Maranatha's Marriage GetAway, 2017

I remember sitting in the Olsen chapel at Maranatha Bible Camp over a decade ago and listening skeptically to a woman speak on the topic of purity in relationships.  I’m not certain whether the memory is from the Purity Conference I attended in 6th grade or from Junior High Camp one of the following years.  Nevertheless, I believed that I, a young girl who had not yet even entered the world of dating, understood romance and the progression of a relationship better than this married adult speaker.  The memory that is so vivid in my mind is her statement that was something along the lines of, “Girls, there have been days when my husband does something that makes me think, ‘I married THAT?’”  Whatever point she was trying to make at the time didn’t really stick in my mind, but I remember pitying her and thinking that she must have settled.  She must have never REALLY fallen in love, or she must not have married the RIGHT person with a SOLID relationship with God.  If she had, she and her husband would only ever be crazy about each other. 

Once I reached my dating years, I started to believe people when they said that marriage was hard, but I thought that “hard” meant getting used to the occasional dirty sock on the floor.  I had little disagreements and moments of irritation with some of my boyfriends, and I was still convinced that those would likely be the extent of any difficulty in my future marriage.  Those minor spats were easy enough to work through.  Granted, I was hurt on a much deeper level by a couple young men, but I just chalked those truly devastating times up to being with the “wrong” guy.  I wouldn’t ever have to experience that level of heartbreak with the man I chose to marry because I would refuse to marry anyone who had the capacity to hurt me that much. 

July 14, 2017 marked my 5th anniversary of being married to Jon.  Our relationship has been tested by fire in so many ways through that short amount of time.  I’ve learned that the speaker I pitied was simply being real with us and that Paul wasn’t just a spurned, ignorant, and bitter single man when he cautioned in 1 Corinthians 7:28 that married people will have trouble in this life.  Above all, I’ve learned that I am a sinner who married a sinner, and like every other sinner, we both have the capacity to hurt each other in profound ways.  We both desperately need Jesus and His overflowing grace, love, and forgiveness so that we can in turn freely give that grace, love, and forgiveness to each other.  Trust and intimacy don’t just generate spontaneously in marriage like they seem to during the early stages of dating.  They must be intentionally cultivated and pursued. 

This weekend we were given the opportunity and privilege to lead worship at Maranatha’s Marriage GeAway.  There was an irony in being on the other side of my wedding day and sitting once again in a Maranatha chapel (though a much larger and more updated one) and listening to another speaker talk about God’s design for marriage, particularly in the area of sex.  While much of the content in the messages opened old wounds and triggered past emotions, it was good for us to be reminded of God’s design and to have a springboard for communication about ways we can strive to continue to align ourselves with that design.  It was also good to be reminded that marriage, when done God’s way, is a beautiful image of the very character of God. 

For anyone who wants to listen to the messages we heard this weekend delivered by Pastor Bryan Clark (Lincoln Berean), you can find them at http://maranathacamp.org/marriage-getaway/ in the drop-down menu titled “Fall 2017 Session Audio.”   

For me, some of the highlights of this weekend included:

*Leading worship with my husband.  He originally planned on adding some more band members, but the director of the camp (Kris Cheek) just wanted us to lead as a couple.  There is something sweet and bonding about getting to play music and ministering to others together. 

*Getting to know some acquaintances better and meeting some new couples.  We ended up spending quite a bit of time with the “5-Year Club,” which was comprised of us and three other couples who got married in 2012, including one couple who was our anniversary twin (we got married on the same exact day!).  We played games, laughed, ate meals, and discussed life together.  Jon and I also really enjoyed talking to a couple from Lincoln Berean whose kids are about the same age as we are. 

*A beautiful, delicious, candlelit, and catered dinner and overall good food that I didn’t have to plan for, shop for, prepare, or cook! 

*Opportunities to enjoy and have fun with my husband. For example, we roller-skated for a few minutes for a short date night (we were pretty tired by that point and ready to get home before another early morning), while Barry Holbrook (camp staff and friend of ours) played blush-worthy love songs over the speakers.  He and Tanya (his wife) also shouted out for us to kiss, and the attempt nearly landed us on the ground in a tangled mess. 

*Getting a refresher course on some things I already knew about sex and marriage and also seeing some truths and making connections that I hadn’t before in various Bible passages. 

*Deep conversations with my husband on the drives to and from North Platte (we would have stayed at the camp if it weren’t for our 3 canine responsibilities at home). 

*The chance to evaluate and re-focus on being intentional about cultivating intimacy in our marriage and taking little steps towards making better choices with our time with that end in mind. 

Marriage isn’t easy.  Cliché, I know, but many hurting husbands and wives know the depths of what that statement can really mean.  Marriage is even harder when you try to figure it all out on your own, or worse, when you set it on the backburner and neglect it until one day you wake up to find a huge explosion of a mess.  I’m thankful for events like this Marriage GetAway that point couples back to the purpose of marriage and to the Designer of marriage, giving them hope, encouragement, and strength to keep fighting for everything that this world is trying to pollute, cheapen, and tear apart.  As with all other Maranatha events, I’m thankful for the chance to pull away from the routine busyness of life to quiet my heart before God and hit the re-set button on areas of my life that need it.  I highly recommend checking out all that Maranatha Camp & Retreat Center has to offer!  

Freedom from Fear

Halloween has never been my favorite holiday.  Sure, I have fond memories of wearing fun costumes, eating obscene amounts of candy, and trick-or-treating with friends, but all of that was usually shrouded by a sense of unrest.  The combination of startling and scary decorations, disguised strangers, daunting shadows, and dark streets was very unsettling to me.  I certainly could not comprehend the fascination with haunted houses that was so common amongst my peers.  While I enjoyed some of the lighter aspects of the holiday, my mind could not fathom why people would want to intentionally pursue and stir up fear. 

 

While I still have no desire whatsoever to partake in the likes of haunted houses and horror movies, I’ve found that I’m much more a friend of fear than I’d care to admit.  I let it seep into my life in subtle ways until it becomes familiar and, strangely, safe.  It’s almost as though clinging to fear gives me a false sense of control.  If I just keep a death grip on it, then I can prevent the object of my fear from ever getting close to me.  For example, if I fear snakes enough (if I refuse to go near any of their possible habitats and constantly keep a vigilant and paranoid eye out for them), then I won’t ever have to know the pain of a venomous snake bite.  If I refuse to let my husband indulge in his adrenaline junkie instincts to the best of my ability, then I won’t ever have to know the devastation of losing him.  Fear taken to such extremes is a prison masquerading as a fortress.  It whispers protection in our ear all while wrapping it’s coils around our necks - binding us and gradually choking out the very life we were trying to preserve. 

God has a lot to say about fear in His Word.  Specifically, He tells us not to fear...repeatedly.  It’s been said before that there are 365 verses in the Bible that command us not to fear.   I haven’t gone through and counted them myself, but whatever the exact number is, God obviously cares about what we do about fear.  However, anyone who has ever struggled with an addiction (or, to make it more palatable, a recurring sin) knows that, in most cases, you can’t just stop when you are told to stop, even if you see the necessity for it and have the desire to change.  Your brain has to be rewired over time (Rom. 12:2) by replacing your old way of thinking with something else (Eph. 4:22-24).  As we rely on the strength of the Holy Spirit to put off our old self and put on the new self, He transforms us from the inside out. 

Lately, God has been showing me His replacement for my unhealthy fear.  In Psalm 112, verses 1 and 7 say, “Praise the LORD!  How blessed is the man who fears the LORD, who greatly delights in His commandments.  He will not fear evil tidings; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the LORD.”  If I take God seriously - obeying Him and trusting Him in every area of my life - then I have no need to fear anything or anyone else.  This is not because of any guarantee of a life without trauma, disappointment, suffering, or loss, but because I know that God loves me deeply (Ps. 139; Jn. 3:16; Rom. 5:8; 1 Jn. 3:1) and is able to do immeasurably more than I can think or imagine (Eph. 4:17-21), including working all things for my good and His glory in the end (Rom. 8:28).  He can and will carry me through all that life throws my way.

This is not to say we should live recklessly or foolishly.  The fear of the LORD is also the beginning of wisdom (Prov. 9:10).  However, it does mean that we can do so much more than just survive in this life.  We don’t have to walk around with our walls up and our fists clenched, slowly dying within our hardened shells.  There is a better way.  We can find the freedom to experience joy and security by letting God do the job of being our Defender and Shield.  As we consistently put off our own fears and put on the fear of the LORD, we will give the Holy Spirit room to break our chains and transform us into people who are free, secure, giving, compassionate, and alive.  

Eva

As she lay propped up in her hospital bed, I could still see her.  The voice that so often said exactly what was on her mind without filter or reserve couldn't escape her lips, but it was still clear that she was certainly not an empty shell.  As the doctors talked about her and moved her, the familiar look of disgusted and obstinate indignation flashed across her face, creased by the passage of 83 years along with the many storms she had already faced in her life. 

She knew the pain of losing a husband - both to death and to divorce.  The agony of losing a child, both infant and adult, was no stranger to her.  She had experienced the pressure of financial struggle as she raised seven children largely on her own.  The fear that comes with having to start over from scratch on a path in life that wasn't necessarily chosen was familiar to her.  Hospital visits became commonplace as she faced physical struggle upon struggle, including back surgery, knee surgery, and multiple strokes. 

That last stroke was the reason she was all but immobilized in this infernal place.  She never was very fond of hospitals or doctors.  Her trials in life had made her strong and tenacious, but she was still only human.  She had always been a stubbornly independent woman who knew her own mind, but now she could no longer expressly communicate it.  The turmoil of such a paradox was evident in her eyes.

But as soon as her gaze drifted from her unwelcome care providers to one of her children or grandchildren, her expression transformed.  She'd smile and reach as best she could for her loved ones.  For just a few moments, she'd find some bit of relief.  She wasn't alone. 

Though she wouldn't really admit it, my grandmother hated being alone.  Everyone in the family knew that if she called once, two more calls would soon follow.  She would ask how to spell a word, whether or not we knew the last name of some acquaintance from long ago, or if we knew where another family member was at.  My mom often said she thought that Grandma just wanted a reason to call.  She loved her family.

She was a skilled woman in so many areas.  When she had more of her physical strength, her yard was always lined with well-tended, beautiful flowers.  Many years ago, she decorated cakes like a pro.  I've been told there was a time when she was also good at working on her own car.  Being a single mother for many years made her resourceful and competent in areas she may not have been otherwise.  Several of her children and grandchildren have intricate doilies, dishrags, hanging kitchen towels, and/or blankets in their homes that she had crocheted or knitted for them.  My own home is filled with those little reminders, including a beautiful Native American doll she gave me that wears a wedding dress that she made.  She was precise in her work, which resulted in high quality creations.  Her homemade dinner rolls were long anticipated and greatly coveted each Thanksgiving.  Several other family members have learned the recipe, but somehow it's just never quite the same as when Grandma made them.  She beamed with pride and was delighted when her kids and grand-kids appreciated and enjoyed her work. 

I saw the same look of pride when I would show her a crocheted blanket that I was working on or a wedding cake that I had baked and decorated.  She was thrilled that some of her children and grandchildren learned her recipe for dinner rolls.  Passing her skills along and seeing them continue for generations brought her great joy. 

Sitting in that hospital room, I thought of how grateful I was to have had my Grandma in my life; I know not everyone has that opportunity.  In my mind, memories pushed their way to the surface through the fog of the reality that was before me. 

When I was very young, I was in Estes Park with her, and she bought me a panda bear Beanie Baby that I adored.

In the years that followed, I remember playing with my cousins and celebrating many holidays at her house. I would jump on her trampoline with Cassidy and go on Spider-Man missions in her loft with Chris using the Battleship game boards as our computers. With Cody, Andy, Bryson, or my brother, I played with her Marvel figurines that had belonged to some of my uncles.  The boys always wanted the Hulk.  One particularly plague-like year, we chased and caught grasshoppers in her backyard by the fistful. 

I loved making 101 Dalmatians name cards using a program she had on her computer and playing her Tarzan computer game.

 

She helped my mom pull some of my baby teeth when I was being difficult. 

When I qualified for the State Spelling Bee, she drove my mom, a friend, and I to the event out of town.  I laugh now because I remember feeling so carsick due to her sudden stop-and-go style of driving, but I'm so glad she was a part of that. 

She was there to see me graduate from High School. 

The night that Jon and I got engaged, we showed up at her doorstep at a time which we didn't realize was long past her bedtime.  Her gruff voice demanded to know who was there.  Her tone softened when we revealed our identity, and she opened the door so we could tell her our exciting news.  To my husband's dismay, she was still in her bathrobe when she gave us both happy hugs.  That was the first time he met her. 

Seven months later, she was there when Jon and I became husband and wife.  She had worked hard in the weeks leading up to the wedding making doilies, some of which dressed up the reception tables and others that were shaped into flower girl baskets. 

She smiled at me, breaking the reel of images in my mind.  "Angel."  I could almost hear her say the name that she used for me.  I wished I could fill the hospital room with more things that would make her smile: Cali (her cat), Abel (the dog she had when I was young), hummingbirds, a bag of frozen M&M's, country music, food from Golden Corral or Pizza Hut, or her wall packed with pictures of all her many grandchildren.  Instead, I just held her hand. 

On September 13, the stroke ultimately took my Grandma.  She had her children with her, and she went peacefully.  Even though she lived a long life, it's still hard to say goodbye.  As Nickole, another one of my cousins, put it, "When you have convinced yourself that someone is going to live forever, it's a hard thing when they don't." 

Though the empty void produced by the loss of my grandma is painful, I know I don't have to despair.  I have confidence, comfort, and peace in knowing that this life is not all there is.  I know Jesus, the One who conquered death and the grave.  I know that those who have trusted in Him are with Him the moment that their soul leaves their body.  Not only that, but He is coming back one day with all those who have gone before to take the rest of us who believe in Him to be with Him forever.  Even in death, there is hope. 

I love you, Grandma.