:00am anyway?
During one particularly slow day, I scribbled the following poem on a napkin and dreamed of my wedding in December. Enjoy!
Only for a season
Shall that seat near you be empty
Only for a season
Shall you hunger for my hand
Only for a season
Will you just see flicks with Lee
But I am also waiting
And our pain He understands
Only for a season
Shall I miss your handsome smile
Only for a season
Shall I not be at your side
Only for a season
Shall you race a lonely mile
But know that He is with you
And I long to be your bride
Only for a season
You’ll eat icecream on your own
Only for a season
Desire shall be fettered
Only for a season
My voice shall ring just on the phone
And you’ll find new motivation waiting for December
Only for a season
We’ll pray with hands un-intertwined
Only for a season
Our hearts both burn and ache
Only for a season
Shall we endure this discipline
Emerging from this blazing trial pure
Should we partake
Only for a season
Will you not gaze in my eyes
Only for a season will my face begin to fade
Only for a season
Will patience you despise
But God’s still sculpting us into His shape
From lumps of clay
Only for a season
Will your lips yearn for my kiss
Only for a season
Will you feel a sort of lacking
Only for a season
Dear Jason, you I’ll miss
But soon our pain will turn to joy
And mourning turn to dancing
For Jason dear, we merely mirror
The Truth of Jesus’ love
And how though we
Still sinners be
Receive grace from above
He is the Groom; We are His church
United two as One
And our love imitates His own
As we rest upon His Son
Why we’re so blessed
Though hearts feel torn
I cannot guess His reason
But this I know
He loves us more
Than only for a season
Monday, February 15, 2010
Boston Pie in the Sky (Part 2 of 2)
“Excuse me,” I said, “I’m sorry to bother you, but my car’s making a funny noise. Do you have any idea what could be wrong?”
The man took one look at Wim’s car and replied with, “Well, for starters, you have a flat tire.”
A flat tire? Great. How would I make it to mile nineteen in time to see Jason? How would I even make it out of the parking lot? Thankfully, Wim had a spare tire in the trunk and the gentleman happened to be a mechanic by trade (not just by gender). He graciously volunteered to put the donut on for me.
“Now, just don’t drive over fifty-five and you’ll be fine,” he said, rising to his feet.
I thanked the man and headed for the highway. The tire change had cost me some time, but I decided to play it safe and drive slowly. If the spare exploded, I’d have to walk to Boston. And carry three spent men back to the car.
I drove about twenty miles, picked an exit, and tried to find the racecourse. After getting directions at a Laundromat and navigating through car-logged residential streets, I found a parking space and checked my cell phone to estimate Jason’s running time.
Jason had told me, to my amazement, that modern marathon runners wear computer chips on their shoes to track their progress. He’d also arranged for my cell phone to receive text messages informing me of his pace as he passed certain mile markers. My cell phone now showed that he’d passed mile fifteen running a six minute, twenty second pace…about half and hour earlier. I tried doing the math in my head. If he’d maintained that pace through mile nineteen, then I’d already missed him.
Now I was running. I found a suitable spot within the narrow crowd of people lining the racecourse and clapped half-heartedly for passing sweaty strangers. I didn’t see Jason anywhere. Although I knew he’d still love me regardless of my athletic attendance, I’d come to Boston to cheer him on - not carry him home.
I waited a few anxious minutes without seeing Jason, then trudged into a nearby bakery to get directions to the subway. I felt like a loser girlfriend. But maybe I could catch him at the finish line. Blinking back tears, I explained my situation to the cashier inside and scribbled her directions onto a napkin. Interestingly enough, her instructions told me to cross the actual racecourse.
I jogged a hundred yards or so along the throng of people and looked both ways before crossing the road. Once the closest runners passed by, I dashed to the other side of the street. As I reached it, I heard a familiar shout.
“Kate!” Jason yelled as his feet pounded the pavement. I spun around, astounded. Jason had no idea why I’d crossed the course, but he gave me a hug, told me he loved me, and sprinted away. Had I been a mere fifteen seconds earlier, we never would have seen each other.
My eyes and shirt were both damp from Jason’s embrace. I was filled with wonder at God’s sense of timing, and could not have felt happier even if Jason had won the Boston.
The man took one look at Wim’s car and replied with, “Well, for starters, you have a flat tire.”
A flat tire? Great. How would I make it to mile nineteen in time to see Jason? How would I even make it out of the parking lot? Thankfully, Wim had a spare tire in the trunk and the gentleman happened to be a mechanic by trade (not just by gender). He graciously volunteered to put the donut on for me.
“Now, just don’t drive over fifty-five and you’ll be fine,” he said, rising to his feet.
I thanked the man and headed for the highway. The tire change had cost me some time, but I decided to play it safe and drive slowly. If the spare exploded, I’d have to walk to Boston. And carry three spent men back to the car.
I drove about twenty miles, picked an exit, and tried to find the racecourse. After getting directions at a Laundromat and navigating through car-logged residential streets, I found a parking space and checked my cell phone to estimate Jason’s running time.
Jason had told me, to my amazement, that modern marathon runners wear computer chips on their shoes to track their progress. He’d also arranged for my cell phone to receive text messages informing me of his pace as he passed certain mile markers. My cell phone now showed that he’d passed mile fifteen running a six minute, twenty second pace…about half and hour earlier. I tried doing the math in my head. If he’d maintained that pace through mile nineteen, then I’d already missed him.
Now I was running. I found a suitable spot within the narrow crowd of people lining the racecourse and clapped half-heartedly for passing sweaty strangers. I didn’t see Jason anywhere. Although I knew he’d still love me regardless of my athletic attendance, I’d come to Boston to cheer him on - not carry him home.
I waited a few anxious minutes without seeing Jason, then trudged into a nearby bakery to get directions to the subway. I felt like a loser girlfriend. But maybe I could catch him at the finish line. Blinking back tears, I explained my situation to the cashier inside and scribbled her directions onto a napkin. Interestingly enough, her instructions told me to cross the actual racecourse.
I jogged a hundred yards or so along the throng of people and looked both ways before crossing the road. Once the closest runners passed by, I dashed to the other side of the street. As I reached it, I heard a familiar shout.
“Kate!” Jason yelled as his feet pounded the pavement. I spun around, astounded. Jason had no idea why I’d crossed the course, but he gave me a hug, told me he loved me, and sprinted away. Had I been a mere fifteen seconds earlier, we never would have seen each other.
My eyes and shirt were both damp from Jason’s embrace. I was filled with wonder at God’s sense of timing, and could not have felt happier even if Jason had won the Boston.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Boston Pie in the Sky (Part 1 of 2)
Confession: I’m not a huge sports fan. I’ve never flown athletic flags on my car, painted my face in bright colors, or whooped and hollered for my team in inclement weather. This is probably because there is no “my team.” I watch one football game a year out of patriotic duty, and even then I mostly just pay attention to the commercials. So when I started dating a marathon runner, I had no idea how adventurous the world of athletics could be.
In April, I flew up to Boston to watch Jason run the city’s famous marathon. He had already completed the Boston three times and had nothing to prove. However, he’d never had a girl in the stands before, so this race would be something of a novelty. I looked forward to seeing Jason rejoice in his element, and felt determined to be a supportive girlfriend.
For the non-sports fan, watching a marathon is wonderful because you only have to pay attention for the four seconds your man runs by. The tricky part is getting to a certain point on the course before he does. This is where expert driving comes in handy. And unfortunately, I’m no expert.
On marathon morning, Jason met me at the Harvard dorm room I’d spent the night in and led the way to his two racing buddies, Wim and Cal. The four of us piled into Wim’s large Buick Le Sabre and headed to the marathon’s starting line, 26.2 miles away. After missing the off-ramp onto the freeway, it took us nearly an hour to turn around. Boston doesn’t like left turns. Thankfully, we had plenty of margin and arrived at the shuttle site well in time for the race.
After parking the car, we boarded a school bus that took us to the starting line in the town of Hopkinton. I have never seen so many healthy people in my life. Thousands of leggy men and women wore tiny shorts and sat on the grass, walked under huge tents, listened to the open air concert, or stood in long lines for the portapotties. Meanwhile, hundreds of volunteers collected the runners’ bags, handed out racing bibs, and organized tables of Gatorade along the course.
The four of us sat in the warm sunshine until it was time for Jason to line up. As he waded through the river of humanity, Jason kept his eyes on me and mouthed the words, “I love you.” A few minutes later, a gunshot set the river racing toward Boston. I waved Jason off and retraced my steps along the flood of runners back toward the shuttle.
The plan was simple: after seeing Jason cross the starting line, I would return to the car, drive nineteen miles, cheer Jason on when he most needed encouragement, take the subway to the end of the race, and then reunite with the men. But does life ever go according to plan?
After I turned the key, Wim’s car rolled out of its parking space like a groggy tortoise. That’s not normal. I fiddled around for a minute, then sheepishly released the parking brake. Thinking all my problems were solved, I lightly tapped the gas pedal.
That’s when I noticed the flippity-floppity noise. That doesn’t sound good! Jason was getting further and further down the course by the second. If I couldn’t get Wim’s car to work properly, I could miss seeing Jason altogether. Just then I spotted a couple heading to their car. Feeling so stereotypically female, I rolled down my window.
“Excuse me,” I said, “I’m sorry to bother you, but my car’s making a funny noise. Do you have any idea what could be wrong?”
The man took one look at Wim’s car and replied with, “Well, for starters, you have a flat tire.”
Visit me next monday for the conclusion!
In April, I flew up to Boston to watch Jason run the city’s famous marathon. He had already completed the Boston three times and had nothing to prove. However, he’d never had a girl in the stands before, so this race would be something of a novelty. I looked forward to seeing Jason rejoice in his element, and felt determined to be a supportive girlfriend.
For the non-sports fan, watching a marathon is wonderful because you only have to pay attention for the four seconds your man runs by. The tricky part is getting to a certain point on the course before he does. This is where expert driving comes in handy. And unfortunately, I’m no expert.
On marathon morning, Jason met me at the Harvard dorm room I’d spent the night in and led the way to his two racing buddies, Wim and Cal. The four of us piled into Wim’s large Buick Le Sabre and headed to the marathon’s starting line, 26.2 miles away. After missing the off-ramp onto the freeway, it took us nearly an hour to turn around. Boston doesn’t like left turns. Thankfully, we had plenty of margin and arrived at the shuttle site well in time for the race.
After parking the car, we boarded a school bus that took us to the starting line in the town of Hopkinton. I have never seen so many healthy people in my life. Thousands of leggy men and women wore tiny shorts and sat on the grass, walked under huge tents, listened to the open air concert, or stood in long lines for the portapotties. Meanwhile, hundreds of volunteers collected the runners’ bags, handed out racing bibs, and organized tables of Gatorade along the course.
The four of us sat in the warm sunshine until it was time for Jason to line up. As he waded through the river of humanity, Jason kept his eyes on me and mouthed the words, “I love you.” A few minutes later, a gunshot set the river racing toward Boston. I waved Jason off and retraced my steps along the flood of runners back toward the shuttle.
The plan was simple: after seeing Jason cross the starting line, I would return to the car, drive nineteen miles, cheer Jason on when he most needed encouragement, take the subway to the end of the race, and then reunite with the men. But does life ever go according to plan?
After I turned the key, Wim’s car rolled out of its parking space like a groggy tortoise. That’s not normal. I fiddled around for a minute, then sheepishly released the parking brake. Thinking all my problems were solved, I lightly tapped the gas pedal.
That’s when I noticed the flippity-floppity noise. That doesn’t sound good! Jason was getting further and further down the course by the second. If I couldn’t get Wim’s car to work properly, I could miss seeing Jason altogether. Just then I spotted a couple heading to their car. Feeling so stereotypically female, I rolled down my window.
“Excuse me,” I said, “I’m sorry to bother you, but my car’s making a funny noise. Do you have any idea what could be wrong?”
The man took one look at Wim’s car and replied with, “Well, for starters, you have a flat tire.”
Visit me next monday for the conclusion!
Monday, October 5, 2009
Only For A Season - Engagement Poem to Jason
Only for a season
Shall that seat near you be empty
Only for a season
Shall you hunger for my hand
Only for a season
Will you just see flicks with Lee
But I am also waiting
And our pain He understands
Only for a season
Shall I miss your handsome smile
Only for a season
Shall I not be at your side
Only for a season
Shall you race a lonely mile
But know that He is with you
And I long to be your bride
Only for a season
You’ll eat icecream on your own
Only for a season
Desire shall be fettered
Only for a season
My voice shall ring just on the phone
And you’ll find new motivation waiting for December
Only for a season
We’ll pray with hands un-intertwined
Only for a season
Our hearts both burn and ache
Only for a season
Shall we endure this discipline
Emerging from this blazing trial pure
Should we partake
Only for a season
Will you not gaze in my eyes
Only for a season will my face begin to fade
Only for a season
Will patience you despise
But God’s still sculpting us into His shape
From lumps of clay
Only for a season
Will your lips yearn for my kiss
Only for a season
Will you feel a sort of lacking
Only for a season
Dear Jason, you I’ll miss
But soon our pain will turn to joy
And mourning turn to dancing
For Jason dear, we merely mirror
The Truth of Jesus’ love
And how though we
Still sinners be
Receive grace from above
He is the Groom; We are His church
United two as One
And our love imitates His own
As we rest upon His Son
Why we’re so blessed
Though hearts feel torn
I cannot guess His reason
But this I know
He loves us more
Than only for a season
Shall that seat near you be empty
Only for a season
Shall you hunger for my hand
Only for a season
Will you just see flicks with Lee
But I am also waiting
And our pain He understands
Only for a season
Shall I miss your handsome smile
Only for a season
Shall I not be at your side
Only for a season
Shall you race a lonely mile
But know that He is with you
And I long to be your bride
Only for a season
You’ll eat icecream on your own
Only for a season
Desire shall be fettered
Only for a season
My voice shall ring just on the phone
And you’ll find new motivation waiting for December
Only for a season
We’ll pray with hands un-intertwined
Only for a season
Our hearts both burn and ache
Only for a season
Shall we endure this discipline
Emerging from this blazing trial pure
Should we partake
Only for a season
Will you not gaze in my eyes
Only for a season will my face begin to fade
Only for a season
Will patience you despise
But God’s still sculpting us into His shape
From lumps of clay
Only for a season
Will your lips yearn for my kiss
Only for a season
Will you feel a sort of lacking
Only for a season
Dear Jason, you I’ll miss
But soon our pain will turn to joy
And mourning turn to dancing
For Jason dear, we merely mirror
The Truth of Jesus’ love
And how though we
Still sinners be
Receive grace from above
He is the Groom; We are His church
United two as One
And our love imitates His own
As we rest upon His Son
Why we’re so blessed
Though hearts feel torn
I cannot guess His reason
But this I know
He loves us more
Than only for a season
Monday, August 31, 2009
A Song For Jason
You asked me a question on an old wooden bench
With roses of kindness and a kiss on the hand
'Neath a coppery moon with a live violin
A night water ride and a provident dance
Season of waiting to be closer than close
Longest six months of my life
Candle-stands of iron and a pretty white dress
Prayer, promise, kiss, our first night
You are the one I've been praying for
You are the man running through my dreams
You are the friend that I'm clinging to
You are the son of our Holy King
You are the perfect gift from above
Jason, you're the one my soul loves
I love your smile, your corny jokes and that you drive
And that you still travel with me (though we're not often on time)
I love it when you read aloud and let me stroke your face
That you listen when I need you and remind me of God's grace
I love distracting you from a disenchanted world
Comforting you when you feel unfulfilled
Three years of marriage, two babies in tow
I'm excited to see how our lifetime love will grow
You are the one I've been praying for
You are the man running through my dreams
You are the friend that I'm clinging to
You are the son of our Holy King
You are the perfect gift from above
Jason, you're the one my soul loves
With roses of kindness and a kiss on the hand
'Neath a coppery moon with a live violin
A night water ride and a provident dance
Season of waiting to be closer than close
Longest six months of my life
Candle-stands of iron and a pretty white dress
Prayer, promise, kiss, our first night
You are the one I've been praying for
You are the man running through my dreams
You are the friend that I'm clinging to
You are the son of our Holy King
You are the perfect gift from above
Jason, you're the one my soul loves
I love your smile, your corny jokes and that you drive
And that you still travel with me (though we're not often on time)
I love it when you read aloud and let me stroke your face
That you listen when I need you and remind me of God's grace
I love distracting you from a disenchanted world
Comforting you when you feel unfulfilled
Three years of marriage, two babies in tow
I'm excited to see how our lifetime love will grow
You are the one I've been praying for
You are the man running through my dreams
You are the friend that I'm clinging to
You are the son of our Holy King
You are the perfect gift from above
Jason, you're the one my soul loves
Monday, August 3, 2009
Love Letter 20050308
Psalm 90:17
"Establish the work of our hands"
Dearest Lady,
I was merely going to send you photo[s] and these other odds and ends, but I figured some thoughtful words might be appropriate and therefore should be added.
When I say I love you please hear more.I am saying more than three words. It ought to carry more weight than a light package of chocolates or bunch of pretty flowers.
When I say I love you, hear me say: "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
When I say I love you, hear me say: "I want to be very close to you."
When I say these three words please don't hear cliche. Hear phileo, agape, and eros all in one.
I love you, Katie. Please hear sacrifice: I want to give up much so that you might be nearer to the King. When I say I love you, hear my heart pushing you gently into His eternal embrace. Hear me say: "I see Christ Jesus in your loving service, I hear Spirit's power in your beautiful voice, I am brought nearer to Him by you.
Hear me say that I choose you.
There will be times when I say those words and I have nothing for them to stand on or nothing to back them up with. Please forgive me. There will be other times I say those words and I will not feel their truth; I will not always feel in love with you. But I will still love you.
Because I choose you. And I decide to love you. And I am commanded to love you. And He is leading me to love you. And He is teaching me to love you. And I long to love you. And it is my great desire to love you.
Forever.
May I have the honor and grand privilege to love a woman of God like you? May I love you, Katie?
I do. Katie, when I say I love you, hear me say simply that I LOVE YOU.
Yours,
Jason
"Establish the work of our hands"
Dearest Lady,
I was merely going to send you photo[s] and these other odds and ends, but I figured some thoughtful words might be appropriate and therefore should be added.
When I say I love you please hear more.I am saying more than three words. It ought to carry more weight than a light package of chocolates or bunch of pretty flowers.
When I say I love you, hear me say: "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
When I say I love you, hear me say: "I want to be very close to you."
When I say these three words please don't hear cliche. Hear phileo, agape, and eros all in one.
I love you, Katie. Please hear sacrifice: I want to give up much so that you might be nearer to the King. When I say I love you, hear my heart pushing you gently into His eternal embrace. Hear me say: "I see Christ Jesus in your loving service, I hear Spirit's power in your beautiful voice, I am brought nearer to Him by you.
Hear me say that I choose you.
There will be times when I say those words and I have nothing for them to stand on or nothing to back them up with. Please forgive me. There will be other times I say those words and I will not feel their truth; I will not always feel in love with you. But I will still love you.
Because I choose you. And I decide to love you. And I am commanded to love you. And He is leading me to love you. And He is teaching me to love you. And I long to love you. And it is my great desire to love you.
Forever.
May I have the honor and grand privilege to love a woman of God like you? May I love you, Katie?
I do. Katie, when I say I love you, hear me say simply that I LOVE YOU.
Yours,
Jason
Monday, June 29, 2009
My Magical Engagement (Part 3 of 3)
Jason returned bearing an ornately carved box about eight inches long- a little too big for a ring box. He knelt before me.
“I got this box while I was in India,” he explained. Jason had visited Bangalore during a previous summer. “I wanted it to remind us of how God might one day use us in that country...”
My fingers glided over the pattern of intricate flowers and vines. My suspicions for the evening were confirmed. I knew where this conversation was going.
Inside the box were three curious objects. Jason picked them up and explained them one by one. The first item was a dried saffron bloom I recognized from the first bouquet Jason had ever given me. “This,” he began, “is a dried flower from India and since it doesn’t wilt, one of its names is ‘The Eternal Flower’. I give it to you now to symbolize my eternal love for you.” I sat in a dreamlike trance as Jason picked up the next object.
It was an iron key. “I need you to hold on to this key for a little while if that’s ok.” I accepted it silently from his hand, not sure what it might unlock, but also not caring enough to ruin the mood with questions.
At last, he pulled out a small wooden box. This was it. I was at the top of the high dive and there was no going back. Jason took a deep breath. “I got this box in Chattanooga. The angel carved on it is there to remind us that God will always be with us.” Jason slowly opened the top to reveal a small gold ring bearing three tiny diamonds. Jason held my hand and gazed deeply into my eyes. “Katherine Ann Ladny,” he began. “I love you. Would you make my joy complete? Will you marry me?” The world stood still. I broke into a huge grin, took the plunge, and answered, “Yes, Jason Andrew Mitchell.”
Jason slipped the ring onto my finger and kissed my hand while I sat beaming in a joyful daze. God had been so generous with us and now He was writing a new chapter of our relationship. After a while, Jason pierced through the emotional whirlwind with an unusual question. “Do you want to go on an adventure?” he asked. Another one? I was so happy that I would have gone to the moon if Jas wanted.
“Do you still have the key I gave you?” he asked. I’d completely forgotten about it, but thankfully hadn’t lost it yet. I gave it to Jason and followed him down another bank. At the bottom rested a two-person kayak! Jason unlocked the tiny boat. “You might want to put your ring back into the box, just to be on the safe side,” he suggested as he rummaged in the hull for the life jackets. The ring needed to be sized down a bit and it would be a shame to lose it, especially before showing it to anyone! We put our things deep into the bow of the kayak, tightened the straps of our life preservers, and shoved off.
Our paddles sliced through the dark water. Occasionally a wave would hit us head on, spraying us both. The summer solstice moon glowed copper and at times I would turn to face Jason and exclaim, “I can’t believe we’re getting married!”
We rowed across the river past the sleeping sailboats. Eventually, we came upon the Annapolis pier. Jason tied our kayak to a wooden pole, helped me out, and wrapped a towel around me. My jeans and tee shirt were soaked. We were tired, wet, and couldn’t have been happier. The whole proposal had been unbelievable, and it wasn’t over yet!
Jason grabbed a basket of tea lights and another book from the hull, then left me for a few seconds to see about something. I waited on the dock in joyful expectation not only of Jason’s return, but also of a possible answer to a secret prayer.
Prior to dating Jason, I’d visited a Sunday school class that was discussing the pain of divorce. It sounded awful. I was pretty sure that I didn’t want one, but I was also pretty sure that people getting married rarely plan on getting divorced later. I had little experience and didn’t want to marry the first jerk that paid attention to me only to spend years of emotional and financial heartache extracting myself from the relationship.
So one day, I asked God for a sign to indicate the man He’d want me to marry. And the “fleece” I chose was a voluntary invitation for me to dance with him on the Annapolis pier. It was a silly request, perhaps, yet here I was; sitting a mere hundred yards from the appointed spot. To be honest, I sometimes tried to force God’s hand by asking current crushes if they’d like to dance with me there. Before we started dating, I had even asked Jason. (He declined.) To this day, no one had ever asked me.
Jason presently came back, led me to the edge of the pier, and started placing tea lights in a large square. Curiouser and curiouser! My eyes soon wandered to the book that Jason had brought with us. I couldn’t believe the title! There, on the faded red cover, read “Modern Ballroom Dancing by Victor Silvester.” I was astounded. Had my prayer been answered? Do such prayers get answered? I flipped open the front cover and inside was the following penciled inscription: “Dearest Kate, shall we dance?” I was too joyful to do anything but smile. It was as if God had just penned his signature of approval on my love story.
A moment later, Jason helped me to my feet. His left hand lifted my right into the air while his other arm encircled my waist. In my mind’s eye, I recalled the time when I was sixteen, teaching Jason how to waltz for the first time. I grinned at the memory while Jason gazed into my eyes, hesitating for some reason. Would I be teaching him again? Just before I was about to ask whether he remembered the steps, a live violin filled the air with its smooth song. I gasped, delighted!
One, two three, one, two, three…we waltzed together on the pier with Jason leading beautifully. He danced even better than I did. (I found out later that he’d taken lessons for this occasion.) The song ended to the applause of several Annapolis tourists and the engagement was now complete.
Perhaps I looked silly dancing that night in my damp tee shirt, wet jeans, and soggy tennis shoes. But I felt like a princess in a great romance, enjoying the embrace of her prince and rejoicing in the smile of her King. God had proven Himself a masterful storyteller, and I couldn’t wait for the next chapter.
“I got this box while I was in India,” he explained. Jason had visited Bangalore during a previous summer. “I wanted it to remind us of how God might one day use us in that country...”
My fingers glided over the pattern of intricate flowers and vines. My suspicions for the evening were confirmed. I knew where this conversation was going.
Inside the box were three curious objects. Jason picked them up and explained them one by one. The first item was a dried saffron bloom I recognized from the first bouquet Jason had ever given me. “This,” he began, “is a dried flower from India and since it doesn’t wilt, one of its names is ‘The Eternal Flower’. I give it to you now to symbolize my eternal love for you.” I sat in a dreamlike trance as Jason picked up the next object.
It was an iron key. “I need you to hold on to this key for a little while if that’s ok.” I accepted it silently from his hand, not sure what it might unlock, but also not caring enough to ruin the mood with questions.
At last, he pulled out a small wooden box. This was it. I was at the top of the high dive and there was no going back. Jason took a deep breath. “I got this box in Chattanooga. The angel carved on it is there to remind us that God will always be with us.” Jason slowly opened the top to reveal a small gold ring bearing three tiny diamonds. Jason held my hand and gazed deeply into my eyes. “Katherine Ann Ladny,” he began. “I love you. Would you make my joy complete? Will you marry me?” The world stood still. I broke into a huge grin, took the plunge, and answered, “Yes, Jason Andrew Mitchell.”
Jason slipped the ring onto my finger and kissed my hand while I sat beaming in a joyful daze. God had been so generous with us and now He was writing a new chapter of our relationship. After a while, Jason pierced through the emotional whirlwind with an unusual question. “Do you want to go on an adventure?” he asked. Another one? I was so happy that I would have gone to the moon if Jas wanted.
“Do you still have the key I gave you?” he asked. I’d completely forgotten about it, but thankfully hadn’t lost it yet. I gave it to Jason and followed him down another bank. At the bottom rested a two-person kayak! Jason unlocked the tiny boat. “You might want to put your ring back into the box, just to be on the safe side,” he suggested as he rummaged in the hull for the life jackets. The ring needed to be sized down a bit and it would be a shame to lose it, especially before showing it to anyone! We put our things deep into the bow of the kayak, tightened the straps of our life preservers, and shoved off.
Our paddles sliced through the dark water. Occasionally a wave would hit us head on, spraying us both. The summer solstice moon glowed copper and at times I would turn to face Jason and exclaim, “I can’t believe we’re getting married!”
We rowed across the river past the sleeping sailboats. Eventually, we came upon the Annapolis pier. Jason tied our kayak to a wooden pole, helped me out, and wrapped a towel around me. My jeans and tee shirt were soaked. We were tired, wet, and couldn’t have been happier. The whole proposal had been unbelievable, and it wasn’t over yet!
Jason grabbed a basket of tea lights and another book from the hull, then left me for a few seconds to see about something. I waited on the dock in joyful expectation not only of Jason’s return, but also of a possible answer to a secret prayer.
Prior to dating Jason, I’d visited a Sunday school class that was discussing the pain of divorce. It sounded awful. I was pretty sure that I didn’t want one, but I was also pretty sure that people getting married rarely plan on getting divorced later. I had little experience and didn’t want to marry the first jerk that paid attention to me only to spend years of emotional and financial heartache extracting myself from the relationship.
So one day, I asked God for a sign to indicate the man He’d want me to marry. And the “fleece” I chose was a voluntary invitation for me to dance with him on the Annapolis pier. It was a silly request, perhaps, yet here I was; sitting a mere hundred yards from the appointed spot. To be honest, I sometimes tried to force God’s hand by asking current crushes if they’d like to dance with me there. Before we started dating, I had even asked Jason. (He declined.) To this day, no one had ever asked me.
Jason presently came back, led me to the edge of the pier, and started placing tea lights in a large square. Curiouser and curiouser! My eyes soon wandered to the book that Jason had brought with us. I couldn’t believe the title! There, on the faded red cover, read “Modern Ballroom Dancing by Victor Silvester.” I was astounded. Had my prayer been answered? Do such prayers get answered? I flipped open the front cover and inside was the following penciled inscription: “Dearest Kate, shall we dance?” I was too joyful to do anything but smile. It was as if God had just penned his signature of approval on my love story.
A moment later, Jason helped me to my feet. His left hand lifted my right into the air while his other arm encircled my waist. In my mind’s eye, I recalled the time when I was sixteen, teaching Jason how to waltz for the first time. I grinned at the memory while Jason gazed into my eyes, hesitating for some reason. Would I be teaching him again? Just before I was about to ask whether he remembered the steps, a live violin filled the air with its smooth song. I gasped, delighted!
One, two three, one, two, three…we waltzed together on the pier with Jason leading beautifully. He danced even better than I did. (I found out later that he’d taken lessons for this occasion.) The song ended to the applause of several Annapolis tourists and the engagement was now complete.
Perhaps I looked silly dancing that night in my damp tee shirt, wet jeans, and soggy tennis shoes. But I felt like a princess in a great romance, enjoying the embrace of her prince and rejoicing in the smile of her King. God had proven Himself a masterful storyteller, and I couldn’t wait for the next chapter.
Monday, June 22, 2009
My Magical Engagement (Part 2 of 3)
“I believe this was our fourth stop,” Jason commented as we were on our way again. “Fourth stop?” I wondered. I’d been so involved with my own feelings that I hadn’t even considered that there might be a reason for interrupting our walk every few minutes.
“Let’s see,” I thought to myself. “That was stop number four. It’s our seventh anniversary. I just received 77 roses…if the pattern holds, then our seventh stop will be our last and I bet I know where we’ll end up!”
The sky behind us deepened into indigo. On the horizon to our left, which now included the Annapolis cityscape, faint orange rays struggled to light our way. For our fifth stop, we rested on another wooden bench (still not ours, by the way) and watched silhouettes of motorboats cut through the dark tide. It was lovely.
“You know,” Jason began, hugging me closer, “It brings me such joy just being near to you.” My heart fluttered. We held each other for a few minutes and watched the sun dip from view. “We still have places to go,” Jason eventually said as he released his embrace. We rose and walked back toward the path, my body still enjoying the warm memory of Jason’s arms.
It was now nearly dark. Jason slowed as we approached stop six. I was slightly confused, for this time no bench was in sight. To our right waved the tall grasses of the park. And to our left was a clear view of the Annapolis Capitol and city lights from across the river. Jason shot me a reassuring glance and started descending the bank. I followed, greatly curious as to where we were heading.
“Careful,” Jason instructed as he guided me down the rocks. “Watch your step.” In a minute or so, we had successfully navigated to the water’s edge without so much as a scraped knee. The water lapped the land as Jason led me to a nearby boulder. “Rest here a moment,” he said as he started searching for something. Within seconds he found a wooden bowl and small towel. My heart skipped a beat. I remembered the story of how Jesus had shown his love to his friends by humbly washing their dirty feet. Now it seemed that Jason was about to follow in His steps.
Jason dipped the bowl into the water and stood before me. “Katie,” he said quietly, “I desire to serve you. May I please wash your feet?” I nodded without a sound. Jason started untying my double-knotted shoelaces. My, was I ever grateful I’d shaved that morning!
Jason’s strong hands gently removed my shoes, then my socks. He dipped each foot into the bowl, his fingers caressing me from my ankles to my toes. I watched in reverence as he then patted them dry and tenderly reinserted each foot into its proper sock and shoe. Despite the lack of light, he even managed to retie my laces. I smiled. Jason helped me down and led me once more over the rocks and back to the path.
We now approached what I was certain would be our seventh and final stop. This particular part of our walk was both the most surreal and the most silent. We spoke not a word, but listened to the music of the wind, the waves and the rhythm of our own heartbeats. With each step my expectation rose. I felt like I was climbing a high dive, traveling further and further from the life I’d always known. Soon the proverbial board was beneath my feet as an old, familiar bench stood twenty yards away and closing. Jason reached for my hand once more and I wistfully followed his lead.
Jason sat me down. “Just a minute,” he said before rummaging in the tall grass for something. He returned bearing an ornately carved box about eight inches long - a little too big for a ring box. Nevertheless, he knelt before me...
“Let’s see,” I thought to myself. “That was stop number four. It’s our seventh anniversary. I just received 77 roses…if the pattern holds, then our seventh stop will be our last and I bet I know where we’ll end up!”
The sky behind us deepened into indigo. On the horizon to our left, which now included the Annapolis cityscape, faint orange rays struggled to light our way. For our fifth stop, we rested on another wooden bench (still not ours, by the way) and watched silhouettes of motorboats cut through the dark tide. It was lovely.
“You know,” Jason began, hugging me closer, “It brings me such joy just being near to you.” My heart fluttered. We held each other for a few minutes and watched the sun dip from view. “We still have places to go,” Jason eventually said as he released his embrace. We rose and walked back toward the path, my body still enjoying the warm memory of Jason’s arms.
It was now nearly dark. Jason slowed as we approached stop six. I was slightly confused, for this time no bench was in sight. To our right waved the tall grasses of the park. And to our left was a clear view of the Annapolis Capitol and city lights from across the river. Jason shot me a reassuring glance and started descending the bank. I followed, greatly curious as to where we were heading.
“Careful,” Jason instructed as he guided me down the rocks. “Watch your step.” In a minute or so, we had successfully navigated to the water’s edge without so much as a scraped knee. The water lapped the land as Jason led me to a nearby boulder. “Rest here a moment,” he said as he started searching for something. Within seconds he found a wooden bowl and small towel. My heart skipped a beat. I remembered the story of how Jesus had shown his love to his friends by humbly washing their dirty feet. Now it seemed that Jason was about to follow in His steps.
Jason dipped the bowl into the water and stood before me. “Katie,” he said quietly, “I desire to serve you. May I please wash your feet?” I nodded without a sound. Jason started untying my double-knotted shoelaces. My, was I ever grateful I’d shaved that morning!
Jason’s strong hands gently removed my shoes, then my socks. He dipped each foot into the bowl, his fingers caressing me from my ankles to my toes. I watched in reverence as he then patted them dry and tenderly reinserted each foot into its proper sock and shoe. Despite the lack of light, he even managed to retie my laces. I smiled. Jason helped me down and led me once more over the rocks and back to the path.
We now approached what I was certain would be our seventh and final stop. This particular part of our walk was both the most surreal and the most silent. We spoke not a word, but listened to the music of the wind, the waves and the rhythm of our own heartbeats. With each step my expectation rose. I felt like I was climbing a high dive, traveling further and further from the life I’d always known. Soon the proverbial board was beneath my feet as an old, familiar bench stood twenty yards away and closing. Jason reached for my hand once more and I wistfully followed his lead.
Jason sat me down. “Just a minute,” he said before rummaging in the tall grass for something. He returned bearing an ornately carved box about eight inches long - a little too big for a ring box. Nevertheless, he knelt before me...
Thursday, June 18, 2009
My Magical Engagement (Part 1 of 3)
On the evening of June 21st, 2005, I discovered that God, although the established author of a bestselling narrative, is also a romance novelist. Jason and I were eating at the waterfront Annapolis Charthouse to celebrate seven months of dating. The sun slowly dipped toward the horizon as its rays danced upon the Chesapeake. Boats bobbed up and down with the gentle waves and a warm breeze sent their lines a-swaying. Inside the restaurant I sat across from the man I wished to dine with for the rest of my life. And though normally talkative, I found myself rather taciturn and a bit nervous this night.
Jason had dropped hints months earlier regarding the importance of this particular anniversary. I anticipated that before it was over, he would probably address the issue of my naked ring finger. So far, all was going well. The food was delicious and Jason had arranged for the waitress to present me with several yellow red-tipped roses (my favorite flowers) throughout the meal. I smiled wryly at Jason as I received each one from her hand. This wasn’t going to be an ordinary date.
After paying our check, Jason suggested that we change clothes before visiting one of our special places - Greenberry Point. I eagerly pushed open the wooden door to the ladies’ room. Goodbye heels! Hello tennis shoes! Greenberry Point was a nature preserve located on a peninsula that faced the Chesapeake Bay Bridge on one shore and the city of Annapolis on the other. Prior to our romantic relationship, Jason had introduced the park to me and a mutual friend. He had even confided that he one day planned to propose to his future wife there. When we started dating, he and I often sauntered along its sandy paths and watched the water from our favorite wooden bench.
After changing, we drove from the restaurant to the Point. Once parked, we strolled hand in hand toward the preserve’s main entrance. But to my surprise, Jason seemed to be passing it! This couldn’t be right! I gently pulled him toward the gate. Jason turned and said with a smirk, “Now where do you think you’re going?”
So much for a subtle hint. “Aren’t we going to visit our bench?” I asked. Surely he wouldn’t break our tradition.
“Oh, not yet. I thought this time I’d show you some parts of Greenberry Point you’ve never seen before.” With that, he smiled confidently and led the way toward a different path on the opposite side of the park.
After walking a few hundred yards, Jason retrieved a Bible and some bug spray he’d hidden and then introduced me to a large tree whose branches nearly dipped into the bay. We climbed onto a low-hanging bough and breathed deeply as the bay breeze combed through the leaves. “This is beautiful,” I remarked. “We should have come here before.”
We talked to God together, thanking Him for creating such a gorgeous day and asking Him to direct our steps. I would have been content to stay suspended over the water, but Jason said we had places to go and things to do while it was still daylight.
Our second stop was located atop a man-made sea wall. Thick logs bordered by large rocks formed a barrier to protect the land from the crashing waves. Jason stepped gingerly onto one of the wooden beams and held my hand securely as I followed. We sat and watched the breakers dash white against the shoreline while the wind played with my hair. “You’re so beautiful,” Jason murmured as he admired the work of the breeze. “Thanks,” I replied quietly.
Jason pulled out the Bible he’d been carrying and started flipping through the thin pages. “I’ve been thinking a lot about joy lately,” he said, “and I wanted to share some insights with you.” I made myself comfortable and listened through the roar of the waves as Jason read seven passages about God giving true joy to those who’d often failed Him. I was encouraged to be reminded of God’s loving faithfulness toward His people. At length, Jason looked up from the book and reached for my hand. “Let’s go back to the path.”
As we walked together, Jason seemed to possess a quiet determination about him. I was certain that all this creativity was crescendoing to something I’d only ever dreamed about, and the anticipation was making me jittery. To dispel my anxious energy, I suddenly broke our mutual contemplation with, “I’m in a mood to jog.” Surprised, Jason laughed as we trotted to our next stop. Our arms swayed by our sides in rhythm with our shoes as they pounded the path. Soon a wooden bench (not ours) came into view. I plopped down with a loud, “Whew!” as Jason sat next to me.
“Are you thirsty?” he asked.
“No (gasp) thanks,” I said, catching my breath.
“Well I am,” he announced as he reached under the bench, procuring a bottle of sparkling grape juice and a wedge of smoked Gouda cheese. I giggled.
“Just thought we’d have a little ‘wine’ and cheese tasting party,” he said as he unwrapped the foil from the green bottle-top. We both snacked, enjoying our view of the Bay Bridge. We didn’t linger long, however. Jason deposited the small picnic along with the Bible and bug spray he’d been toting back under the bench and headed for the trail.
We plodded on for a few minutes before finding another wooden bench (also not ours) located near the tip of the peninsula. Jason sat me down and asked me to close my eyes. When I was permitted to open them, they grew wide in amazement. Inside a wicker basket by Jason’s feet were dozens of yellow red-tipped roses, each with a small note tied to its stem! Jason started handing them to me, reading the notes aloud. “These are the things about you that bring me joy, Kate,” he said softly.
“When you smile, when you sing to me, when you leave long voice messages, because your eyes grab my heart, because you laugh at yourself, when you laugh at my jokes…” Jason gave me one rose at a time. My small pile began to grow.
“…When you point me to our Savior, when you put your hair up, when you let your hair down, when you hold my hand, because you can whisper and shout…” I felt honored, cherished, and then comforted as a quiet thought whispered through my mind: “If Jason, a sinful man, can take such delight in me, how much more would a perfect God?”
Note after note was read until he finally came to number 77: “Because you are wonderful to behold.”
We sat silently for a few moments. “Thank you,” I said meekly.
“Of course. I love you, Katie,” Jason replied, draping his arm around me. We put the roses back into the basket and Jason scampered through the bushes to hide them once more.
Jason had dropped hints months earlier regarding the importance of this particular anniversary. I anticipated that before it was over, he would probably address the issue of my naked ring finger. So far, all was going well. The food was delicious and Jason had arranged for the waitress to present me with several yellow red-tipped roses (my favorite flowers) throughout the meal. I smiled wryly at Jason as I received each one from her hand. This wasn’t going to be an ordinary date.
After paying our check, Jason suggested that we change clothes before visiting one of our special places - Greenberry Point. I eagerly pushed open the wooden door to the ladies’ room. Goodbye heels! Hello tennis shoes! Greenberry Point was a nature preserve located on a peninsula that faced the Chesapeake Bay Bridge on one shore and the city of Annapolis on the other. Prior to our romantic relationship, Jason had introduced the park to me and a mutual friend. He had even confided that he one day planned to propose to his future wife there. When we started dating, he and I often sauntered along its sandy paths and watched the water from our favorite wooden bench.
After changing, we drove from the restaurant to the Point. Once parked, we strolled hand in hand toward the preserve’s main entrance. But to my surprise, Jason seemed to be passing it! This couldn’t be right! I gently pulled him toward the gate. Jason turned and said with a smirk, “Now where do you think you’re going?”
So much for a subtle hint. “Aren’t we going to visit our bench?” I asked. Surely he wouldn’t break our tradition.
“Oh, not yet. I thought this time I’d show you some parts of Greenberry Point you’ve never seen before.” With that, he smiled confidently and led the way toward a different path on the opposite side of the park.
After walking a few hundred yards, Jason retrieved a Bible and some bug spray he’d hidden and then introduced me to a large tree whose branches nearly dipped into the bay. We climbed onto a low-hanging bough and breathed deeply as the bay breeze combed through the leaves. “This is beautiful,” I remarked. “We should have come here before.”
We talked to God together, thanking Him for creating such a gorgeous day and asking Him to direct our steps. I would have been content to stay suspended over the water, but Jason said we had places to go and things to do while it was still daylight.
Our second stop was located atop a man-made sea wall. Thick logs bordered by large rocks formed a barrier to protect the land from the crashing waves. Jason stepped gingerly onto one of the wooden beams and held my hand securely as I followed. We sat and watched the breakers dash white against the shoreline while the wind played with my hair. “You’re so beautiful,” Jason murmured as he admired the work of the breeze. “Thanks,” I replied quietly.
Jason pulled out the Bible he’d been carrying and started flipping through the thin pages. “I’ve been thinking a lot about joy lately,” he said, “and I wanted to share some insights with you.” I made myself comfortable and listened through the roar of the waves as Jason read seven passages about God giving true joy to those who’d often failed Him. I was encouraged to be reminded of God’s loving faithfulness toward His people. At length, Jason looked up from the book and reached for my hand. “Let’s go back to the path.”
As we walked together, Jason seemed to possess a quiet determination about him. I was certain that all this creativity was crescendoing to something I’d only ever dreamed about, and the anticipation was making me jittery. To dispel my anxious energy, I suddenly broke our mutual contemplation with, “I’m in a mood to jog.” Surprised, Jason laughed as we trotted to our next stop. Our arms swayed by our sides in rhythm with our shoes as they pounded the path. Soon a wooden bench (not ours) came into view. I plopped down with a loud, “Whew!” as Jason sat next to me.
“Are you thirsty?” he asked.
“No (gasp) thanks,” I said, catching my breath.
“Well I am,” he announced as he reached under the bench, procuring a bottle of sparkling grape juice and a wedge of smoked Gouda cheese. I giggled.
“Just thought we’d have a little ‘wine’ and cheese tasting party,” he said as he unwrapped the foil from the green bottle-top. We both snacked, enjoying our view of the Bay Bridge. We didn’t linger long, however. Jason deposited the small picnic along with the Bible and bug spray he’d been toting back under the bench and headed for the trail.
We plodded on for a few minutes before finding another wooden bench (also not ours) located near the tip of the peninsula. Jason sat me down and asked me to close my eyes. When I was permitted to open them, they grew wide in amazement. Inside a wicker basket by Jason’s feet were dozens of yellow red-tipped roses, each with a small note tied to its stem! Jason started handing them to me, reading the notes aloud. “These are the things about you that bring me joy, Kate,” he said softly.
“When you smile, when you sing to me, when you leave long voice messages, because your eyes grab my heart, because you laugh at yourself, when you laugh at my jokes…” Jason gave me one rose at a time. My small pile began to grow.
“…When you point me to our Savior, when you put your hair up, when you let your hair down, when you hold my hand, because you can whisper and shout…” I felt honored, cherished, and then comforted as a quiet thought whispered through my mind: “If Jason, a sinful man, can take such delight in me, how much more would a perfect God?”
Note after note was read until he finally came to number 77: “Because you are wonderful to behold.”
We sat silently for a few moments. “Thank you,” I said meekly.
“Of course. I love you, Katie,” Jason replied, draping his arm around me. We put the roses back into the basket and Jason scampered through the bushes to hide them once more.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
