KNIGHT IN SLIGHTLY DENTED ARMOR...STAYING MARRIED WHEN HE'S NOT THE MAN OF YOUR DREAMS, PART 2

WIN A FREE LOVE STORY (NOVEL)

By commenting on my blog anytime between now and Monday morning, you'll have a chance to win a free love story (novel). This week, it's In the Shade of the Jacaranda by Nikki Arana in her series Regalo Grande (Revell). I'll draw a name and let the winner know on Monday. The more you comment, the more times your name goes in the hat. Last week's winner won The Winds of Sonoma (Revell) by Nikki Arana. Patricia W., please email me at emailkristydykes@aol.com and give me your address. Also, please consider posting a good review on amazon.com and/or christianbook.com to help support Christian fiction. Happy reading!

KNIGHT IN SLIGHTLY DENTED ARMOR...

STAYING MARRIED WHEN HE'S NOT THE MAN OF YOUR DREAMS, PART 2

What do you do when your spouse disappoints you, or you can't get along? Disclaimer: we're not talking about if s/he beats you, is abusive to you, or is promiscuous with many sexual partners; in those cases, run! You have justifiable and biblical reasons. (Just my opinion.)

But what if the person you married isn't who you thought s/he was? Or, you find out you are complete opposites? I don't mean to sound lord-it-over-you, but duh, most of us are complete opposites. That's probably what attracted us in the first place. I know a young couple, and she's the life of the party, and he's the shy sort who doesn't say a lot. Like magnet to metal, they were drawn together and fell deeply in love. She adored every sinew of his soul, and he felt the same way about her. Then came wedding bells. Then they went house hunting. They found the perfect house. The negotiations weren't going well. They lost the house. Once they got alone, she berated him, railing, "Why didn't you speak up?" and "You should've said something," yada, yada, yada. It became a huge rift between them. But why should he speak up? He's the quiet sort, remember?

So, in marriage, disappointment (or anger or disagreeableness or whatever) can creep in, and the Bible says the little foxes spoil the vine. Notice it doesn't say the big foxes.

And then there are other scenarios in marriage where you see dents in your knight's armor. So, what do you do?

You work it out.

And you stay together.

My mother always said, "I made a vow before God and man, and I'm going to keep it." She and my father were married 67 years, and oh, the majority of those years were hard for her due to some special problems he had, but with God's help, she made it. And I'm so glad she did. She kept our family together, and I'll be forever grateful to her. I adored my daddy, and it's because of her because if she'd bailed out (and she had justifiable reasons due to extenuating circumstances), I wouldn't have known him like I did. She was a woman of steel, you know, one of those steel magnolias, since we're Southerners. One of her favorite verses was, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." She quoted it often, and she had her children quote it. That's how I got through life, quoting it and relying on the Lord to see me through.

Sometimes in marriage, we tend to look at other spouses and think, He treats her like a queen; I wish my husband would do that to me. DON'T GO THERE! I capitalized that because of its importance. DO NOT GO THERE. Well, you can go there if those people treat their spouses WORSE than yours treats you.

What do I mean?

Read this little illustration and you'll get my drift.

The Cross

A young man was at the end of his rope. Seeing no way out, he dropped to his knees in prayer. "Lord, I can't go on. I have too heavy a cross to bear."

"My son," the Lord replied as He opened a door, "if you can't bear its weight, put it down in this room and pick out another one."

The young man was filled with relief. "Thank You, Lord." He entered the room and placed his cross in it. Then he walked around and around and saw many crosses of varying heights. Some were so tall, the tops weren't visible. He was thankful when he finally spotted a tiny cross. "I'd like that one, Lord," he whispered.

"My son, that is the cross you just brought in."

Fall to your knees and thank the Lord for your mate. And ask God to help you in your marriage.

He will.

KNIGHT IN SLIGHTLY DENTED ARMOR...STAYING MARRIED WHEN HE'S NOT THE MAN OF YOUR DREAMS

WIN A FREE LOVE STORY (NOVEL)

By commenting on my blog anytime between now and Monday morning, you'll have a chance to win a free love story (novel). This week, it's In the Shade of the Jacaranda by Nikki Arana in her series Regalo Grande (Revell). I'll draw a name and let the winner know on Monday. The more you comment, the more times your name goes in the hat. Last week's winner won The Winds of Sonoma (Revell) by Nikki Arana. Patricia W., please email me at emailkristydykes@aol.com and give me your address. Also, please consider posting a good review on amazon.com and/or christianbook.com to help support Christian fiction. Happy reading!

KNIGHT IN SLIGHTLY DENTED ARMOR...STAYING MARRIED WHEN HE'S NOT THE MAN OF YOUR DREAMS

What do you do when your marriage isn't what you dreamed it would be? When your spouse treats you like you don't deserve to be treated? First, let me say, I'm a big advocate of reading and studying books on marriage and sharing portions with your spouse. It's important to know the guidelines for marriage. It's funny. Want to be a nurse? You go to college for years and learn how to be one. Want to play the piano? You take lessons for years and learn how to play. Want to play tennis? Ditto. But you want to get married? Just find a preacher and tie the knot. That's it. For most people. Thankfully, some ministers, like my husband, requires premarital counseling sessions, which help prepare you for marriage and what to expect. Couples need to learn that there are "rules" in marriage. Did you know there are even rules on how to fight (fuss, discuss, disagree) properly? I'll share them one day.

So studying books on marriage is a given. They'll not only help your spouse, they'll can help you. You can learn the proper response to your mate's actions (or lack of actions).

The most important thing you can do is resolve to stay married. Oh, I'm not talking about staying in a marriage if s/he beats you or is promiscuous with many sexual partners. That's a whole different topic. I'm talking about staying married when your spouse disappoints you, or when you can't seem to get along with each other, or when you fall out of love. Gasp. I said "Gasp" because some couples actually split over this, and this is no valid reason to split it. Why? Because you're relying on emotions and not your vow at the altar. The love can come back. It can be nourished and fanned back into a roaring flame of love.

Here are some quotes that caught my eye as I thought about this post:

Sorrow looks back, worry looks around, but faith looks up.

Somebody's reading this right now and needs to catch hold of a spark of faith so you can believe that things are going to get better in your marriage. Don't look back or around. Look up. To God. Believe Him. And do your part while you're waiting. My mother and grandmother always said, "Do the right, no matter what he does."

Always choose to do the right thing.

No matter what your spouse does.

Here's another quote:

It's not the load that breaks you down; it's the way you carry it.

That goes along with a quote I heard Christian psychologist Dr. Richard Dobbins say: "It's not the circumstances in life that make or break you, but how you choose to handle them."

In other words, no matter what your situation, now matter how unloving or disagreeable or ____________________ (you fill in the blank) your spouse is, it's up to you to respond correctly. You can do it. With the Lord's help. Oh, things won't change overnight. It'll take some time.

Remember, faith looks up. Choose to believe.

KISS THE (COOK) BRIDE - MY BRAND NEW BOOK

WIN A FREE LOVE STORY (NOVEL)

By commenting on my blog anytime this week, Monday through Friday, you'll have a chance to win a free love story (novel). I'll draw a name and let the winner know next Monday. The more you comment, the more times your name goes in the hat. Let the comments begin!

Now, for today's post:

My brand new book, Kiss the (Cook) Bride, is about to hit the shelves! It's a 4-in-1 novella collection by Barbour Publishing, and the coauthors are: Kristy Dykes, Aisha Ford, Vickie McDonough, and Carrie Turansky. The cover is absolutely beautiful. It shows a bride in a lace wedding gown holding her bouquet with oven mitts! Is that cute or what? We enjoyed writing Kiss the (Cook) Bride, and we hope you enjoy reading it. You can purchase it in stores and at amazon.com and christianbook.com. Because the book has a traveling apron as a sub-theme, we four coauthors are having aprons made with our book cover printed on them. We plan to wear them in Dallas in September for a massive book signing at American Christian Fiction Writers conference.

How did I come up with the idea for Kiss the (Cook) Bride? I was raised in the Deep South and bred on Jesus and Nana's layer cakes. Good eating was the norm around our house and Nana's. I "caught" cooking and entertaining (as opposed to "was taught"). As a pastor's wife whose hobby has been cooking and entertaining, I've often felt like I've run a B&B with all the people I've hosted, such as missionaries, evangelists, singing groups, etc. When I worked for a New York Times subsidiary, the editor said one day they needed a story about cooking.

"I cooked for 100 people in my home one time," I told her, just making conversation.

Her eyebrows shot to the ceiling (almost).

"I love to cook," I said. "Last week, I had a dinner party for 22 people and had a ball."

"Write me a story," she said. "By tomorrow."

The nex day, a weekly column entitled "Kristy's Kitchen" was born.

When I dreamed up Kiss the (Cook) Bride, I envisioned four young women in the food business. They all own restaurants, they meet at a restaurant convention, and they bemoan the lack of men in their lives (Mr. Right). Then, each novella tells each of their love stories. During the entire book, they pass around an apron with the words "Kiss the Cook" written on the front. The last groom crosses out "Cook" and writes "Bride" because the girls have all become brides by the end of the book.

I love writing Christian love stories!

Here's a blurb that describes Kiss the Bride:

When four restaurant owners meet at a restaurant convention, they have more than just good food and their faith in common--the lack of Mr. Right in their lives. They discover a dash of hope, a dollop of longing, and a plateful of faith are the recipe for romance. Thrown into the mix is a traveling apron with the words "Kiss the Cook" across the front.

The collection contains:

"Angel Food" by Kristy Dykes: In order to find love, a restaurant owner needs a recipe for soul food.

"Just Desserts" by Aisha Ford: A family feud stands in the way of love...and the perfect slice of pie.

"A Recipe for Romance" by Vickie McDonough: Will a carpenter's remodeling job mean a refurbished restaurant and a new romance?

"Tea for Two" by Carrie Turansky: A financially strapped tea shop owner must find a way to save her business and straighten out her tangled love life.

A fun touch: at the end of each novella is the recipe that's at the heart of each story .

SEE WHO WON LAST WEEK'S LOVE STORY (NOVEL)

WIN A FREE LOVE STORY (NOVEL)

By commenting on my blog anytime this week, Monday through Friday, you'll have a chance to win a free love story (novel). I'll draw a name and let the winner know on Monday. The more you comment, the more times your name goes in the hat. Let the comments begin!

LAST WEEK'S WINNER

Last week's winner is…Patricia W. You've won Nikki Arana's The Winds of Sonoma (Revell) in her series Regalo Grande. Congratulations. I hope you enjoy reading it. Please consider posting a good review on amazon.com and/or christianbook.com to help support Christian fiction. Patricia, please click "Email Kristy" in my Links list on the right and send me your address so I can mail it to you. Happy reading!

THE FUNNIEST ROACH STORY YOU'VE EVER HEARD

WIN A FREE LOVE STORY (NOVEL)

By commenting on my blog anytime this week, Monday through Friday, you'll have a chance to win a free love story (novel). I'll draw a name and let the winner know on Monday. The more you comment, the more times your name goes in the hat. Let the comments begin!

THE FUNNIEST ROACH STORY YOU'VE EVER HEARD

All week, I've been writing Parts 1, 2, and 3 of "Marriage and the Cockroach Caper." They involved a roach incident in our home when we dealt with three cockroaches that we later found out had come from an uncapped pipe under the kitchen sink. The hose to the sprayer attachment on my sink had knocked the cap off, and on the cap were the words in red Do Not Remove. Goes to Sewer. Once we recapped the pipe, our problem disappeared, thank the Lord.

But the heart of the stories was about my expectations of my husband and his expectations of me, and how they were poles apart, and how we dealt with them (see posts). That was the whole purpose of the posts. Since today is Friday, I'll wind things up with one more story about the disgusting creatures, and then it's on to something else. Hopefully, it'll give you a laugh.

When our grandson Alexander was not quite three, Milton and I kept him a week. When Sunday morning came, Milton went to church early (he's the pastor), leaving me to get Alexander ready. Addendum: Alexander is a very active little boy.

I'll never forget that Sunday morning…it was a rat race around here…er…roach race.

Jelly toast and milk down (Alexander). Makeup on (me). Chase Alexander (me). Potty (Alexander). Hair done (me). Chase Alexander (me). Potty (Alexander). Dress (me). Chase Alexander (me). Clothes on (Alexander). Potty (Alexander). Chase Alexander (me). Pack diaper bag with extra clothes in case of potty-training accident. Pack sippy cup with plenty of milk.

Get him in car and carseat. Three hard-to-buckle buckles on carseat.

Oh, remember to take big broad-brimmed safari hat to VBS teacher. Find. Put in car. Gentle Florida rain starts. Spot umbrella on front seat. Good. Drive to church. Park under giant oak tree at curb. Get out of car. Open back door. Put purse straps on shoulder, diaper bag on arm, broad-brimmed safari hat in one hand (too dignified to stick it on my head), open umbrella in other hand, dodge rain, go to other side of car where carseat is, try to get Alexander out. Can't. Car parked too close to hill of grass over curb.

Walk to other side of car. Sippy cup falls out of diaper bag into water puddle. Squat down and retrieve it. Purse falls off shoulder into water puddle. Pick up sippy cup, stick in diaper bag, zip this time. Pick up purse and put back on shoulder. Forget big wet spot on dress. Nobody will see it if I hold my arm down all morning.

Continue to juggle purse, diaper bag, broad-brimmed safari hat, and open umbrella while dodging raindrops. Open car door. Crawl across backseat, unbuckle three hard-to-unbuckle buckles, drag Alexander across seat. Shut door. Am now juggling purse, diaper bag, broad-brimmed safari hat, open umbrella plus Alexander. Cross street. Dodge raindrops as we walk to church, him jumping in every water puddle we come to, me getting splashed and saying, "Don't jump in water puddles. You're getting me wet." How can I hide water spots on front of dress? I can't.

Arrive at glass doors of church. Go inside. Greet people. Make sure Alexander is attentive to parishioners as they gichy-goo his neck.

Feel water drops on back of hair. Phooey. Even used an umbrella. Oh, well, I'll dry out. Greet more people. Smile.

Feel water dripping down neck. Eegads. How much rain got on my hair and neck?

Chase Alexander across foyer. Come back to glass doors. Greet more people.

All of a sudden, from my peripheral vision I see a giant cockroach crawling across my shoulder. It takes a flying leap off, dives to the floor, and crawls under the credenza.

I screech, shudder, do a dance, and it ain't no joy jig either. A cockroach was in my hair…on my neck…my shoulders!

Blech.

Greeters gather round. I explain. The cockroach (a Palmetto bug, they assure me, to comfort me) must've fallen off the oak tree where I parked. No time to cry over spilt milk. Alexander's running down the hall. I chase him and finally get him to the nursery, then enter the sanctuary…

What is the moral to this story? Well, I was hurried and harried and frenzied and fraught, and when I entered the sanctuary, the peace of God permeated my soul, and all was forgotten except the presence of Jesus. Later in the service when Milton called me to the platform to speak to the people (he sometimes does that), I told the congregation all that had transpired that morning, and they nearly rolled on the floor as I acted out the antics.

Then I exhorted them to draw near to God no matter what their week was like, whether they'd had a busy week or stressful week or hurtful week, that God was there to meet them.

"Draw near to God and He will draw near to you," I told them. "James 4:8."

They did, and He did.

Now…no more roach stories! For awhile, anyway. Pshew. Dragging hand across forehead…

Check back on Monday to find out the winner of my contest. I'm giving away Nikki Arana's The Winds of Sonoma from her series "Regaldo Grande" (Revell Publishing). It's a beautiful love story…and more.

MARRIAGE AND THE COCKROACH CAPER, PART 3

WIN A FREE LOVE STORY (NOVEL)

By commenting on my blog anytime this week, Monday through Friday, you'll have a chance to win a free love story (novel). I'll draw a name and let the winner know. Let the comments begin!

MARRIAGE AND THE COCKROACH CAPER, PART 3

Disclaimer: (or is that disclosure?) Disclaimer: denial, repudiation. Disclosure: exposure, revelation. Maybe it's both I'm meaning. It's this: we don't have cockroaches even though we live in Florida. We are clean people. We are nice people. I have never seen a cockroach in this house. I haven't seen a cockroach—a live, rushing-at-you-cockroach in, oh, years. Also, let the record stand that I don't normally scream and carry on. I'm a fairly calm, even-keeled person, dignified even, at times. Interpretation: I'm not given to screaming fits. Or any kind of fits. I even have a FAKE cockroach in my pantry, belly up, to give an unsuspecting guest a little jolt so we can get a laugh out of it.

Okay. I was sitting at my computer that evening, typing away, creating something (hopefully, good stuff) out of nothing, when I heard it.

Something rustling in the bushes.

I declare, that's what it would've sounded like if I'd been standing in the yard beside my ligustrum.

But I was at my computer.

What was it?

That creepy, scratchy noise?

A few months back, one afternoon after supper, I'd looked out the double window in my study, and there, on our neighbor's roof that was two soaring stories high, was…something.

A bird?

If it was a bird, it was the biggest bird I'd ever seen. Maybe it was a raccoon. Our backyard backs up to a nature preserve, and we occasionally have raccoons. Especially at night. In our garbage cans.

I walked outside and saw that it was indeed bird shaped. I walked back to the front door and opened it. "Milton, there's a great big bird on the house across the street. Come see."

He came outside, then ran back in. "I'm getting my binoculars." In moments, he came out with binoculars in hand, and we walked across the street.

It was a great big eagle, just sitting on the shingles.

"Reckon it's wounded?" I asked.

The neighbor came out.

The three of us stood there, admiring the eagle, both with the binoculars and without them, the eagle's eyes darting to and fro but not a feather moving.

For long minutes, we conversed quietly, still staring upward. Cars drove by and slowed, the people in them looking at the eagle, amazement in their eyes.

Finally, the eagle flew off. No, it wasn't wounded.

So, when I heard that scratching noise in my study that evening, my first thought was, AN EAGLE'S LANDED ON OUR ROOF. I dashed outside.

No eagle.

I came back in and sat down at my computer.

The rustling continued.

All of a sudden, from out of the silk plant ON MY DESK comes a cockroach—you guessed it—as long as my index finger.

I SCREAMED.

I jumped up, ran into the family room. I was shaking like I was riding that shaking ride at Cypress Gardens. (Read my disclaimer as to WHY I was shaking.)

"Milton, a roach just flew at me. It's been walking around IN MY SILK PLANT." YUCK. THE NERVE.

This time, unlike the night I was having a dinner party, he didn't seem to get perturbed at my shrieks. 'Course, maybe I wasn't shrieking as badly as I was when I had been slicing limes at the peninsula IN FRONT OF MY GUESTS, and THAT STUPID COCKROACH CAME FLYING AT ME AND MY FOOD.

The evening of The Cockroach in the Study, we worked rapidly—and with only a few shrieks from me—to get it (interpretation: kill it).

But THIS was why I got so unnerved during my dinner party WHEN THE COCKROACH CAME TOWARD ME. I was thinking, DEAR LORD, DO WE HAVE AN INFESTATION? PLEASE GOD, NO.

Well, the end of "Marriage and the Cockroach Caper Parts 1, 2, and 3" is this: I called my friend the day after the dinner party and apologized for screaming like I did. She comforted me and related a similar experience when FOUR OR FIVE COCKROACHES attacked her. She said I should go around my house and anoint each room with oil and ask Jesus to drive out the cockroaches. (I guess that would be a rendition of James 5:14 {"Is anyone among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord."}.)

Well, at the moment, I didn't have time to do the anointing, though it wasn't a bad idea. Instead, I walked through my house praying--and intending to call the exterminators, though I DO hate poisons.

The next day, something said to look under the kitchen sink.

The Lord.

There was a white cap lying there with words in red letters, "Do Not Remove. Goes to Sewage." Above it was an open pipe. Apparently, the cap had been knocked off by the hose to the sprayer attachment. I replaced the cap.

No more roaches.

So far.

I plead the blood of Jesus.

Disclaimer: (or is that disclosure?) Disclaimer: denial, repudiation. Disclosure: exposure, revelation. Maybe it's both I'm meaning. It's this: we don't have cockroaches even though we live in Florida. We are clean people. We are nice people. I have never seen a cockroach in this house. I haven't seen a cockroach—a live, rushing-at-you-cockroach in, oh, years. Also, let the record stand that I don't normally scream and carry on. I'm a fairly calm, even-keeled person, dignified even, at times. Interpretation: I'm not given to screaming fits. Or any kind of fits. I even have a FAKE cockroach in my pantry, belly up, to give an unsuspecting guest a little jolt so we can get a laugh out of it.

Just one more cockroach story, and then we're off the subject for good. This'll make you laugh…

MARRIAGE AND THE COCKROACH CAPER, PART 2

WIN A FREE LOVE STORY (NOVEL)

By commenting on my blog anytime this week, Monday through Friday, you'll have a chance to win a free love story (novel). I'll draw a name and let the winner know. Let the comments begin!

MARRIAGE AND THE COCKROACH CAPER, PART 2

Disclaimer: (or is that disclosure?) Disclaimer: denial, repudiation. Disclosure: exposure, revelation. Maybe it's both, I'm meaning. It's this: we don't have cockroaches even though we live in Florida. We are clean people. We are nice people. I have never seen a cockroach in this house. I haven't seen a cockroach—a live, rushing-at-you-cockroach in, oh, years. Also, let the record stand that I don't normally scream and carry on. I'm a fairly calm, even-keeled person, dignified even, at times. Interpretation: I'm not given to screaming fits. Or any kind of fits. I even have a FAKE cockroach in my pantry, belly-up, to give an unsuspecting guest a little jolt so we can get a laugh out of it.

So I'm having a dinner party for six in our home. The whole works. Cut-your-own-cheese and crackers and a luscious punch for appetizers...Mozart and Beethoven wafting from the ceiling speakers. Yada, yada, yada. See Part 1 of "Marriage and the Cockroach Caper," my last post.

I'm standing at the peninsula overlooking the family room as I converse with my guests and slice fresh lime for our tea. It's then that I see "it"…

A cockroach as long as my index finger COMES FROM UNDER THE EDGE OF THE COUNTER ONTO THE COUNTERTOP WHERE I'M SLICING LIME AND THEN STARTS HIS RACE TOWARD ME.

I lose it. Totally.

HOW DO YOU TYPE A SCREAM?

I SCREAM BLOODY MURDER GUESTS OR NO GUESTS.

I grab the wet dishcloth and swipe the roach to the floor, thinking, I'm Cloroxing this dishcloth. Maybe I'll throw it in the garbage and never use it again.

The roach flies up.

I scream again.

Milton comes running.

The women guests on the sofa are laughing.

"Grab some paper towels," I yell.

The roach crawls along the countertop, up the wall, down the wall, back toward my lime slices but taking a detour behind the fruit basket then the coffee pot, all the while Milton and me doing a dance like you wouldn't believe, trying to get the thing as I spray a little Raid on the lower cabinet doors and he (Milton) lunges time and again, to no avail.

Only I'm letting out a shriek every now and then, my skin as prickly as a plucked chicken's, my heart racing as fear and shame sweep over me. I mean, here I am, ENTERTAINING, and we have a cockroach ON MY COUNTERTOP!

I just can't believe it.

This has never happened. Not even when we lived in that run-down old parsonage when we were newlyweds where the cockroaches were so big you could stand on 'em and ride 'em across the room. They never came out when I WAS ENTERTAINING. And equal to the trauma I'm now experiencing, I JUST HAD ANOTHER COCKROACH EXPERIENCE TWO NIGHTS BEFORE (see Part 3 tomorrow).

"It's not a cockroach," one guest says from the sofa. A man. "It's only a water bug."

He's not minimizing my concern, thank the Lord. He's talking Floridianeze. That's what we say when we see big cockroaches, that they're only water bugs, or Palmetto bugs. It helps diffuse our shame.

Other things we Floridians say about cockroaches are,

"All the rain's driving 'em in. That's why you're seeing 'em."

Or,

"It's so hot and dry, they're coming in looking for water."

Suddenly, the filthy vermin flies once more.

AT ME.

I scream. I mean, I am truly terrified.

With daggers shooting out of his eyes, Milton says, "Would – you – please – quit – screaming?"

I'm hurt to the core, that my man is not only NOT understanding what I'm going through, he's now fussing at me. I don't need fussing. I need comfort.

The prickly skin, remember.

The racing heart.

The shame in front of my guests, water bugs or cockroaches, whichever.

The secret fear of that disgusting slithery thing crawling on my skin.

But I react sweetly and smile instead of fussing back at Milton. (We have guests. WINK)

Milton finally gets the cockroach. That means he kills it.

I grab a clean dishcloth, run it under hot water and lots of dish soap, whisk around to the other side of the peninsular, scrub the entire surface, scrub the entire twelve feet of countertop where I was slicing limes, scrub it again, rinse it, rinse it again, deposit said cloth into garbage. Where the other dishcloth is.

Then I graciously serve my guests in the dining room.

After everyone leaves, I say sweetly (that means with no hardness in my voice), "You could've shown empathy to me tonight instead of getting angry."

"I wasn't angry."

"You didn't like it, how I reacted."

"You shouldn't have screamed," he says. "It was embarrassing."

"If you'd have expressed understanding and tenderness, it sure would've been nice. You could've used humor, laughed about it like Ann was doing, and it would've helped me."

"You should never have carried on like you did."

"Carried on? I WAS ENTERTAINING, STANDING THERE IN FRONT OF OUR GUESTS FIXING FOOD, AND A COCKROACH FLIES AT ME."

Well, we've been married long enough, and have studied enough marriage technique books, and have taught on marriage enough, that we were smart enough not to let this continue into a full-blown argument, like we sometimes did in our earlier years.

Instead, on issues like this, we now agree to disagree.

I thought he should've been more understanding.

He thought I shouldn't have done what I did.

We're both entitled to our opinions.

Case closed.

Part of the reason I was so traumatized by the COCKROACH COMING OUT WHILE I WAS ENTERTAINING was because of my OTHER cockroach caper…

Two nights before…

Disclaimer: (or is that disclosure?) Disclaimer: denial, repudiation. Disclosure: exposure, revelation. Maybe it's both, I'm meaning. It's this: we don't have cockroaches even though we live in Florida. We are clean people. We are nice people. I have never seen a cockroach in this house. I haven't seen a cockroach—a live, rushing-at-you-cockroach in, oh, years. Also, let the record stand that I don't normally scream and carry on. I'm a fairly calm, even-keeled person, dignified even, at times. Interpretation: I'm not given to screaming fits. Or any kind of fits. I even have a FAKE cockroach in my pantry, belly up, to give an unsuspecting guest a little jolt so we can get a laugh out of it.

MARRIAGE AND THE COCKROACH CAPER, PART 1

WIN A FREE LOVE STORY (NOVEL)

By commenting on my blog anytime this week, Monday through Friday, you'll have a chance to win a free love story (novel). I'll draw a name and let the winner know. Let the comments begin!

MARRIAGE AND THE COCKROACH CAPER, PART 1

I went into my office this morning to write this post, having been traumatized last night by a cockroach WHILE I WAS HAVING A DINNER PARTY. Coffee cup in hand, I sat down in my plush office chair then pulled open the keyboard drawer of my beautiful cherrywood desk. A cockroach AS LONG AS MY INDEX FINGER (surely!?) dashed across the keyboard TOWARD ME like he was a runner leaving the starter's block, and I screamed bloody murder, jumped up from my chair, and yelled for Milton.

Milton no came.

The cockroach hiked its wings (hefted? extended? whatever) and FLEW TOWARD ME.

How do you type a scream?

I SCREAMED.

The cockroach zoomed at me, then like a turbo engine kicked in, it (I won't dignify it with a "he") flew directly upward and landed on the top ledge of my bookshelf over my computer, crawling, crawling, crawling, antennae extended and moving disgustedly.

I'm outa' there.

"M – I – L – T – O – N!"

Still, he no came.

I ran into the family room where he was sitting at the breakfast table calmly reading the newspaper and sipping his coffee. My heart was pounding like it would jump out of my chest. I mean, three cockroaches in three days.

No can handle.

"Milton," I (what verb do I use?; wailed?; cried?; I mean, I was truly traumatized) pleaded, "come help me. A cockroach just crawled out of my keyboard drawer." I'm hopping from one foot to the other, recalling the memory of that long brown shiny instrument of the devil crawling over MY keyboard. How dare he (I mean, it)? "Get the Raid. Get some paper towels."

"He's probably gone by now."

"Well, I don't care. I'm shooting Raid—"

"You can't put that stuff on the keyboard."

"I KNOW that. I'll spray it under my desk, and maybe the smell of it'll drive him out, and then we can get him (forget the 'it')."

"Calm down. It's just a bug."

I turned to him and said not too sweetly, "YOU are minimizing what's concerning me." I thought about the principle we teach in our Joy in Marriage seminars, how you are supposed to have empathy for your spouse's concerns and feelings and disappointments and fears, no matter what they are, how you shouldn't brush them off. We always give the example of a wife coming to her husband in tears because everybody in the office got an invitation to a coworker's luncheon except her, and we teach how the husband should empathize with his wife and express his love and care during this vulnerable time. Then we give the example of a man signed up for a tennis tournament for months, and on the morning of the event, his partner calls and says he's not going to play. In that case, the wife should empathize with her husband and express her understanding of his disappointment.

So I fully expected Milton to at least show a little emotion, even if he couldn't muster up any empathy.

Of course I'M the one who teaches that segment.

Maybe that's why he didn't show any empathy (just kidding). Instead, he sort of fussed at me for showing emotion about the stupid cockroach.

Sort of like he did last night…

I was having a dinner party for six in our home. The whole works. Slice-your-own-cheese and crackers and a luscious punch for appetizers. Then, parmesan chicken over rice pleasingly arranged on a large glass platter. Pretty salad with fresh mozzarella. Warm Italian bread dipped in an oil-and-herbs-mixture like they serve at Carrabba's. Sweet peach iced tea. For dessert, cherry jazz ala mode and flavored coffee.

Placemats.

Cloth napkins.

Beethoven and Mozart coming through the ceiling speakers.

So there I was, standing at the peninsula overlooking the family room as I sliced fresh lime and conversed with our guests. It was then that I saw "it"…shudder, shudder…

Disclaimer: (or is that disclosure?) Disclaimer: denial, repudiation. Disclosure: exposure, revelation. Maybe it's both, I'm meaning. It's this: we don't have cockroaches even though we live in Florida. We are clean people. We are nice people. I have never seen a cockroach in this house. I haven't seen a cockroach—a live, rushing-at-you-cockroach in, oh, years. Also, let the record stand that I don't normally scream and carry on. I'm a calm, even-keeled person, dignified even, at times. Interpretation: I'm not given to screaming fits. Or any kind of fits. I even have a FAKE cockroach, belly-up, in my pantry—to give an unsuspecting guest a little jolt so we can get a laugh out of it.

On with my story…

GIVING AWAY A LOVE STORY

WIN A FREE LOVE STORY (NOVEL)

By commenting on my blog anytime this week, Monday through Friday, you'll have a chance to win a free love story (novel). I'll draw a name and let the winner know. Let the comments begin!

MARRIAGE AND THE QUESTION GAME

So Milton and I are in Savannah celebrating our anniversary this past Monday, and of all the restaurants in that charming city to eat in, we choose…tah dah…TV cook Paul Deen's The Lady and Sons. They only take reservations for parties of 10 or more. Otherwise, you wait with 200 other people for a chance to get inside. But when I tell the reservations host it's our anniversary, she says with that lovely Georgia accent, "I'll reserve a spot for you."

So we're sitting there in The Lady and Sons, eating our fried chicken and cracker salad—we chose the country-style buffet over the menu items—when Milton says, "We're going to play a game."

"A game?"

He nods, a mischievous look in his eyes. "It's called The Question Game. I ask a question. You answer."

"Okay," I say hesitantly.

"What's the funniest thing that's ever happened in our marriage?"

This is really neat. I feel like we're on our first date, trying to get to know each other, and a doodad crawls down my spine. "My 'I See Somebody Story.'" (Note: This is a hilarious thing that happened to me; it was published in the book Help! I'm A Pastor's Wife.)

A look of recollection fills his eyes, and he smiles.

"And another funny time was when I said _________________." (Note: This is none of your business; but a clue is, I'm noted among our family and close friends for saying innocent faux pas that crack everybody up.)

"I laughed harder than I've ever laughed when you said that." He's laughing now. "I almost fell on the floor, I was laughing so hard. The rest of the guys were too."

I roll my eyes, remembering the awful moment when I felt like sewing my lips shut.

"What's the funniest thing I've ever done in our marriage?" he asks.

"Way back, when you were a real young preacher, and you were trying to get a Bible college professor to attend our church, and he and his wife finally came to visit one Sunday, and you preached on the man that was borne of four, and the Bible says he was a paralytic, but you had him having leprosy, and you described leprosy in gory, intricate detail, how it eats your fingers and toes off, and how you used to see missionary films about leprosy when you were a kid, and I'm sitting there squirming, knowing how mixed up your sermon is…"

We're laughing pretty hard now.

"I don’t know why in the world I did that," he says. "I knew as sure as I'm sitting here that that passage in the Bible was about a paralytic not a leper."

"Maybe you were nervous that this well-known Bible scholar was visiting that day."

He shrugs. "Okay. Time for the next question. What's the thing you love the most about me?"

I don't have to think about it. "It's when you're tender to me, and patient with me, for example, that Saturday you helped me move our wall unit, and it took you three trips to the hardware store to get the right size of those slider things, and yet you were so patient and kind and tender. That just thrilled me. And then when you wrote that article about me in last Sunday's bulletin, well, it made me love you so much. Okay," I say, "let me ask you that question. What's the thing you love the most about me?"

"When you show respect and support and appreciation for who I am and what I do…and when you express confidence in me." He pauses. "Next question. What can I do to make you happy?"

"I'll tell you when we get back to our room."

His eyebrows go up and down over eyes oozing sensuality. He's got this half smile, and his eyebrows keep going up and down. It's an endearing mannerism I've grown to love. I know if I were sitting close to him, I'd feel his heart pumping hard. I feel that shy, new bride feeling sweeping over me.

"In our room, huh?" he says.

"Not that," I exclaim, knowing full well what he's thinking, and knowing what I'm thinking, that I have a sweet article on marriage I want to read to him. And what I'm thinking and what he's thinking don't match up, and it tickles me, and I laugh, and then he laughs, and a few heads turn our way. "'Course that's not all I have in mind when we get back."

His eyebrows do their little trick again. "Let's go now."

We laugh again.

"Next question," he says, when our laughter subsides. "What's meant the most to you about our marriage?"

"That you've always been faithful to me, and that I can count on you to be there for me, and that I never have to doubt you, and that I know that you're true to your word. Now, let me ask you. What's meant the most to you about our marriage?"

"It's two parts. The love and commitment and faithfulness you've shown to me, plus the fact that it hasn't been all about us, that we've spent our entire married lives helping others. We did it together, our ministry, helping people, our television ministry together, our pastoral ministry, writing articles together, speaking together, helping pastors when we were in denominational leadership work…"

A memory washes over me, and I see people parading across my mind, all the individuals we've comforted down through the years and encouraged and helped and consoled. I see the family we comforted when their teenage son was killed in a car accident, and I see the young 20-something mother and father of the baby we buried, and I see the elderly lady whose house we reroofed, and the single mom whose siding we repainted, and right there, in Paula Deen's restaurant, I start crying. Tears stream down my face, and at that moment…

…the waiter appears. "Would you like some more sweet iced tea?"

###

Shortly, another waiter comes to our table. "I understand you two are celebrating your anniversary?"

"Yes," we say.

"May I sing a song for you?"

"We'd love it," we say.

He takes a singer's pose, neck extended, hands clasped in front of him, and strikes out. It's a fairly good rendition of I Can't Help Falling In Love With You.

Lyrics: "Wise men say, only fools rush in. But I can't help falling in love with you. Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things are meant to be. Take my hand, take my whole life too. For I can't help falling in love with you."

###

Oh, the ghost I mentioned in my blog post, "Anniversary Trip to Savannah"? Well, we didn't encounter a ghost in this historic city. But we definitely encountered a spirit. An evil one. Maybe I'll blog about it sometime. Or maybe it'll appear in a novel someday. Who knows? (Note: The Holy Spirit prevailed, however. The Bible says, "Greater is he that is in me, than he that is in the world.")

THE FRUIT OF THE LOOMS CAPER

Maybe I should call this The Fruit of the Looms Fiasco...

We're in Savannah to celebrate our anniversary, and we've just enjoyed a leisurely seafood dinner on the riverfront. Then we returned to our historic B&B.

We're ready to climb up on the king-sized cherry four-poster (I do mean climb; sometimes I had to get Milton to give me a hand up; other times, I took a flying leap and somehow made it) and watch a little TV on the 42-inch plasma screen mounted above the mantel.

Milton's already lying in bed, flipping channels. I'm changing clothes. I notice the window shade isn't at sill level; it needs to come down another inch, so no one can see into our room. I do like my privacy.

I walk over to it and give it a gentle tug.

The whole window shade...

...roller and all...

...swooshes down...

...and lands at my feet.

I let out a shriek.

Milton springs from the bed, and there we stand, him in his Fruit of the Looms and me in my unmentionables, in front of this what?—10-foot-tall-window?—for all the world to see. "You shouldn't have bothered it," he grumbles.

"It needed to come down another inch or so." I smile thinking of my next statement. "I didn't want anybody to see us."

He springs into action like superman in reverse and has his pants on in the blink of an eye. That man can get dressed (and undressed :) ) faster than a streak of lightning.

He picks up the windowshade, pulls a wing chair over to the window, stands in it, and stretches as high as he can reach, to no avail. "I can't reach the brackets." He climbs on one arm of the chair...

...and me, the writer, envisions him...

...falling through the glass and onto the sidewalk with a splat...

...and I can see the headlines...

Pastor Dies in Savannah B&B While Replacing Windowshade Wife Jerked Down.

I shake myself to get rid of the awful image.

I sit down on the opposite chair arm from where he's standing. "I'll hold you down." I grab hold of his pants pocket. "I'll spot you."

He reaches and reaches and grumbles and grumbles. "This thing's not wide enough for the window." He unscrews one end, trying to extend it. He tries to mount it in the brackets again, to no avail. "Why'd you bother it in the first place?"

I look up at him. Is that a snarl in his voice? "It needed to come down," I say sweetly. "I didn't know it would fall."

He works at unscrewing the other end.

"What'll we do if we can't get it back up?" My mind wanders a thousand ways. Towels taped to the window? No, we don't have any tape. The throw on the bed draped over the curtain rod? No, the window's so tall, it wouldn't reach the bottom.

He's tottering precariously on the arm of that wing chair and leaning on the glass at the same time trying to get the shade mounted, and I'm holding my breath. I don't even think to ask God for protection. Thank the Lord for deep-down confidence that He's always there, watching out for us.

Snap.

He got one end in.

Snap.

He got the other end in.

A sweet feeling of relief sweeps over me.

He climbs down.

He makes eye contact with me and starts laughing.

I get this shy, new bride feeling. I don't know why. I just do. For Milton to laugh with me while looking deeply into my eyes, well, that's what happens.

We keep looking at each other, laughing together, enjoying the moment.

(Someone said, "Laughter is the shortest distance between two people." Someone else said, "Laughter can help in times of stress." The Bible says, "A merry heart does good like a medicine.")

Little did I know then that we'd go into another laughing fit the next night, during our anniversary meal at a famous restaurant, but for a different reason. It was when we were playing Milton's Question Game...

ANNIVERSARY TRIP TO SAVANNAH

Our anniversary trip to Savannah was glorious. It was two days and two nights of respite from life's pressures and responsibilities with freedom to go anywhere we wanted at any time we wanted. It was also a chance to "just focus on us," as Milton had said he wanted to do, and which we did (I'll be blogging about that too). This is something every couple should do once a year—to go on a getaway with just the two of you.

In Savannah, we visited historic houses (one, of the Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil fame) and churches (did you know John Wesley once pastored here, at Christ Church?), took long walks in Forsythe Park, had dinner on the riverfront, and of course ate at the famous Paula Deen's restaurant, The Lady and Sons. I even had my picture made with her. She was smiling real big on that poster!

Milton found our B&B on the Internet. The B&B had been photographed at night, and he said it was the prettiest B&B on the web. Built in the 1800s, it had been restored and was truly beautiful. We stayed in the President's Suite with its king-sized cherry four-poster and a bathroom you could get lost in. It also had a 42-inch plasma TV above the mantle, which Milton just loved.

We arrived, knocked on "the side door under the awning" which drew a dog's ferocious bark, and were finally greeted by the proprietor in the crack of the door. When she was able to get outside, we signed the paperwork on a clipboard, and she told us to take our luggage through the garden and up the 16 steps to the drawing room where we would be greeted with sliced coconut cake, cookies, coffee, soft drinks, and bottled water. After that, we were to climb the next set of stairs, and our room was "the first one you come to." I asked how many guests rooms she had. "Three," she said. "Anymore guests than us?" I asked. "No," she said. "They checked out this morning."

So we were all alone in this massive house. (Besides her; apparently she lived on the first floor.) Having heard of Savannah's ghost tours, I thought about ghosts, but I'm a Bible-memorizing Christian, and I know with a surety that the only ghost in this house is the Holy Ghost. Little did I know…

Our trek up the steep 16 steps on the streetside entrance was amply rewarded when we stepped inside. Ballroom was the first word that hit me. It was grand in scale: two huge sitting areas comprised of beautiful antique settees and chairs and tables, then a dining room suite set with a white tablecloth and china, then a huge bay window with a baby grand that was flanked by columns with white busts atop them. Tall, tall ceilings. Parquet hardwood floors. Crystal chandeliers. Lighted sconces along the walls. Elegant drapes and swags. Paintings. Rugs. And more.

After we settled in upstairs (and Milton checked out the 42-inch plasma TV), we drove to the riverfront cotton exchange where cotton had been shipped off in the 1700s and 1800s. It now houses restaurants and shops. After a leisurely seafood dinner at an outdoor restaurant where we watched the boats go by (I'm talking huge cargo ships), we strolled the bricked sidewalks then drove through the city and saw some of its historic 21 park-like squares, then returned to our room…

…for the Fruit of the Looms caper…

ANNIVERSARY TRIP--LATER TODAY

I'll be blogging about our anniversary trip to Savannah later today. Y'all come back now, ya heah?

THIRTY-FIVE WONDERFUL YEARS!

I'm blogging today instead of Monday and Tuesday, because Monday is our anniversary, and in a few minutes, Milton is taking me to Savannah for a couple of days to stay in a historic B&B and eat at Paula Dean's restaurant (famous TV cook). I hope to buy one of her aprons. I'm starting an apron collection. In July, we ate at Emeril's restaurant in Orlando, and I bought one of his aprons. It has BAM across the front. Now, if I can just think of a neat way to display them in my home--all of my aprons. I have a turquoise Jaguars football apron, and I'll soon have a custom-made apron with my brand new book cover on the front--Kiss the Cook. I'll be wearing this one for a book signing in Dallas in September at American Christian Fiction Writers conference. And I have my grandmother's little half apron that's dear to me. And one of my mother's...

But back to our anniversary.

I'm checking my lipstick in the ladies' restroom this morning at church before service time, leaning across the counter peering into the mirror.

"Have you seen your husband's column in the bulletin this morning?" a lady asks, twinkles dancing in her faded eyes.

"No, I haven't."

"You just wait, you just wait." Her eyebrows are going up and down. "It's good," she says, dragging it out.

"Oh, wow, I'll be sure and read it." And hopefully not during his sermon. :)

"It's all about you," she says, more twinkles dancing in her eyes.

"It is?" I'm surprised.

"Just you wait."

###

During church, I have to go to the pulpit to announce our upcoming women's event, Girls' Night Out. Once I get there, Milton tells the congregation it's our anniversary tomorrow, and he's so thankful for me, and he always loved redheads, and he got the prettiest redhead around, and he still has the prettiest redhead around,

I'm back. I just ran into the master closet to show Milton the things I'm taking, with suggestions as to what I'd like him to wear when we eat at Paula Dean's tomorrow night.

"Here's my stuff," I say. "Most of it's hanging. Can you get a suitcase down and put my suitcase stuff in it? I've got to finish blogging."

"Hurry up," he says. "I'm ready to go to Savannah."

I dash into the master bathroom on my way back to my study, then back into the closet. "Oh, I forgot." I pull a nightgown off the shelf. "I need to take a nightgown."

"What do you need that thing for?"

Life with this man is so romantic.

###

So I'm at the pulpit this morning with him, and he's telling the congregation how much he loves me, and then I take the mike and tell them how much I love him and how thankful I am for him, how I read a prayer poem by Ruth Graham (Mrs. Billy) when I was a teenager entitled "Let Him Be Like Thee," a poem that was the heart's cry of a young girl asking God to send her His man into her life, and how I prayed that prayer, too, even memorized her poem, and then God sent Milton to me, and at our wedding, right here in this very church (we now pastor the church I grew up in; neat) I read Ruth Graham's prayer poem and then the corresponding poem I wrote entitled "And So He Came" in which I thank God for sending me Milton.

And you could hear a sort of collective ahhhhh from the congregation,

And then Pastor Mike, from the piano, led everyone in Happy Anniversary to You.

###

When I sat back down in my pew, I picked up the bulletin and read it. It's so sweet, I had to share it with you:

Thirty-Five Wonderful Years

By

Milton Dykes

(Kristy's note: Lord have mercy, has it been that many years? I still feel like a teenager.)

According to proper etiquette, this year’s wedding anniversary gift from me to Kristy should be coral or jade. (Kristy's note: Hey, maybe I can find some coral or jade in Savannah.) Tomorrow Kristy and I will celebrate our thirty-fifth wedding anniversary, but I am going to let her pick her gift so I’m not sure yet what she will desire. We have plans to get away to celebrate and give thanks to God for the wonderful years we have shared together.

I’ve always been partial to red hair, and in college Kristy was the prettiest redhead in sight. She still is the prettiest redhead around. She was fun, talented, filled with life and energy, compassionate, and most of all committed to the Lord. I just couldn’t resist all her charms. After I graduated from college we married right here at Southside Assembly on August 14, 1971, and moved to Mobile, Alabama, where we started our ministry as youth pastors. Within two years we were senior pastors of our own congregation and all these years she has been my partner in life and ministry. We have much to be thankful for and much to look forward. Life has been good to us. Praise God!

How can you make your marriage healthy? According to Jeff Herring, it takes:
1. Commitment; 2. Teamwork; 3. Communication; 4. Meeting emotional needs; 5. Resolving conflict; 6. Apology and forgiveness; 7. Creating a relationship vision. Kristy and I have shared these qualities with a few added. Most of all we have had the Lord and His love to help us with our weaknesses.

Kristy, thank you for saying “I Do” thirty-five years ago. You are my favorite cook, writer, and woman’s speaker. You are a fantastic homemaker, wonderful mother, super pastor’s wife, and the best wife a man could have. You compliment and complete my life. As you know, we have dreams yet to fulfill together. I look forward to finishing life’s journey with you.

Church, Kristy and I are thankful for all your love and prayers for our family.

Pastor Dykes



Ahhhhhhhhh.

###

A ROMANTIC BEACH PICNIC

Last evening, we went to the beach with friends, our bikes, and a picnic supper. We ate on a table overlooking the Atlantic, and though it had been 100 degrees earlier, at five thirty a stiff wind whipped up, and we had to hang onto our napkins so they wouldn't blow away. With the waves hitting the beach in the background and pleasant conversation with good friends and my man at my side, I felt so blessed.

After we ate, we hopped on our bikes and took off through the 450 acres of the oceanfront copse of trees, winding through the camping sites and down by the lake and children's water park, then finally, back to where we started. We had on swimsuits under our shorts, and so we headed down to the water. Sandra and I plunged in to our knees because the water was chilly but the guys sat down on the beach, elbows in the sand, talking. It was twenty to eight by this time, and though the sun was pretty high in the sky there were no swimmers as far as my eye could see, and the lifeguard chair was vacant.

I heard the duh-duh duh-duh duh-duh duh-duh tune of the Jaws song ringing in my ears, and I thought of novelist Davis Bunn who'd recently been attacked by a shark in these very waters, and my overactive imagination kicked in (I'm a writer, remember?), and so I only went up to my waist. Besides, the undertow was pretty strong by now, and I'd always heard to swim in pairs, and nobody wanted to swim with me, so I passed.

I hope we can go back Saturday. I've been yearning to swim in the salty ocean water for weeks now, but we've been so tied up.

Milton and I swim and bike and walk, sometimes in unique places, and we get to do exciting things (like next week when he's taking me to a B&B in Savannah for a couple of nights for our anniversary). Jennifer, our daughter (Its All About Him), says all the time, "Mom, y'all get to do such neat things." She's tied down with two babies in a condo (she does, however, live in the Caribbean), but I always encourage her to find some alone time with her husband. When she and Julie were little, Milton and I always managed to do this. We'd get a babysitter and go out to eat, or walk around the lake, or just go to the public library and sit together and read, something we enjoy doing.

It's important for couples of all ages to do things together.

Alone.

That's why he's taking me to Savannah.

He said, "I want to go somewhere where it's just you and me, so we can concentrate on us." He took me to a B&B on Amelia Island (Florida) last August, and we both look back at those few days as a revitalization of our marriage. Not that it was bad. But people tend to get busy, and life seems to take over. So now, this may become a tradition every August.

LOVE & RESPECT--A HAND IN A GLOVE

I'm reading a new book I just ordered from christianbook.com called Love & Respect by Dr. Emerson Eggerichs. My sister-in-law (she and her husband pastor suncoastcathedral.com in St. Petersburg) raved about it a few months ago. They'd taught it to their couples, and she said it was dynamite. So I ordered a copy for our couples class teacher at our church, and she taught it and raved about it.

So my daughter (its-all-about-him.blogspot.com) heard her aunt (my sister-in-law) raving about it, and I offered to order it for her. Then she started raving about it. "Mom, you've got to read this book. It'll transform your marriage. It has mine!" She said it's based on Ephesians 3:3:

"Each one of you also must love his wife as he loves

himself; and the wife must respect her husband (NIV)."

"The man isn't loving his wife, and the wife isn't respecting the man, and the man isn't loving his wife, and it's a vicious cycle," she said. "Doing the things this book says to do will do wonders for your marriage."

Now, I've read tons of marriage books. When I first got married, I decided I'd better learn everything I could about it. Some of the books were keepers, and I've kept buying them through the years. I figure if I want to excell in any area, I need to study the subject, even take "refresher courses" all along, and marriage is no different.

Looking behind me at the tall bookshelf, I can see The Marriage Affair by J. Allan Petersen, Love Extravagantly by Marita Littauer and Chuck Noonan, Intended for Pleasure, The Act of Marriage, Love Life for Every Married Couple, yada, yada, yada.

When Milton does premarital counseling (he's a pastor), he gives each couple copies of Intended for Pleasure by Dr. Ed Wheat and The Act of Marriage by Tim LaHaye (yes, you heard that right; before he wrote Left Behind, he wrote and taught about marriage). And when Milton and I teach Joy in Marriage seminars, we highly recommend these two books.

So I ordered a copy of Love & Respect for Milton and me, and last night, I opened it. It teaches the principle of the man loving his wife and the wife respecting her husband, as my daughter said, based on Ephesians 3:3. On paper, it sounds easy, doesn't it? But in reality, it's a challenge. The author gives examples from his own marriage, which makes it interesting.

The inside flap says,

Using Dr. Eggerichs' breakthrough techniques, couples nationwide are achieving

a brand new level of intimacy and learning how to:

* stop the Crazy Cyle of conflict

* initiate the Energizing Cycle of change

* enjoy the Rewarded Cycle of new passion

And if you'll take his biblically based counsel to heart, your marriage could be next.

The subtitle of the book is "The Love She Most Desires...the Respect He Desperately Needs."

Love and respect...they go together like a hand in a glove.

For most of us, it's a work in progress!

I'M IN LIKE (AS OPPOSED TO LOVE?) PART 4

I've been blogging about sticking with your mate through the thick and thin of marriage, such as when s/he's hurt you or disappointed you, or when you have disagreements (for some couples, that's often). During times like these, you sometimes feel like you don't love your mate. But remember what I said in Part 3 of this post? "Love is a choice not a feeling." I heard a woman say to her husband, "I don't like you, but I love you." She was saying, "I don't like your ways right now, but I choose to love you anyway."

But I need to add in a disclaimer…

If you're in your second or third marriage, or whatever, please apply what I'm saying to your present circumstances. Put the past behind you, and move forward. Make this marriage the best it can be.

***

Dr. Richard Dobbins, a Christian psychologist, said, "It's not the circumstances in life that make or break you, but how you choose to handle them."

When I heard Dr. Dobbins say this a long time ago at a marriage conference, I had that saying printed and matted attractively, and I've displayed it in our home ever since. I can see it from where I'm sitting right now at my computer. It's on a bookcase sitting on a gold tripod.

It's become my philosophy for life, because it applies to all relationships, not just marriage.

Think about it.

"It's not the circumstances in life that make or break you, but how you choose to handle them."

It's all in how we deal with what life throws us. When Milton and I teach Joy in Marriage seminars, we do a segment on "The Rules of a Good Marital Fight."

"Fight," you say?

Yes, even in good marriages, couples have disagreements.

Dr. James Dobson says this.

And did you read the recent interview of Billy Graham? I think we saw it in USA Today, or somewhere. The reporter asked Dr. Graham about his marriage with Ruth. Dr. Graham, the great, revered, wonderful man of God, said with a twinkle in his eye (okay, I'm a writer; I'm envisioning this), "We are happily incompatible."

"We are happily incompatible?"

I love that!

That a great, revered, wonderful man of God can say, "Yes, we have disagreements. Yes, we don't see eye to eye. Yes, we're opposite in many ways. BUT WE ARE HAPPY! (In email language, those caps mean I'm shouting!)

And you know what?

The Grahams are choosing to be happy.

Because it is a choice.

Milton and I choose to be happy too.

Often.

OH, HOW I LOVE THAT MAN!

Oh, wow, he washed dishes last night!

What a pleasant surprise.

I had cooked a nice meal. Chicken and rice in a mushroom sauce. Corn in a butter sauce. Whole berry cranberry sauce. I cleaned the table and countertops and stacked the dishes in the sink to soak, then headed for my computer to work some more, and he headed to church for a meeting (premarital counseling and then visitation to Sunday visitors).

When he came home, he was fixing himself a slice of homemade peanut butter pie (a parishioner had given it to us, and boy, is it yummy; in fact, it's the best peanut butter pie you've ever put in your mouth; it's not that Cool Whip and peanut butter concoction, it's a cooked custard base with a baked meringue topping). I walked through the kitchen and said, "Could you wash that pot for me?" In the last few years, he's offered to wash the pots as long as I wash the dishes. "Okay," he said.

I worked steadily on, making some editorial changes to a novel, and I heard him in the kitchen. But I heard more than just him washing a pot. Did I hear him...loading the dishes in the dishwasher? Yes, I think I heard right.

When next I walked into the kitchen, the sinks were as clean as a whistle, and the pot was on a towel draining.

Oh, how I love that man!

Let's see...

What can I do for him? Whenever he shows me love and kindness, that's the way I feel. I can't do enough for him.

I know...

It's something he likes a lot

:)

I'M IN "LIKE" (AS OPPOSED TO LOVE?) PART 3

Like I said in Part 2 of "I'm In Like (As Opposed to Love?)", there are times in your marriage when your spouse hurts or disappoints you, or when you have a disagreement, and…

All is not bliss!

There's a proper way to handle things when this occurs.

In Part 1, I told you about a young woman I know who didn't handle things properly, and now her marriage has broken up.

I know another young woman…

She's looking for love…

In all the wrong places…

Let's call her Lisa.

She and her husband are sharp, and they're good-looking. They run a business. Their home is beautiful. They have two adorable children. Their parents adore the grandkids. The couple is the quintessential perfect couple. All is idyllic. Or should be.

But not so.

He's been talking to her about being home more. She's saying he's too demanding. He says this. She says that. Yada, yada, yada.

Oh, yes, there's another man on the horizon.

But he's "only" her personal trainer.

Might he soon be personal to her in another area?

You know, it's a fact of life. Our mates do hurt or disappoint us. And we do have disagreements (okay, let's get down to the nitty gritty and call them what they are--arguments). That's just how things are. It's inevitable. You take two people with two different personalities and plop them down in a house and expect them to live in perfect harmony? It's not going to happen.

How we react to friction is the true test of love. Love is a choice, not a feeling, and we must choose to love despite disappointments or disagreements.

Repeat this with me: "Love is a choice not a feeling."

Now repeat that when your mate has hurt you. Or angered you. Or however s/he bothers you (your particular issues).

Hard, isn't it?

But it's true. It's an absolute. It's irrefutable.

We choose to love.

Even when we don't want to, or when we don't feel like it, or when we think we've been mistreated.

Kinda' goes along with the marriage vows we repeated at the altar. "For better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health, until we're parted by death."

Why can't Sarah and Lisa realize that with some tweaking, they can stay in their marriages? If only they'd revisit the sizzle—something I coined (I think; I'd never heard it when I came up with it).

If only they'd remember how it was during their dating days with their present mates…

…instead of trying to find this sizzle with someone new…

…disclaimer ahead…

A RELAXING MASSAGE

I'm in Tampa for a few days with my daughter and two little grandsons. It's the first week of school, and I've been enjoying some Nana time and also helping my daughter in her third grade classroom.

Wednesday was my birthday, and she celebrated it in a big way. Birthday cake and ice cream. Cards. A bouquet and mylar balloon. The Happy Birthday song. Dinner at Outback. And...

A relaxing massage at a beautiful spa.

So yesterday I went for my massage. My daughter's given me a couple of these before, and I love them. They're wonderful. They calm you, with the subdued lighting, soft spa music, and the lulling sounds from the water fountain.

The lady massages my shoulders.

"My family jokes that we were monkeys in another life," I tell her. "When we get together, we make a train across the living room and massage each other's shoulders."

She laughs.

"We love shoulder massages. My mother taught us how to rub in circular motions and which muscles to hit."

"A massage not only stimulates the skin, which is a vital organ of your body," she says as she runs her hands up and down my neck in a ripple effect, "but it stimulates your immune system. Massages are very healthy."

I nod.

###

"Milton, I got my massage today."

"Come home, and I'll give you a massage."

"You never make it up to my shoulders."

"You have shoulders?"

###

I'm going home tomorrow.

I'M IN "LIKE" TODAY (AS OPPOSED TO LOVE?) PART 2

I know another young woman who's looking for love…in all the wrong places.

Let's call her Lisa.

She and her husband are sharp, and they're good-looking. They run a business. Their home is beautiful. They have two adorable children. Their parents adore the grandkids. Lisa and Jeff are the quintessential perfect couple. All is idyllic. Or should be.

But not so.

He's been talking to her about being home more. She's saying he's too demanding. He says this. She says that. Yada, yada, yada.

Oh, yes, there's another man on the horizon.

But he's "only" her personal trainer.

Might he soon be personal to her in another area?

You know, this is a fact of life: our mates do things to hurt us or disappoint us. That's just how things are. It's inevitable. You take two people with two different personalities and plop them down in a house and expect them to live in perfect harmony? It's not going to happen.

How we react to friction is the true test of love. Love is a choice, not a feeling, and we must choose to love despite disappointments or disagreements.

Repeat this with me: "Love is a choice. Not a feeling."

Now repeat that when your mate hurts you. Or angers you. Or however s/he bothers you (your particular issues).

Hard, isn't it?

But it's true. It's an absolute. It's irrefutable.

We choose to love.

Even when we don't want to, or when we don't feel like it, or when we think we've been mistreated.

Kinda' goes along with the marriage vows we repeated at the altar. "For better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health, until you're parted by death."

Why can't Sarah and Lisa realize that with some tweaking, they can stay in their marriages? If only they'd revisit the sizzle—something I coined (I think; I'd never heard it when I came up with it).

If only they'd remember how it was during their dating days with their present mates…

…instead of trying to find this sizzle with someone new…

…disclaimer ahead…

Oh, I'm still pining for Milton. We're away from each other for a few days while I'm visiting our daughter (I rarely leave him). Thank the Lord for phones! They convey sweet nothings very well.

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!

It's my birthday! And I'm spending it with my daughter and two grandsons. Today, while my daughter greeted her new students for the school year at the school's open house, I took my two grandsons to meet their teachers.

I'm having fun!

LEAVING MY HUSBAND

I've left my husband.

Temporarily.

I rarely leave him.

He's always said he needs me, that he doesn't want me to leave him, and I joke that "You just need a concubine," and he says a hearty "Amen!" and so I seldom leave.

I remember the first time I left him for two nights. We'd been married three years, and my parents asked if I could go with them to see my brother and his wife in New Orleans. My parents had to pass near our town and thought it would be nice if I could ride with them and see my brother's new church and home (he's a minister too; we have nearly 30 ministers and wives in our family!).

Milton reluctantly agreed to "let me go" (yes, I asked for permission).

But I felt guilty.

We're two peas in a pod.

My daughter says Milton and I are joined at the hip.

I always feel incomplete without him.

I think he feels the same way.

But it would be nice to see my brother and his wife, and it was convenient, with my parents passing through.

Ever the caring, let-me-meet-all-your-needs wife, I made sure he had shirts laundered and ironed for Sunday, yada, yada, yada, even fixed food. "Milton," I said, "there's a T-bone steak in the fridge. That's for Saturday night supper."

With a bear hug and stifled sniffle, I bid him adieu and took off for New Orleans.

Had a great trip.

Rode the trolley and saw all the sights. Even met Tom-turned-Tajah-turned-Tom at my brother's church, the transsexual who found Jesus and took back his male identity. Praise Jesus.

Came home.

Unpacked.

Went into the kitchen to cook.

My main dwelling place and proud of it.

(No wonder I used to write a weekly cooking column, "Kristy's Kitchen," for a New York Times subsidiary. I'm a confessed and proud foodie.)

Pulled out my nice new cookie sheet...

That now had a burned-in, black circle in the middle.

Well, T-boned shaped.

"Milton," I said sweetly, holding up the destined-for-the-garbage-can cookie sheet, "what's this?"

He walked over to me, took the cookie sheet out of my hands, placed it on a burner, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "I cooked my steak."

We've laughed many times about that.

Whoever heard of cooking a steak on a cookie sheet on top of the stove?

The possibility of ruined cookie sheets isn't why I don't leave him much.

I guess I don't leave him much because I hear that Bible verse ringing in my head about "cleaving," and you can't cleave much when you're away from your spouse. 'Course I realize some marriages have required separations, such as for job situations, or when you live out of the country (or far away) and need to visit your family and your husband can't get away, etc.

But for the most part, I personally think it's healthy to not be separated too much in a marriage, especially the first years.

So why have I left him now?

I'm in Tampa with my daughter and two grandsons, soaking up some Nana time, and also helping my daughter in her classroom. She's a single mom, and a third grade schoolteacher just starting a new school year in a brand new wing of her school, so it required some extra work. I took off some time from my normal duties, and here I am.

But I can't wait to get home.

To Milton.