Wife Rule #163: I'm a Woman's Man

It was getting late in the afternoon and the ski lifts were closing. I stood at the top of the hill and sighed. This one was rated as a double-blue-square, or "advanced intermediate," and it was the easiest route I knew of to eventually get from where I was to the car. I used to think of myself as kind of an advanced intermediate skier, but I was starting to wonder. I looked at the steep grade, coated with an unforgiving layer of ice and littered with moguls, and wondered if I could do it, especially with this leg cramp I was developing.

My friend Lionel gave me an encouraging word and then took off down the hill, his 6-foot-2-inch frame gracefully dancing back and forth between the moguls. He looked like one of those guys on the ski commercials, one of the ones that made it look easy. Lionel made a lot of stuff look easy. He was tall, barrel-chested, good looking, successful by any measure of the word, and about the nicest guy you could ever know. He made you feel at ease, could talk about any subject, and could compliment you so naturally and with such honesty that you would never think to question his sincerity. Everyone likes Lionel, and indeed, there's nothing to not like. He's a natural leader, athletic, kind, generous, outgoing, and a wonderful family man. As I watched his picture-perfect form descending the ski slope, I thought to myself, Now there goes a true "man's man."

Which, coming back to the painful cramp in my leg, felt like quite a contrast to me at that moment.  You see, I've never quite fit in with "the guys."  Growing up, where most guys loved to talk sports, cars, and rock-and-roll, my interests were in academics, art, and classical music.  Other guys dreamed of being a pro athlete; I dreamed of being a concert pianist.  Other guys spent hours watching, studying, and memorizing statistics about their sports heroes.  I spent hours tinkering on my computer.  While others were pumping iron, I was pumping out drawings.  When many of my friends would discuss their favorite Pink Floyd or Led Zeppelin tunes, I tried--without any measure of success--to bring Harry Connick, Jr. into the conversation.

And things aren't that different now.  I still find that my musical tastes gravitate towards those more commonly held by 60-something-year-old women (Mormon Tabernacle Choir and Michael Buble, anyone?)  My lack of athletic ability only grows more pronounced as I struggle to figure out how to help my sons learn the common sports of the day.  The first pinewood derby with my freshly-minted cub scout was saved only because you can buy pre-cut cars now--I don't even own a saw.  And I still spend too much time on the computer (you're looking at Exhibit A).

Instead of growing gracefully older, I'm growing pleasingly plumper.  Instead of having a swell cleft in my chin (like Gaston), I have two (going on three) chins.  I kind of went straight from high-school pencil neck to happily-married padded neck.  I completely missed the sweet spot somewhere in-between.

Somehow, miraculously--even bewilderingly--this never mattered to my wife.  When we met, even though she's a good athlete, she didn't care that I'm not--she was happy that I studied hard.  She didn't care that I'm not broad shouldered--she was happy that I'm smart.  She didn't care that I don't know how to fix cars or own tools--she's glad that I can get around on a computer.  She didn't care that I more closely resemble Mr. Potato Head than Arnold Schwarzenegger--she always wanted to marry someone who's "nice."

And now, 14 years later, we've got a great marriage and six wonderful children.  We're a happy, blandly average, middle-class family living in a middle-class neighborhood in the greatest country on earth.  All because my wife was willing to take a terrible chance on little old me.

So as I slowly and painstakingly made my way down the hill, slipping on the ice and stumbling over the moguls, I was reminded that no, I'm not in the "man's man" club.  Though I admire them and struggle to understand them, I'm at peace with the fact that I never will be one of them.  Heck, I'm not even a "women's man."  I'm simply a "woman's man."  One woman's man.

And for this life and forever, one is enough.

New Photo Blog

I recently put together an online gallery of some of my favorite photos that I've taken over the years (and a few my wife has taken as well).  It can be found at ColorfulUtah.blogspot.com, and will have a permanent link in the header of this blog.

I may update it from time to time if I can get around to looking through the hundreds of photos we take every year (it's always more fun to take them than to process them).

Please take a look and let me know what you think!

Wife Rule #162: We're Family

Sometimes when I want to say something most, it's hard to find the words to say it.

My cousin Erica passed away a week ago from cancer. Her funeral was yesterday. We grew up together. For several years she has lived in Florida with her husband and children, whom I don't really know. I've occasionally checked in on her blog, and tried to offer condolences when her mom (my aunt) passed away last year, also from cancer. She has extended sympathy to me regarding my dad's cancer the last several years. There have been mutual prayers sent back and forth in our respective struggles, but in truth I haven't been all that close to Erica in recent years. Now she is gone.

I know from reading her blog that she loves her spouse and children, I'm sure just as much as I love mine. And I know they must love her back, just as much as mine love me. And so my heart breaks for them--for the children who miss their mother and for her husband, who has lost his wife: the source of so much happiness and balance and meaning and direction in life.

I have learned from loving my wife that there is a beauty that comes into your life when you enjoy a happy marriage and family that cannot be replicated in any other way. This is because the married life--the family life--is what God intends for His children. It is the way to happiness. It is a shadow of His life.

Feeling this celestial love and yearning in our own families is a big part of what makes the separation from our loved ones sting so much. Because of what Erica's husband and children lost when she died--because of her love for them and their love for her--they must literally be going through hell.

I believe this is why God sent his Beloved Son to save us: so there would be a way back out. So that we can find a way to dry our tears. So that after the sting of death eventually loosens its grip on us, we can have hope again. So that we can find joy again. So that we can overcome both sin and death, and live together as families again, with Him.

He is real. He cares. He loves us. He really did rise from the dead, and because of Him, so will each one of us.

Some day I'll see my cousin again, and I hope that in the next world--the world that never ends--we'll keep better track of each other. I hope to get to know her husband and kids.

After all, we're family.

Wife Rule #161: It's a Half-Full Life

I've heard social media criticized because people tend to only show the positives in their lives and neglect sharing the negatives. This can lead to unfair comparisons between a person's real life, with all its baggage, and the picture-perfect lives portrayed by others online. I suppose this blog is no exception to that criticism.

I haven't written much lately, and that is because I have often been busy, down, stressed, or my mind otherwise consumed to the point where I simply didn't have much to say. "If you can't say something nice..."

So this blog tends to reflect only the times when I am feeling happy, grateful, and positive about life. I have written about some hard times in my Wife Rules, but typically only after I have arrived in a place where I can put a positive spin on the end of the story. To me at least, this blog is clearly a half-full glass.

The half-empty times mostly pass in silence.

And in a way, my wife is a lot like this blog. She chooses to love me with a half-full-glass attitude. She sees the best in me. She assumes the best in me. She expects the best of me. She downplays or ignores those parts of me that are part of the half-empty glass. And on occasion, when there's just not much nice to say about me, she refrains from saying much at all.

Not that she shies away from the occasional constructive comment, or avoids talking about the serious times we sometimes face. She's willing to tackle tough issues when they need tackling.

I guess I'm just trying to say that when I'm not at my best, and I know it, and she knows it, she simply lets it be.

And in so doing, she shows her faith in me and love for me, and soon the half that was empty is filled up again--in part, because she made it so.

Wife Rule #160: What Love Is

Love is a many-faceted thing.

Love is when I invite my parents over for dinner and our annual Valentine's Day dance without consulting my wife, and then she agrees with a genuine smile, even though I just complicated her preparations a bit.

Love is when my older girls pitch in with decorations for the dance and my wife interrupts her food preparation to help them gather the needed supplies.

Love is when I leave my work at the door, shake off the drowsiness that settles in during the evening commute home, breathe deeply, and muster my remaining energy to greet a wonderful wife and energetic family.

Love is when my sons greet me at the door and enthusiastically remind me of my important goal (to drink a glass of water before each meal) by screaming "GOAL! GOAL! GOAL!"

Love is when my wife puts aside the feelings of tension that build up amidst the chaos that occurs as hungry children are corralled and directed to clean up before dinner, and greets me with a tender hug and a smile.

Love is when my parents arrive for a visit after a long, complicated day of being out and about while enduring the pains that come with advanced cancer and the onset of the golden years.

Love is when my toddler and my three year old, dressed as pink ballerinas, greet my parents at the door with shy smiles and tender hugs.

Love is when my parents endure being pummeled by the four older children and all they have to show and tell.

Love is the beautiful table setting my wife laid out in honor of the holiday.

Love is the delicious meal and the chickens, grain, and green beans that gave their lives for our enjoyment.

Love is the complete trust engendered by a wise and kind father, so that his son can ask him for advice about complicated decisions at work.

Love is my father talking as long as I had more to ask, and my wife waiting patiently while I sought needed help.

Love is dinner followed by a dance.

Love is the special feeling a proud father gets when he takes the hand of his daughter for a dance.

Love is seeing a brother who wasn't all that comfortable with the idea of dancing take his older sister by the hand, smile warmly, and join in.

Love is the surge of affection that I feel as my two little ballerinas turn and fall, get back up, and march around the room, cookies-with-icing-licked-off still in hand.

Love is swooping my baby up and holding her tight as we tip and spin to the music, her little eyes smiling in the lamplight.

Love is not caring that the icing left on her hands is now on my shoulder.

Love is the picture of my parents, holding tightly to each other, slowly turning, sometimes with eyes closed.

Love is the sting in my eyes as I watch them, knowing this will be the last Valentine's Day dance we'll all have together.

Love sometimes hurts.

Love is the warm, soothing feeling of holding my wife as we slow dance together--the familiar feeling of her back, the shine of her hair, the warmth of her head on my shoulder.

Love is the lingering hug I give to my parents as we say goodbye.

Love is finishing up the kitchen cleanup and starting the dishwasher while my wife puts the last load of laundry in the dryer--even though it's very late and we're both very tired.

Love is kneeling side by side at the bed, holding hands as we petition our Father in Heaven on behalf of our marriage and our family.

Love is the familiar look of tired sweetness in my wife's eyes as we say goodnight and turn out the light.

Excuses...

Okay, so I've spent far more time being worried about my job the last nine months than writing blog posts about my life with my wonderful wife, who is more supportive, kinder, patient, and deserving of praise than ever.

And now I finally feel compelled to write something, but it's not a Wife Rule. It's a sweet experience that needed to be recorded. So to read it, please visit my other blog (which gets written on even less frequently than this one).

I've composed many beautiful Wife Rules in my head as I've driven to or from work or at other inopportune times. Hopefully one of these days I'll actually write one down...

Wife Rule #159: Celebrate the Holidays

A great many things have happened to our family during the past year: Summer learned to crawl, walk, talk, and push Daddy around like putty in her tiny hands; we took our first family vacation to Disneyland and Charity learned that Tinkerbell is the scientific force behind all fireworks; we traveled to Newport Beach for my wife's beloved grandpa's funeral; we helped organize a surprise anniversary celebration and reception for my parents; Andrew started Kindergarten; Scott was baptized; Rachel and Dawn learned to ski with--and notwithstanding--the instructions of their father (lesson one: how to fall down); we sunk several grand into our first adventure with orthodontics; we survived the weekly activity schedule of six children, including Cub Scouts, Activity Days, ballroom dance, the school play, soccer, piano lessons, chores, homework, poopy diapers, and play time together; we said goodbye to and lost my beloved grandma; and we helped my parents stage their home, pack it up, move, unpack, and "try out" their new swimming pool no less than a dozen times. Just to name a few.

Yet with all this hustle and bustle, with all this activity and running back and forth, with the greetings and partings, with the ups and downs, "there is one thing which is of more importance than they all" (Alma 7:7).

Our family was challenged this year by our church leaders to study the life, teachings, and atonement of the Savior Jesus Christ. We made it a goal to read the first five books of the New Testament--Matthew through Acts. It took us over 10 months of daily effort, but we finally finished. As we read together each morning, a beautiful story unfolded before us, again and again with each new writer: a baby whose birth was announced by heavenly messengers; wonderful parents who protected and loved the child through heaven-sent help, against all odds; an obedient child who taught His parents and others in the temple; the stirring testimony of John and the beginning of public ministry; the equally compelling private ministry among those who believed; the miracles that were witnessed by many but understood by only the faithful; the gentle teaching, the lifting, the comforting, the helping, the healing; a Man who loved perfectly and came to be loved by the faithful few who would ignore the doubts, jeers, mocking, and scoffing of the crowd; the careful preparation of beloved disciples to carry on the work after His departure; the bravery and agony of infinite atonement, followed by the welcome release of death; the miracle of resurrection and new life and hope offered to all; the majesty of heavenly ascension and the promise of return; the charge to take the message to the world, and the assurance of His presence and guidance in the acts of those willing to take up the charge.

All these were laid before us in splendid, powerful prose. The testimonies of those eye-witnesses still rings true with relevance in our lives today. It is because of that baby--because of Him--that we have peace in this world and hope for a better world. His plan for us imbues day-to-day life with meaning, providing context for the schedules and comfort in the hard times. Because of Him, we recognize the precious value of a human soul and work hard to allow our children opportunities to learn and grow. Because of Him, we hope to remain a family forever, influencing the way we deal with the Big Stuff like death, as well as how treat each other in even the smallest of daily interactions. Because of His example, we serve. Because of His grace, we endure, we pray, and we hope for deliverance from sickness, from pain, from disappointment, and even from death. Because of Him, the trials in life are not insurmountable walls to block us, nor bottomless pits to ensnare us, but stepping stones to help propel us to a better, higher place.

Truly, "He is the light and the life of the world; yea, a light that is endless, that can never be darkened; yea, and also a life which is endless, that there can be no more death." (Mosiah 16:9)

In this season of thanksgiving and celebration, we testify of Him--that He lives and loves us and will come again. He is the Giver of all good gifts. We owe Him gratitude for our faith, our families, the peace we find today, and our hope for the future. The babe born in Bethlehem over 2000 years ago remains relevant and resplendent in our lives today: He is the Comforter and Counselor, the King of kings and Lord of Lords, the Savior and Redeemer of us all.