Shop 'Til You Drop - Relationship Style

I just read something this week that riles me because of the attitude behind it.  It is nothing new, but the fact that it has become commonplace is a measuring rod that is indicative of the throw-away attitude of our culture.  Everything has to work now or it gets tossed.  

How many of us mourn the disappearance of appliances that worked for years?  Your toaster is no longer made of metal.  It is cheap plastic that will break down within a matter of a few short years.  It isn't worth fixing, because a new one is less expensive than a repaired one.  And where would you take it anyway?  You don't see small appliance repair shops.  The same with your blender.  Or microwave.   Or printer.  Broken?  Toss it. Buy a new one.

How many of us have wished we could go back to the days of quality, when things could be repaired, and we'd get many years of faithful service?  What I am talking about is nothing new.  People have been lamenting these things for years.  

How about our marriages?  Broken?  Toss it.  Get a new one.  Chalk it up to irreconcilable differences.  That seems to justify it well and allows one to move forward guilt-free.  In fact, don't marry.  Live together and test each other out.  Plug your partner in.  See if they spark.  If they do, unplug and toss.  Take them for a test run.  Worn out?  Ditch them.  

Here is the link to said article that I find disturbing - particularly the very last bullet of her shopping list.  All but two of these are great ideas - if you're married.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/wendy-atterberry/15-things-couples-should-_b_6061834.html?fb_comment_id=fbc_738193942934694_738261769594578_738261769594578#f856d74f8

But let's examine bullets 3 and 15 a little more closely.

#3 says:  Reach an agreement on how rent/mortage and household expenses will be split."

Split?  Really?  So, what's mine is mine and what's yours is yours, but we really love each other and are committed to trying to make this work?  Share a domicile.  Share a bed.  Share a bathroom - or not.  But what's mine is mine and what's yours is yours.  This is red light number one.  Already a tape line down the middle.  That is not relationship.  That is why "they" call it cohabitation.

#15:  "Have an exit strategy(Who keeps the apartment in the event of a breakup?  Will the person moving out find a new roommate for the person staying?  What about the deposit on the apartment?  Etc., etc.)."

And here, folks, is the disposable part.  Have a plan if he or she doesn't work out.  Cross them off your shopping list.  Thing about finding them another human being to replace you.  Go to the store and find another human being on the shelf.  Read the tag and ask about the return policy.  Take them home for a test drive.  If things get rocky, toss them out.  Go back to the store and look for another.  Lather. Rinse.  Repeat.

Well, hey, keep that shopping list, because I don't know of a single relationship that isn't tested with everything it's got when the going get's tough.  And it will.  It will get very tough.  I responded to this post, and what I got in return were comments made by people who decided that morals and commitment are old-fashioned.  I am copying the conversation here for your to see for yourself, omitting the names of strangers.  (I copied this verbatim, so grammatical and spelling errors are what they are.)

Hilary Laufle Osborne: Get married.

Commenter #1: Correct!

Commenter #2: No,  don't get married and raise the divorce rates. I think your missing the point of the article. It's not about jumping into cohabitation, its the exact opposite. She's saying you should be in a serious long term relationship before you move in. People tend to forget reality and run right to the alter without really knowing the person they marry. Moving in with someone is serious, but getting married is even more serious. Unless you plan on being old fashioned in all levels of a relationship, you should be smart about making plans with your partner in life.

Me to Commenter #2:  If you aren't interested in marriage, why would you care about divorce rates? Non-commitment is non-commitment.

Commenter #1: Commenter #2, bottom line, you don't leave together unless you are married. GOD SAID IT!

Commenter #2:  Commenter #1, leave? "You" don't live together unless you are married. Other people can do whatever they want. If they choose to move in first, that is their decision. Some people choose to rush into marriage and end up divorced in a few month time. All because they rushed into doing what they thought "god" wanted. These are the same people who pick and choose which pieces of the bible they want to follow. Stop being simple minded and realize there are plenty of people who are not religious and don't believe in god or marriage. There are also people who do, that take marriage very serious and don't want to get married unless they are 100 percent sure they will be with that person forever. This could mean being with that person longer than 1 year and living with them . when it comes down to it, you really don't know a person until you have lived with them.

Me:  And you really don't know your commitment moxie until you're married. True commitment that doesn't have - as the last bullet in the author's list of guidelines - an exit strategy. When you live together, there is always the exit strategy in the back of your head. Every single person you live with, married or not, is going to have you t*h*i*n*k*i*n*g of an exit strategy. Every person on the planet in any kind of close relationship is going to have their mettle tested. The question is, do you have the moxie to stay in the relationship? Because nothing screams more of "I am only testing you out and if you don't work out I throw you away" than living together. Yes, too many people have that attitude going into marriage - the obvious reason for the high divorce rates. And I'll be completely honest with you. As a Christian, I have often thought of exit strategies in my marriage. I am human, and even though my husband and I love each other very much, I still think of exit strategies. After 28 years of marriage, do you know why I don't follow through? Because it is Jesus Christ who makes it work every day, Who challenges me to think through on my options and the consequences of giving up. Exit strategies work if you are in an active shooter situation. Exit strategies do not work with people. They are not dispensable. So the faith that you bash when it comes to the reason people stay in marriage is the very thing that keeps us glued and committed to working it out, even when it's tougher than all get-up.

I am not a try-out. Neither is anyone else on the planet. That makes people cheap. That makes relationships cheap.

Someone else made my same suggestion about getting married.  Note that I said nothing about my religious views here.  My mentioning morals is presumed as a taboo, religious thing.  My family has morals, but not all of them have any kind of faith.  But, I digress.

Him: 1. Get married first.

Commenter #1: Got that right!

Commenter #2:  This isn't the 1950's.

Me:  Commenter #2, when did having morals go out of style? Do you condone an "anything goes" society? Because if you do, you have to carry that to your own logical end. 

Commenter #3: Marriage has NOTHING at all to do with morals. Marriage is a religious ceremony. It is wrong to assume that everyone in the entire world agrees with your religious views, and wants to take part in the same religious ceremonies as you do.  

Me: Commenter #3,  it does. Food for thought. If you are dating someone, and they are seeing someone behind your back, you would feel betrayed, yes? If you are living with someone and they cheat on you, you would feel betrayed. Why? Because you have a compass of right and wrong. That's what marriage is. Loyalty, companionship, etc......

Me:  Commenter #3, it does. Food for thought:  If you are dating someone, and they are seeing someone behind your back, you would feel betrayed, yes? If you are living with someone and they cheat on you, you would feel betrayed. Why? Because you have a compass of right and wrong. That's what marriage is. Loyalty, companionship, etc......

Commenter #3: Hilary Laufle Osborne, food for thought: If you're married to someone and they cheat on you, you would feel betrayed, yes? Just because you're married to someone does not always mean that cheating won't still happen. Most people in this generation have no idea what morals are much less abide to marriage vows and if you think I'm lying research what the divorce percentages are at now compared to whatever generation you're from and I'll bet you'll see a dramatic increase. Morals though haven't gone out of style, technology & the convenience of divorce have changed it to where they don't matter to many people anymore sadly.

Commenter #4: Hilary Laufle Osborne I agree that morals are important, but there is no correlation between marriage and morals. Being married does not automatically cause a person to have higher moral standards. I've been in a healthy relationship with my significant other for over 12 years, and we are both perfectly content with the fact that we are not married. Would you believe that I am immoral because I am not married? Maybe my neighbor, who has been married 4 times, and divorced 3, is more moral than I am? 

Commenter #5: Hilary Laufle Osborne  disagreement with one of your beliefs is not a lack of morality.

Me: Commenter #5, it isn't agreement with me that makes one moral or not. It's how you view the value of other people and relationships.

Some days my marriage works.  Some days it doesn’t.  Like all marriages and relationships, it’s finicky that way.  The two people involved in it have faults, quirks, gifts and talents, and are about as opposite as oil and vinegar.  But it’s when we get shaken up and out of our comfort zones, we work.  Our marriage works.  And, it doesn’t reach a “best if used by” deadline. 

Remember when toasters worked and cohabitation was called ‘shacking up’?  But since this isn’t the 1950’s anymore, I guess I should get in the groove of the disposable mindset.  Today is garbage day and it hasn’t been collected yet.  It’s not too late to put my imperfect marriage out with the trash heap.  Because what is the value of another human being anyway?

Hiking as an Object Lesson: Part II

So, after our hike in the Smokies, I told Marty that if I ever hiked again, it would be a day hike with new boots.  I would remember to break them in and tape my feet before putting them on.

Many moons ago, long before children, we took a trip to Jellystone (a.k.a. Yellowstone) National Park.  Marty wanted to hike in the Tetons, so I obliged him.  What could possibly be any worse than our Smoky Mountain debacle?  We packed up our backpacks with lunch, water, and Power Bars. 

After we crossed Jenny Lake by boat, we arrived at the trail head.  Now this was going to be pretty.  We were in a beautiful valley by a beautiful, swiftly-flowing mountain stream.  The Tetons towered majestically over us and I was in awe.  Many pictures were taken.  My feet were taped and comfortable in their soft boots.  I knew a soft bed awaited me at the end of the day.  This wouldn't be too bad after all.

Marty and I walked along eating our Power Bars.  I sang the Happy Hiker song and meant it.  (I don’t have the best voice, but really, I don’t care.)  It was a good day.  I was full of energy and spunk.  Not sure how long the trail was, but that was ok – until we got quite a ways along and out of the blue, horse flies the size of horses decided I was lunch.  Didn’t bother Marty.  I must have smelled like eau de toilet water or something, because they started biting hard.    Know why?  We brought no bug spray. What the hey?  How do you forget bug spray when in the wilderness?! 

Ok, party’s over.  Hilary has reached her limit.  There was no way of getting away from these behemoths and I couldn’t walk fast enough to keep them off.  I told Marty I was done.  Before I go further, let me tell you that our mothers appropriately named us The Bickersons.  Yes, we bicker a lot, mostly to pester. But we are also both strong-willed and easily butt heads.  Neither of us back down.  So right there, in the valley of decision, our voices ricocheted off the mountains in a bicker-off as people hiked by.  Marty thought it imperative that we get to the end of this particular trail.  He felt we were almost there.  I wasn’t concerned about the distance to the trail’s end and felt that we could have truly been some distance away.  No matter.  I was done.  I offered to meet him back at the trail head.  Marty would have none of that.  So we continued our “conversation” until he huffed, “Never mind, then.  We’ll go back.” 

I didn’t get that.  Go touch the sign and meet me back at the trailhead.  Big fat hairy cow deal. I was fly-bait and they weren’t touching him.  Enough.  So we turned around and headed back, stopping to eat our lunch along the stream that roared louder the closer one gets.  Our canteen dangled from a branch into the water to keep it cold.  There were several ginormous, flat boulders on which to sun ourselves as we ate.  Now this was livin’.  Couldn’t hear anything because of the soothing thunder of that river.  And no horse flies. 

When we finished lunching, Marty badgered me (lightheartedly) to place bets as to where we were on the trail, and when we got back to the trailhead, he was going to prove it to me by showing me on the map.  Nothin’ doin’, said I.  How would he know where we were?  We did pester each other back and forth at that point, certain that our internal compasses were each correct.

We crossed the lake again and emptied out of the boat to find our car.  Marty walked me over to the map of the trail head, pointed to a spot on the trail where he estimated that we stopped, and said, “Ha!  See?  We were almost there!  We could have done it!”  “So what!” said I.  Really, for the love of Pete.  So what.  (As you may have ascertained, we are about as identical as a cat and a dog.)

Connect the dots of the bugs biting to my blog about bugs getting up the nose of sheep.  When my friend and I talk about things really getting bad, we tell each other the bugs are biting.  Where is the bug spray when ya need it, we ask in exasperation. 

Anyhoo, here are some nice, commemorative pictures.  (This was my scrapbooking effort back in the days of the craft's infancy.)

I am still not seeing that cheesecake. 

Part III:  The part where the real lessons kick in.

Hiking as an object lesson....Part I

I am a recovering quitter.  When my plate gets not only too full, but too chaotic, something’s gotta go, so I have had a history of just shoving the entire thing away for some peace, quiet, and sanity.  Of course, the Lord has been working on me through the years, albeit through some not-so-fun methods like the torture of hiking.    I am not a big fan of hiking, so I have a couple of hiking stories to share with you to illustrate my point because the Lord has used these as object lessons many times through the years. (Can’t we do something instead, like a cheesecake eating marathon?)

Hiking fun story #1: The Smoky Mountains

When my husband (Marty) and I were first married, we decided to head down to Gatlinburg, TN, for a vacation.  I love that area.  The Smokies are smokin’ pretty!  Marty wanted to go for a hike and over-nighter in the area.  I dreaded it.  I worked in an office full time and was not in any shape for that.  However, I did it without voicing my objections because we had just attended a marriage conference the year prior where we were advised to do things our spouse wants just to let him/her enjoy something.  Marty is a hiking/outdoors-y fanatic.  Let’s say that the joy of hiking for him can be compared to the same joy I get by watching a well-executed Nutcracker ballet with girlfriends:  ethereal and sublime. 

We went to a hiking store in town called The Happy Hiker (an oxymoron for me) to get advice on the best trails and to pick up some yummy supplies, like dried up eggs.  I made it abundantly clear that our route meet the following criteria:  by a stream, not too strenuous, water close by at the camp site, and a view at the top.  The guy at the store promised all of these things.  Good.  Let’s get this over wi--- I mean, have some fun!

When we started out we were perky, energetic, and freshly showered. In the pictures below, note the large, heavy, 600 lb. backpack I was not accustomed to carrying on my person.  (I suppose I could have prepared by carrying it around the office wearing my high heels and EDS standard-issue blue suit.)  Note my brand spanking new, en vogue waffle-stompers that had not been broken in but were stiff and unyielding.   (And garsh, ain't my man a looker?) 

We walked up hill the entire time.  It was hot.  It was buggy.  Yes, we were by a stream, and that helped.  We even got some nice pictures.  But it was hot, buggy, and uphill.  After several hours of this, I was exhausted.  We had no idea how far we were from our goal, and I had had enough.  The plate was full. I sat down on a log and started to cry (yes, whiny baby cry.)  Some other hikers were coming down the trail and as they passed, I asked them if there was a McDonalds up there.  No one was amused.  I'm thinking they were all lobotomy patients.  Anyhoo, my feet were blistered and swollen. I was dirty and sweaty.

Marty told me we couldn’t be that far from our goal, ordered me to set down my backpack, and promised that he would come back after it.  After some objections from me about him having to come back to retrieve it, I relented.  Guess what?  Just around the bend was the site.  No view.  No place to pitch a tent for all the large boulders in the area.  The water was down a 15 foot drop - which meant there was no way to make those delicious, reconstituted eggs.  

As we sat and assessed our situation, I made the ignorant mistake of removing my boots and socks.  (In order to fully appreciate this, harken back to the movie “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles” and the scene on the airplane when Del Griffith – a.k.a. John Candy - removes his shoes  and socks and tells Steve Martin his dogs were barkin’.  If you haven’t seen the movie, go no further in life until you do.)  While I did so, I prayed silently and fervently that Marty would change his mind and decide to leave.  Marty evaluated our surroundings and saw that there was nothing we could do there.  He asked me what I wanted to do.  (Thank you, God!  THANK YOU, GOD!!)  I said, “Really, if you’re asking, I would like to hike on out of here, take a shower, go for steak and a baked potato with sour cream, a dip in a pool, and settle into a nice, soft bed."  He agreed.  The heavens opened and angels descended right there.

I then had to squeeze my bloated, untaped (huge lesson right here), blistered feet back into my boots.  Five hours up the mountain.  Three hours back down.  I pounded it down to get out as fast as I could.  

Before and after:

The steak and potatoes were delicious, the pool refreshing, and the bed heavenly.   Hiking is fun!

My Scripture for today, if I were to have written it, would read like this:  "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, when you face cheesecake of various kinds, knowing that the testing of your taste buds produces endurance..."  James 1:2

Next: Part II – The Quitter Hikes in the Tetons (This is where the lessons really kick in.  You know:  the ones that have nothing to do with cheesecake.)

You're Invited to a Pool Party in the Sheep Dip!

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. 2 He makes me to lie down in green pastures: He leads me beside the still waters. 3 He restores my soul: He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake. 4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil:  for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff they comfort me. 5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:  You anoint my head with oil; my cup runs over. 6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”  Psalm 23

Most people use this psalm as a funeral dirge, focusing mainly on “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”  I did, too, until I read a book by Phillip Keller titled A Shepherd Looks at the 23^rd Psalm.  Mr. Keller walks the reader through his personal experience as a shepherd, offering lots of great insight into David’s sojourn as a shepherd, and how he must have penned his words to the Lord from that perspective.    The book paints David’s words with a different palette altogether, and as I am a sheep myself, I have come to not only appreciate them for what they are, but they have offered a great deal of comfort as the years have passed. 

The words “You anoint my head with oil…”  are particularly comforting.   Here’s why:

When my friend and I go through particularly rough circumstances, we tell the other to get out the bug spray.   That means that things are really getting to us and we know to pray for one another.  We don’t reprimand the other. We lead each other to the Shepherd. 

What does bug spray have to do with trials?  Our own Good Shepherd handles His own lambs with such care and tenderness.  Sheep are easily distracted.    The shepherd must ensure that nothing gets near them to cause them alarm - including the bugs that sometimes find their way up the sheep's noses.  Hence, the practice of anointing the sheep’s head with oil to keep the bugs away.  Really, if you had bugs up your nose, wouldn’t you go a little nuts? 

To fully explain this, I have to quote right from Mr. Keller’s book.

“Sheep are especially troubled by the nose fly, or nasal fly, as it is sometimes called.  These little flies buzz around the sheep’s head, attempting to deposit their eggs on the damp, mucous membranes of the sheep’s nose.  If they are successful the eggs will hatch a few days to form small, slender, worm-like larvae.  They work their way up the nasal passages into the sheep’s head; they burrow into the flesh and there set up an intense irritation accompanied by severe inflammation.

“For relief from this agonizing annoyance, sheep will deliberately beat their heads against trees, rocks, posts, or brush.   They will rub them in the soil and thrash around against woody growth.  In extreme cases of intense infestation a sheep may even kill itself in a frenzied endeavor to gain respite from the aggravation.  Often advanced stages of infection from these flies will lead to blindness.

“Because of all this, when the nose flies hover around the flock, some of the sheep will become frantic with fear and panic in their attempt to escape their tormentors.  They will stamp their feet erratically and race from place to place in the pasture trying desperately to elude the flies.  Some may run so much they will drop from sheer exhaustion.  Others may toss their heads up and down for hours.  They will hide in any bush or woodland that offers shelter.  On some occasions they may refuse to graze in the open at all.” 

“Only the strictest attention to the behavior of the sheep by the shepherd can forestall the difficulties of ‘fly time.’  At the very first sign of flies around the flock he will apply an antidote to their heads.” 

“What an incredible transformation this would make on the sheep. Once the oil had been applied, there was an immediate change in behavior….  The sheep would start to feed quietly again, then soon lie down in peaceful contentment.”

Mr. Keller goes on to talk about the need to bathe the sheep in a dip in order to prevent other conditions that easily spread throughout the flock.  He would, instead of dunking the sheep’s head, rub it very carefully with the solution. 

David knew about these irritations.  He knew that anointing the heads of the sheep with oil would help keep the bugs away.  “You anoint my head with oil,” or, “You keep the vermin from getting up my nose.”  It seems humorous, but it reminds me of how tender our Jesus is to care for us in the midst of the things of life that would otherwise drive us to distraction; when the bugs are buzzing around and trying to get into our heads.

It is a wake-up call for me at times when I realize I’ve allowed the bugs to get up my nose because I am not resting in His Word and leaving my troubles at His feet.  Unlike some, I can be driven to distraction with life’s irritations.

 

Merely telling people not to be distracted can be maddening to the recipient of that kind of “correction.”  People have to know that we truly care about them and want them to have relief – not to just shut them up for our own selfish gain – but because we ourselves know from experience that we need relief ourselves.  And the only One who can give it is our Good Shepherd Jesus Christ.   

Maybe the bugs are buzzing around you and really getting into your head.  Jump into the Word.  Cry out for your Shepherd.  Maybe someone near you is infected.   Don't try to fix them.  That's the job of the Tender One.  Invite them to a pool party in the sheep dip.

 

  

 

Heart Like a Box

Most of us had special boxes growing up.  They contained mementos, pictures, maybe a rabbit’s foot, special letters and notes, etc.  The contents of a girl’s box might differ from a boy’s box in that a girl’s box may not contain as many rocks and sticks.  And these boxes were usually off limits to anyone else in the house.  They were private, special, and meaningful only to the owner.  The trusted, privileged few were invited to see the treasures they held.  We had to make sure that the people who saw the boxes – or junk drawers used as an alternative – would understand and appreciate what they beheld. No sneering allowed.  No shoving it into the face of the owner.

My husband still has an old cigar box of treasures which has long held the threads that keep his heart tethered to his younger years.  His Navy ring is in there.  Useless currency from foreign countries.  Pictures.  Other things.  Everyone knows it’s there.  No one disturbs it.  I have somewhat of a treasure box.  It’s the jewelry drawer of our dresser and it serves double duty.  It has costume jewelry and special things.  If someone were to break into our house, they would find nothing of value for themselves.  There are a few quarters that the boys gave me when they were little guys.  I have some roses in there, dried and flattened from my son’s graduation.  There are also some strange looking seed pods from a trip to Philadelphia.  I couldn’t tell you what sort of tree bore them, but they are unusual and I am hoping to someday plant them just to see if I could get them to grow.   These are a few of my favorite things.

I don’t show my treasure box to anyone.  It’s mine.  The items therein I keep also in my heart.  Were I to open that drawer to anyone, they would have to demonstrate a great deal of trustworthiness.  I would have to know that they wouldn’t laugh at and mock my things.  I would have to believe that they wouldn’t blab all over town what they saw.  If I did show someone and they used the contents of that box against me, shoving the contents back at me in anger, they would be banned from ever seeing it again.  The friendship would be over.  The trust would be lost.  I would chastise myself for being so trusting.

But it has happened.  Not with my jewelry drawer, but the contents of my heart.  I used to think, naively, that because I am open-hearted and transparent, anyone nice would be safe.  I think this idea came from a lesson I got from my mama that I took to the wrong extreme.

When I was a little girl, I came to her one day with a typical playground dilemma that occurs in the early years of any female.  That afternoon at recess, I was playing with a girlfriend.  Another girl friend came along and decided it was her turn to play with me that day.  The two girlfriends proceeded to argue about who got me.  (Trust me, that was the only time such an argument over my company had taken place.)  I felt caught in the middle, not knowing whom to choose. They were both my friends. For a third grader, this was major stuff.  That evening as I recounted the events to my mama, I asked her how I should choose.  She said, “Why can’t you all play together?”  Simple, yet so elusive even to adults.  I will never forget the lesson that day in the kitchen as she prepared dinner.  From that point on, I did not seek to exclude anyone for the sake of forming a ‘club’.  I have since made some poor choices, but my mama’s point was taken to heart.  (I did have a bestie in high school who treated me like her possession.  That didn’t last long.)

I grew into an adult interpreting Mom’s lesson to mean that my heart should be an open book for anyone to read.  A badge to wear on my sleeve for anyone to abuse.  And, boy, have I taken some brutal hits.  There are a three people in mind who were allowed to see the deepest recesses.   They were privy to the deep hurts.  My struggles.  My weaknesses.  My scars.  My wounds that still bled.   And at different times, each of them has taken my heart out and pounded it with a meat mallet, mocking and jeering and using against me the very things that I entrusted to them.  They left me bitter and deeply hurt.  But I learned a lesson over the course of several years.  God had to tell me that I could have many friends, but not everyone was to be trusted with those things I held close.  I was to be very careful – not cynical – about who was allowed that kind of access. 

One day several years ago, after one such episode, I was reeling from the shock of a now former best friend doing just what I described.  These beatings are never expected.  That’s what makes them devastating.   I vowed to harden my heart, steeling it against future blows.  No one, no one would be able to do that again.  Ever.  Because no one was going to ever see me that vulnerable again. 

I know I’m not alone.  Pretty much every human on the planet has experienced or will experience a shredding or two.  Some respond by encasing their hearts in iron.  Some become like Beast in “Beauty and the Beast”, forbidding access to that special wing.  Some people stay just as pliable and open as ever. 

The first two are not an option.  God had to show me that.  Yes, I had to learn to be careful, but weather-sealing my heart wasn’t going to work either.  I was standing in the check-out line at a Christian book store not along after one of these situations, thinking about and licking my wounds.  The root of bitterness was already finding its way deep into the soil and choking off whatever life was left.   Wouldn’t it be just like God to get my attention right there as I casually picked up a volume of  works by C.S. Lewis to read the back cover?  The Lord talked right at me through these words from Lewis' book, The Four Loves:  “There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable.  Love anything and your heart will certainly be wrung, and possibly be broken.  If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal.  Wrap it carefully around with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness.  But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change.  It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, and irredeemable.  The alternative to tragedy, or at least the risk of tragedy, is damnation.  The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.” 

I had a choice.  I could either let God have the heart He redeemed for Himself to use as He sees fit, or I could box it up and bury it.  The latter was not an option.  Yes, I have been plenty bruised since that last beating.  But I have learned some valuable lessons about where my trust truly lies, and about being more careful when I take out the box and for whom.  The mallet came a-knocking again very recently, leaving me in shock and feeling very much alone.  Right on the porch next to it was the temptation to lock up and batten down the hatches.   I have a choice – again.