33

Today, Mario and I have been married for 33 years, it's our Jesus year, so to speak. Every year, I write a blog about our marriage, and I ask Mario what I should write about. Today, when I asked, he leaned against the door frame and thought.

“Wow,” he said. “It’s been a tough year. Maybe you should write about endurance.”

I nodded, and began.

In the old days, I swear this would have felt like a slap in the face. If I ask Mario what especially stands out in our marriage, I'm not really wanting to hear how both of us are good at sticking it out. This year is different. This year, 2020, I appreciate him saying this. 

First of all, most of you know what I’m talking about when I write about this year. Most who are reading are family and friends, and most have partners or romantic relationships. You know what this year has been like, right? It’s been tough for all of us. It’s been a year of quarantine, diminished salaries, being trapped in closed spaces together. You know...

This year, on top of all this COVID quarantine stuff, Mario and I had major life changes which took place inside our family.  Where family is concerned, I don’t like change. I understand how family stuff can be emotionally supercharged, so I like it to remain predictably emotionally supercharged. This year has been filled with so many family changes, that it’s caused disturbing outbursts, challenges, discussions, and decisions. It’s sucked a lot of life out of me.

Usually, Mario and I agree about the important stuff, but this year? We felt like Oscar and Felix, Samson and Delilah, MaryMatalin and James Carville.

I love Mario and Janet. Mario and Janet disagree on a boatload of issues, but are genuinely together on critical ones, and always remain each other’s best friend.  This year? Challenged that. The issue of family is tender, and if we don’t agree on the direction we’re supposed to take, we fight. We’ve fought a lot this year. 

A week ago, Mario and I were in one of these terrible fights. It was at the point of a tailspin, telling the other something like, “If only you would listen, then you’d understand...” or something like that. I don’t remember the specifics, but I do remember being exhausted.

There comes a time in most couple’s lives when they get tired of fighting about the same thing, over and over again. This exhaustion sometimes supersedes what they’re fighting about. The disagreement gets old, and the mountain looks familiar, blah, blah, blah... and they arrive at the inevitable fork in the road, where they have to ask themselves: “Do I pursue this later?” or “Do I drop it?”

(I have to give a disclaimer here—I’ve said this before—this doesn’t apply to addictions. Addictions are equivalent to ACID on a relationship. Relationships can’t survive addictions unless the addict gets help).

No one gets to the fork in the road unless they are fighting. No one arrives at this fork in the road unless they’ve traveled the lonely road of disagreement with their partner. We usually arrive at the fork fatigued, stinky, gross, and angry. Sometimes the fork is complicated, with more than two ways to end it. Either way, the fork in the road involves surrender.

This year, Mario and I have had to agree to compromise a lot. In order to move on, couples surrender their way and make a deal that's acceptable to both, if they expect to remain friends. Some of us take longer to reach a compromise. 

Mario and I are accomplished swordfighters by this time in our marriage—we’ve even learned how to duel without drawing blood—and no one would ever guess we were capable of inflicting such emotional wounds on one another. I’m ashamed to say this, but we’ve survived a lot of wounds this year. Tonight, as I type this, I promise you, that we have survived the battles, the wounds, the surrenders, because we share a deep love for one another and a shared faith. At the end of day, I have to remember that this man is the best guy I know—the man who understands me like no other human on the planet.

So, why would I ever battle with him, you may ask? It’s because I’m human and I like being right. Sometimes I wish everyone in the whole damn world would listen to me, and just do what I say. If they would, things would work a lot better. Sure, some people disagree with me, but those people are idiots.  When my husband numbers himself with the idiots, my happiness is suddenly threatened, and I hate it when my happiness is threatened. If there’s change happening all around me, I object—loudly. I don’t like change unless I orchestrate it.

That last paragraph? I hope it made you laugh...even if it feels true. We humans are selfish beings by nature, and usually we're good at masking this, until our happiness is threatened.

This year, the man who is my husband, my favorite human being in the whole world, disagreed with me more than he normally does, because he has the inconvenient job of bringing me back to earth and showing me how change is inevitable. He is the one who shows me our bank balance, and reminds me to stay on a budget. He encourages me to tell the truth, but with less brutal language. He explains how our children are adults, and need our support even when we disagree with their decisions. Mario brings me to the window of a reality that I often ignore, and encourages me to see that I’m not an obstacle to change—it will happen anyway.

This year I’ve disagreed with Mario more than I normally do, because I have the inconvenient job of reminding him that some things in our family are too important to lose, and there are some hills I am willing to defend with my life. Sometimes, when I’m grieving hard, I want him to grieve with me, and this year the grieving has even threatened his happiness. The explosive life and joy I bring to our marriage also comes with occasional dips into depression. I feel things strongly, love people with my whole heart, and usually can't hide what I'm thinking. I ask Mario to dream higher things for us, believe the best about most people, and encourage a life of creating beauty. I bring warmth and color and life, and Mario values these things so much that he accepts the cost. Thank God.

Mario and I both know we’re still together only because of God. Even the best lovers, the best friends, the best team can be split apart by a world that champions self-promotion and individualism. As different as we are, Mario and I have a shared faith, which inspires love, which in turn inspires life, which inspires others, and so on. Anything that’s good in us as people or as a couple has been forged by a refining fire that we know is God.

When Mario and I trained for the only marathon we ever ran together, a seasoned veteran told us, “You can split the race into two parts: the first twenty miles, and the last six.” Not until you run a marathon do you realize that an endurance race is toughest near the end. The body isn’t built to run long distances all the time. The best runners have a training schedule and work up to the distance—this is called endurance training. It's both brutal and critical.

Mario and I have endured so much this year, and we’re still friends. We're still lovers. We still see each other as life-partners. I am more determined, in our thirty-third year of our marriage, to love him and respect him. 

This year has been tough, but we’re tougher. 

Mario

 

Mario grew his beard back this year...

For some reason, I have been given a husband so wonderful and stable that I  have had to discipline myself not to think of him as my savior.  Our relationship has always been a combination of romance and friendship, one that began as the greatest surprise of my life.

From the moment Mario saw me, he was able to recognize the diamond in the rough; the princess beneath the layers of insecurity and doubt.  He was able to provide me with  much needed love and acceptance, after years of deprivation in a (self-inflicted) cold world.  He was handsome, financially stable, loved my son and made all my bells and whistles go off like a smoke alarm.   I was a twenty-five year-old young woman desperate for attention and starving for love - a proverbial catastrophe waiting to happen.  Instead of taking advantage of my vulnerable state, Mario loved me.

He loved me.

The thought still brings tears to my eyes.  His love was real and genuine and the stuff that legends are made of.  He didn’t manufacture it – it came naturally.  I received this love suspiciously, waiting for him to come to his senses and figure out I was just me.  

He stayed. 

Today Mario is sixty one and he is still in love with me - after twenty-eight years.  I look at him and still wonder why this guy who was light years out of my league saw into my soul and fell in love.  I am married to the best guy I know.

God has mercy on the humble; this mercy in my life has translated to Mario.  If a person has been kissed by God, they have noticeable imprints of that love that He has the mercy to leave on them.  I thank God for this mercy – because I know I don’t deserve it.

Happy Birthday, babe.  You really are the best thing I have in my life – and my life is overflowing with good things.

Valentine's

Cupid, in Roman mythology, was the son of Mars and Venus, the god of war and the goddess of beauty.  According to myth, he was once sent on an errand (by his own manipulating mother)  to go into a mortal’s (Psyche) bedroom to destroy her with an arrow, poisoned to make Psyche fall madly in love with an evil man.  On his way in, Cupid fell and cut himself with his own arrow – poisoning himself and becoming mentally ill.  For the rest of his existence, he followed other mortals around, shooting at them with the same poisoned arrows – in the hopes that they would become as crazy as he was. 

We have taken the Roman god, Cupid, and made him the symbol of romance (and of Valentine’s Day)  often depicted as an angel with a bow and arrows. 

The truth is that his character was a mama’s boy who tripped on his way to poison a woman his mother was jealous of.  He ended up falling madly in love with Psyche – the woman Venus was trying to destroy.  Cupid's weakness and stupidity make him a good mascot for the oddest holiday of the year.

This misunderstood holiday is a day that we celebrate our twisted version of romance.  Commercially, it is the time where the prices of chocolates, cards, and flowers are inflated.  Played well, it can be the perfect day to exploit romance, not celebrate it.

I may sound a little cynical about this holiday.  I guess it is because our single friends feel so unloved and so alone.  I never have been alone on Valentine’s Day, but I’m literally protective and perturbed for the people who are.  These are amazing, awesome people who feel reminded on this one day that their dreams of romance and true love are not being realized.   

The origin of the holiday is supposed to be based on the life of a Catholic Saint, named Valentine.  What we know about him (from the traditional descriptions written in the 1200’s) Valentine was an evangelical man, preaching Jesus Christ and calling everyone to know Him...and His love.  Apparently the Roman emperor at the time (Claudius, in the year 280) opposed proselytizing in any religion, including those his subjects practiced freely.

He called Valentine to his presence and asked for his repentance.  Valentine refused, saying that not preaching the Gospel was to deny Christ. 

The act of wilful defiance to an emperor was punishable by death, and Claudius ordered it for Valentine the following day – February 14.  Before his head was cut off,  the Roman guard (Valentine’s jailer) asked Valentine to pray for his young daughter who was blind and going deaf.   Apparently, Valentine asked for the girl to be brought to him and prayed that God would restore her sight and hearing.

She was miraculously healed (this is why the Catholic church made him a “saint”).  So, St. Valentine’s Day is the anniversary of his execution, not his birthday. 

It was Chaucer (who wrote Canterbury Tales)  that proclaimed St. Valentine’s Day to be “A Day for Lovers” in his poem “Parlement of Foules” (Assembly of Birds). 

I’m not falling for that.  Mario and I celebrate the holiday by boycotting it.  We make a choice to celebrate the day after, when chocolates were 50% off and the cards that didn’t sell were priced to go.  We would try to out-do each other with the cheesiest cards we could find.  I once gave him a “left-over” card that showed the silhouette of an African-American woman (complete with afro and formal gown) and said “With deepest love from your brown sugar.”

This makes me smile... we beat the holiday pressure at its own game.

Want to know the greatest tale of romance?  Jesus Christ was born and died and rose again to make it possible for someone as messed up as me to receive my Heavenly Father’s love.  That’s true love. 

Happy Valentine’s Day.  

eleventh

On the eleventh day of Christmas my TRUE LOVE gave to me ELEVEN PIPERS PIPING!

The gifts that my TRUE LOVE sent to me in the final four days are often reordered in the earlier versions of the song (Maybe carolers had too much egg nogg?) For example, the pipers used to be on the ninth day rather than the eleventh and in some versions, there are bells ringing, bulls a-beating, and asses racing on the last four days!  Since I grew up (as most Americans did) singing it in this order, let’s proceed as if there are no discrepancies, shall we?

On the eleventh day of Christmas I always imagined ELEVEN PIPERS as men with shiny flutes – running around with tights and brightly colored shoes, trying not to run into the TEN LORDS A-LEAPING.  Instead, in France (as in all of Europe) the “pipes” were bagpipes – played by strong men who walked purposefully together in formation – drowning out any other sound around them.  In the 1700’s pipers were men of good will, respected and never silenced.

ELEVEN PIPERS PIPING symbolizes the ELEVEN FAITHFUL APOSTLES. 

Jesus chose 12 men to have as his closest followers.  We call them  “the Apostles” (the Greek translation “apostolos” means “one who is sent out”).  He sent them out in pairs to heal the sick, raise the dead and tell the good news to the Jews that there is such a thing as a Messiah and God had not forgotten them.  When he was most popular, the Apostles saw Jesus enter Jerusalem on a colt with people shouting and worshiping and waving palm branches.  A week later, Jesus exited Jerusalem carrying a cross on his back, whipped within an inch of His life – on His way to be executed.  One of his own 12 Apostles (Judas Iscariot) turned Him over to the ones who wanted to kill him – the Sanhedrin. 

After the betrayal and consequent crucifixion of Jesus, the Apostles lay low, hoping to stay out of trouble (this is even after the resurrection –and ascension of Jesus Christ).  One day, the Holy Spirit came in the Upper room where they were staying and entered like a freight train – tongues of fire resting on the heads of the eleven remaining apostles. 

After this day (Pentecost) the Apostles went out boldly, preaching and evangelizing and telling the good news of Jesus Christ in power.  It is said that the early church held true to the Apostles teaching (Acts 2:42) and God added daily to those who were being saved (Acts 2:47).

The Apostles knew Jesus before the Holy Spirit came; they weren't wimps, they were real men.  After The Holy Spirit filled them, they became loud and fearless.  Like soldiers with new life breathed into them, they marched in formation and spread the good news of Salvation through faith in Jesus Christ.  The threat of being executed like their teacher was still there; they no longer feared it.  All besides John were martyred (even Peter, who had previously denied Christ, was crucified upside down).

The ELEVEN FAITHFUL APOSTLES with their brazen message were like ELEVEN PIPERS PIPING.

It is in the tradition of the Apostles that we trumpet the Gospel of Jesus Christ, especially at Christmas.  PLAY on, church!  Remember our message is real and powerful and when we march in formation, no one can shut us up!

ELEVEN PIPERS PIPING – make way for the Gospel!

eighth

On the EIGHTH DAY of Christmas, my true love gave to me EIGHT MAIDS-A-MILKING.  It is suggested to us that the eight maids represent the BEATITUDES from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount.  THE BEATITUDES are named thus because of the Latin noun beatitudo which means "happiness". 

How does a maid ( a young girl) milking a cow remind us of these BEATITUDES? 

 My mother grew up on a farm and as far back as she can remember, machines were being used to milk cows.  A heifer makes so much milk that even when she gives birth to two calves at a time, she would never be relieved of her load.  The milking has to be done early in the morning, and if it’s done by hand it can take a long time.  So, a milk maid (in the 1700’s)was a humble position, a job that few would envy.

Jesus knew all about humility.  Early in His public ministry, He was followed by a multitude of people hoping to hear him teach, be fed, have a miraculous healing.  The Sermon on the Mount took place in a remote wilderness, where Jesus used the time to encourage His apostles.  He taught them to think differently about the people that followed Him – and themselves.  This simple teaching remains to be one of the most powerful (and quoted) sermons to this day:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit,
    for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
 Blessed are those who mourn,
    for they will be comforted.
 Blessed are the meek,
    for they will inherit the earth.
 Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
    for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
    for they will be shown mercy.
 Blessed are the pure in heart,
    for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
    for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
    for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

 “Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.  Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”  (Matthew 5:3-12)

Jesus' teaching that day is sobering, considering how all of the apostles would all die.  With the exception of John, they would be martyrs, killed for their faith.  Jesus encouraged them to count it a blessing rather than a failure.

I have never measured strength by humility until I was born again in Jesus Christ.  He reminds me that if I'm in Him, I don’t have to fight for everything – it will all be given to me.  Humility recognizes that there is no such thing as losing when we are in Christ.  He knows our sufferings and He encourages us that no matter how lowly our station is, He will exalt us.

The gift of EIGHT MAIDS-A-MILKING assures us that our TRUE LOVE sees what we think no one can.   

sixth

The Sixth Day of Christmas is technically six days after Christmas.  The way the church celebrated the holiday ( moving the celebration of birth of Christ to December and then saying the Magi appeared twelve days after his birth ) – Epiphany was the “Twelfth Night” of Christmas.

Man began His time keeping on a model set by God – Seven Days in one week.  The calendar is measured in twelve months, roughly 52 of these weeks.  Christians (and Jews) used to champion a Sabbath: six days of the week were set aside for work and one was set aside to rest.  This rest day was also modeled for us by our creator – GOD rested on the seventh day.

On the SIXTH DAY of Christmas, my TRUE LOVE gave to me SIX GEESE A-LAYING.

Six Geese a-Laying represents the six days of CREATION – in Six Days God created the heavens and the earth – all that is seen and unseen.  Then, as a divine surprise, He rested.  RESTING was given to us by example- our CREATOR GOD, who never grows weary or tires, rested on the seventh day.  He blessed it, sanctified it, and made it Holy- set apart for HIM (Exodus 20:11).  So, our weeks were set up in stone:  Six days to work; one day to rest.  Six to work, one to rest.  Six to work, one to rest.  Six to work, one to rest.  It’s amazing how soon we forget the concept of a Sabbath.  Today millions of people who sing this song will not even know how to define the Sabbath.  God wants us to rest.

WHY?

The Sabbath was a good idea, but one that was lost in times of slavery, famine, war and plagues.  In truth, man (the creation of God) cannot keep the law to save his life.  We’re a damn mess.  The Holy Sabbath was a foreshadowing of a greater rest – a better rest.  It was there to whisper that something better was coming: a complete rest in the finished work of Jesus Christ.  The perfect Son of God sanctifies us and makes us holy since we can’t do it ourselves. God sanctified Jesus Christ, but in a greater way: He sent a Messiah into the world to be our sacrifice for sin (John 10:36). In Him we find complete rest.

Today, are you weary?  Are you ready to lay down all of your striving to be perfect?  We really can’t be perfect, you know…Jesus alone is our only hope for rest.  If you want to remember this, think of those six days of creation and remember  that you can now rest for good.  Put down all of your desires to be good enough for God and rest in Him, not just one day a week, but always.

On the SIXTH DAY of Christmas, my TRUE LOVE gave to me an example of striving  - and a promise of TRUE REST.  Six Geese laying all kinds of eggs!  Not only does that sound like a lot of work, it reminds me of the life I left behind!!

Thank you, Jesus!!

first

A partridge in a pear tree

On the first Day of Christmas my True Love gave to me – a PARTRIDGE in a PEAR TREE

The cornerstone of the Christian faith rests on two things: THE PARTRIDGE and the PEAR TREE.

The carol sung praises about the twelve days from Christmas to Epiphany and all the gifts that were bestowed by a true love.  In the original Old French, the song says these gifts were “sent” (On the first Day of Christmas my True Love sent to me).  They were given by a benefactor that was far away.  The gifts symbolized true love and affection.

There is no doubt (especially since the First day of Christmas is Christmas DAY) that the PARTRIDGE in the carol is JESUS CHRIST, the only begotten Son of God.

The PEAR TREE signifies the Holy Scriptures, a book not commonly read in the 1700’s (literacy rates were low among the common folk) but accepted as the infallible words God breathed.  It is beautiful imagery that JESUS CHRIST is the partridge (the real gift inside of a gift) hidden among the gorgeous promises of the “pear tree”. 

This carol has been sung with many, many interpretations.  Few “hymnologists” dispute the significance of the first day’s gift.  Jesus Christ and the Scriptures are the cornerstone of our foundation – on which the faith of a Christian is built.

Ever notice how the pear tree (alive but firmly rooted before it bears fruit) is home to a bird that normally nests in the ground?  Jesus Christ came as a gift to us from our true love – He broke the boundaries of life and love, transcending heaven and earth.

The first and most important gift of Christmas is a gift within a gift.  

Thanks be to God!

true

We are cordial as we speak to one another this morning, but there are icicles sticking to our words.  After 25 years of marriage, our fights have become polite.  

I know I’m crazy in love with my husband and I know he is my rock as much as a human man can be a human woman’s rock.  Even so, I am mad at him.  He made me mad yesterday and when he did I felt bad about myself.  The mood in our house drastically changed.  I didn't  just shut my mouth – I made him angry, too.  We were both tired and hungry and spent….  Last night when our busy day was all over, we shared our double sized bed together without touching one another.  

This morning I made my own coffee. 

Today we will reconcile.  I’m mad at him now but I can guarantee you that I will not be able to stay away from him.  He rejoices with me in my small victories, like being able to rent a garbage bin for the lowest price.  He will help me see things from a balanced perspective and convince me that organic salmon is worth the price.  He will kiss me some time during today and chills will radiate from the back of my neck to the base of my spine. 

The reason I know this is because I have endured many fights with him.  They have threatened my happiness temporarily; but never have stolen from the concept of true love – the dream I am living with this man.

True love is not wimpy.  It is not selfish or self-centered.  It doesn’t wear make-up to make itself look good.  It exists between two people ready and willing and able to sacrifice for and with each other.  True love sees disappointment regularly and survives.  It is filled with passion, but equally filled with awareness that it is responsible to the world around it.  It becomes a large, stable boulder in a sea of change that people know will never move.

My love is not perfect; but it is strong.  It is rooted in grace and mercy and forgiveness.  It is a marathon runner, fueled by respect, truth and kindness.   It has fallen many times on a rocky road that never ends and it has stood up and limped back into the race, ready to go on.  My love kicks ass. 

That’s why this morning I can write this.  I am no baby – I am no spoiled princess.  I am a woman of substance and strength and I know who I am.  I will apologize for my part and I will forgive him for his. 

Eventually. 

True love (*sigh*) is not what people say it is.  

hug

The night before we got married: December 28, 1987.
I was 25.  

This year, Mario and I will be married for 24 years.  During this year, I will reach the point where I have been married to Mario longer than I have been not married to Mario in my life.  

Sometimes folks ask me how I knew I was in love and what it was that convinced me that Mario was the one I should marry.  The question is usually asked by people who genuinely want to know if there was a time of actual realization when I knew this was “my person”...the person that was “the one”.   After all, with marriage’s success rate (not impressive) in this world, how was I to know if we “would work”?

I know the answers I am supposed to give: “Love is a verb. A commitment.  A decision, based on a real desire to make it work with someone.”   These are answers of highly successful couples.

 After all, a covenant commitment to someone else (the word covenant  comes from an ancient Hebrew word:  bris or brit)  used to involve the shedding of blood to show the most committed devotion.   The central idea behind the word is that God made an agreement with all humans.  He challenged us to do as He did, making certain promises and commitments.  The agreement, like a marriage, is based on a mutual love.

This is the answer I know is right.

But...in my heart, I know the moment when I knew that I would marry Mario.  It is the same moment I knew I would surrender to him.  It was a moment that showed me that I would be given supernatural power to love him with everything I had inside of me.  This moment, which took me completely by surprise, was the moment of our first hug. 

When I got to know Mario he was my boss.  I worked for him as a park aid (see how I don’t capitalize my job title?? It was that insignificant) and he was the park’s Supervising Ranger (capitalized).  I was a single mother of a young son, a baby who gave me new purpose and a life worth living.  Even though my life was filled with love, I found myself single and penniless and in need of a job.  Living with my parents, I quickly realized I was cliché, and I knew I’d have to get serious about building a future. 

I took the only job I could find: my old one, working at a nearby State Park.  The new supervising Ranger (Mario) was known for being a cop, rather than a conservationist – Rangers were either one or the other, and I preferred the latter. 

I was amazed at Mario’s ability to manage crucial things: he didn’t care much if people liked him or not.  He was more concerned about following the letter of the law.  In my eyes, Mario was kind of a classic cop type, complete with mirrored sunglasses and big moustache.   

Even so, Mario was a good boss, and appreciated my work ethic, as well as my predicament.  He was also a single father, only two years separated from his ex-wife and two small sons.  

As with most situations, Mario was exposed to my personal life and I was to his.  He seemed to have a great deal of female interests, all well-educated and successful women who would call with titles attached to their names.  They didn’t seem like a gaggle of swooning females, but it was obvious he had interest in them and vice-a-verse. 

Much later, Mario told me that he was under the impression that I had quite a large following myself.  Since I am genuinely friendly (a positive for a park employee)  park visitors (mostly young men about to ride their dirt bikes) would always ask me out.   Mario saw me as young and pretty and flirtatious.  He hadn’t been exposed to many girls who were friendly without a hidden agenda. Being friendly at work was good, but at the end of the day, the only man in my life was my year-old son. 

It was during my first months working for Mario, I had a very strange dream. 

In it, I dreamed I was getting married, and in my beautiful gown, and behind a veil, I walked down the aisle of a church holding my father’s arm.  Behind the veil, I could see my husband waiting for me, and when I got to the front of the church, he lifted it.  There was Mario.  I woke up quickly.  I was a little grossed out: this was my boss!  Also, he was so OLD!!  Both things were insurmountable and I wondered how I could have dreamed such a thing.

At work, I was embarrassed.  I felt like he knew what I had dreamed.  I started to wonder why I would allow my brain to dream this.   Mario moved, normally about the office, while I tried to type and look away.  In a few days I was over the embarrassment of my dream, and went back to functioning as I always did.

On June 12, 1987, my ex-boyfriend (the father of my baby) called me at work.  He sounded gentle and sweet.  He asked to see the baby, tomorrow, even offering to come and pick him up if I couldn’t bring him.  I was angry.  It was so typical of him, asking the day before he wanted something, as if I had no life or plans.  I coldly told him it would be impossible.

“If you want to see the baby,” I said , “why don’t you give me a little more notice?  Maybe a week’s notice so that I can make arrangements.”  I tried to sound collected, but he had a way of rattling me.  Instead of arguing, he said he would give me more notice in the future and then he hang up. 

I immediately felt guilty.  While I had complained that my ex didn’t know how to ask me for visitation (or anything, for that matter), nicely, he had just done so, and received my cold “no” without argument or objection.  In about ten minutes it dawned on me that the next day was his birthday.  THAT’S why he wanted our son to be there.  THAT’s why he only asked the day before...because I didn’t offer.  WHY?  Because I FORGOT!!  Why did I forget??  Because I was a lousy, disorganized, heartless human being. 

I went into Mario’s office to tell him what just happened.  He was gone.  His residence, a few yards away, was lit up with life.  After work, I went over to ask his advice.  These work  conversations were becoming more and more frequent.  He was the single parent I turned to for advice, and I trusted him.  

When he answered the door he looked surprised.  I was surprised also, seeing Mario in civilian clothes (a t-shirt and jeans) and with his dog.  I quickly went into the reason I was there: the phone call, the details... he decided to ask me inside. 

I sat down on his couch and told him the whole story, and he listened intently.  I felt very guilty, not just for forgetting my ex’s birthday, but for leaving him, and with a baby.  I knew it was the right thing to do, but – I asked Mario – what would he do in a situation like this?

Mario looked at me intently. 

“I will ALWAYS remember November 5^th,” He said, finally.  “That’s my ex-wife’s birthday.”

“Now I feel worse...”

“No,” he smiled, realizing it had a reverse impact.  “The mother of my children is very important to THEM,” he said.  “You have to mark your calendar and make a habit of reminding your son.  Remind him to call his father, remind him that his father is special because he had him.”

I couldn’t help tearing up.  It was good advice, but I had already blown it.  “Should I let him go see his dad tomorrow?” I asked. 

“I don’t know,” Mario said, finally.  “What is your main objection to letting him go?” 

I started to explain my reasoning, and Mario gave me his perspective.  The conversation  broadened quickly and became something deeper.  We began sharing hopes and dreams for our children and ourselves.   We shared about our pasts our hopes for the future.  I admired a genuineness and solidity in him.  He admired the fire in my heart and how I instinctively loved people. 

It was then he said:  “I know everyone at work can tell how we feel about each other.”

Zing.

What?

I could see he was still talking...but I couldn’t tell what he was saying.  Did he just say that he knew everyone at work can tell how we feel about each other??  FEEL about EACH OTHER??  Do I have feelings for him?

I respect him.  He’s a great boss.  He’s good looking.  I even married him in my dream.... 

Does he have feelings for me??  What the HELL does this mean??? 

I was perplexed and dumb until I heard a LOUD knock on the door. 

Mario stopped talking and answered it.  It was a park visitor (one who had asked me out before).  He looked at Mario, then at me, then said:

“You better get back down to work!! All hell’s breaking loose!”

Mario switched into the work-mode that was so familiar.  “I’ll get changed.  You wait in the truck and you’ll have to dispatch.”  With that, he flew down the hall and shut his door.  He came out minutes later, looking like a cop again, buckling his gun belt.

We raced into the park, where we saw a scuffle happening between some folks, including one of the rangers.  Mario was already on the radio, and within five minutes, he had arrested someone. I still remember the truck racing, the dust surrounding us and me running into the office to do dispatch.  In a few minutes, everything was calm again. 

While two rangers (Mario and someone else) took the suspect to jail and another ranger shut down the park,  I sat ready to dispatch, should anything be needed or go wrong.  It was quiet....

My head was returning to the conversation between Mario and me.  It probably wouldn’t ever be resolved.

Mario (nine years my senior and my boss) had at least three girlfriends.  I had no desire to be one in four.  Mario may have meant that he admired or respected me.  I didn’t know why I was so hung up on this...

It hit me. 

I was hung up on what Mario said because I knew what I wanted.  I wanted a wonderful, faithful husband: one that I could share my life and heart with, like my dad did with my mom.  I wanted a father for my son who would love him and be there for him.  One who understood the balance of his biological father being in the picture.  I wanted a husband, not a boyfriend.  I wanted a solid, steady, dependable man – not a boy. 

I wanted someone just like Mario.

I wanted Mario.

Zing.

Mario had the dispatcher from the jail call the park, telling me that “Your officers have just booked the suspect and are returning home.  The Chief officer has asked if you would stay until they return.” I agreed.

When they came back, there was the obligatory tale of how the suspect was detained, chatted on the way to jail and booked... then we shut the office down.  As the other officer was leaving, Mario asked me quietly if I’d like to finish our discussion. 

I did. 

We went to his place again, where he offered me leftover chicken and rice.  We ate, talked and he shared a bit more of his heart.  I asked what he meant by him “having feelings” for me... and he answered. 

“I like you,” he began.  “I think you’re amazing.  I like how you are with your son and with my kids.  I like the way you work.  I like the way you are with other people....” he went on.  I couldn’t believe how much he was admitting to.  It is so nice to be liked...to be seen as someone with loads of potential.

But...I stopped him. 

“Mario,” I said, almost apologetically.  “I think you’re amazing, too.  You’ve probably heard that I am a desperate single mom and I’m just looking for a husband and a father for my son.  Whoever says this is right.  I’m looking for just that, and if that’s not you, then tell me now.  I’d rather you hurt me now than later.”

Mario looked at me carefully and smiled.  “Janet, that’s not me right now.  It may not be me anytime soon.  I’m not ready to make that commitment to anyone right now.  I want to be truthful, and so I have to say... let’s just be friends.”

I smiled back.  Inside I was disappointed.  In my heart, I had hoped for another answer.  Still, because of the openness of my question- the ultimatum, if you will- I was happy for a clear direction.

“I’m glad to be friends with you,” I answered.  “I need your wisdom.” 

Mario stood up and walked me outside to my car.  We chatted about the next day 

when we would see each other and be friends...

“Can I have a hug?” he asked, walking toward me.  “Hugs are cool between friends, right?”

It didn’t sound like a good idea. I felt vulnerable and soft... but he was walking toward me.  I laughed and received him just before getting into my car. 

What happened next was indescribable...but I’ll try.  Mario’s arms went around me and my arms went around him.  As we embraced, I fit perfectly into his chest, and my face cradled into his neck.  He smelled like soap, and I loved him instantly.  It was like heaven opened and angels descended and harp music began to play.  I was home in his arms, and I felt ever fear and grief and happiness he had ever felt.  I felt like a little girl who was rescued from drowning. 

The hug lasted for about five minutes.

When we eventually let go of each other we just looked at each other...and I knew.

“Yeah, hugs are cool.” Mario said, and I thought" "Yeah!! It was good for him, too!!"    

Us Today

So...our covenant has survived the depression, the boredom, the hideous selfishness in both of us.  Death, anguish, addiction,  blended families, poverty, debt, and opposing forces who have tried hard to separate us.

 

Love is a decision.  It is a verb.  It is a covenant.      

But if it weren’t for that hug, we could have missed how perfect we are for each other.