Dispicable "D"

It was an amazingly fateful day many years ago when I walked towards a man standing tall in a starched black tuxedo with tears in his eyes that met with mine and melted me.  I knew without a doubt that I was about to marry Mr. Right.  What I didn’t know at the time was that he was Mr. Right All The Time.

Love is blind but marriage is a real eye-opener.

The school-rhyme held true for me and Bob Cole, a.k.a, The Man of My Dreams: first comes love then comes marriage then comes the baby in the baby carriage…THEN comes reality.

I couldn’t say the exact day it happened, but sometime after the tan faded from our blissful honeymoon-stay on a tropical island and before the birth of our first child, we rolled over in bed, looked at each other and nearly screamed in shock in terror as we realized: “I married a…HUMAN!!!”

Our fights had moved on the spectrum from cute (during the dating days) to killer (post “I Do” days).  At first it was, “Honey, you are so busy working hard so don’t worry about it but I noticed you forgot to take out the trash.  Actually, I thought it was kinda cute because you are my sugar-smoochie-poochie and nothing you do could ever bother me.” Before long though, it was more like, “Don’t forget to take the trash out again or I’ll go all Nick Nolte on you (please see picture below).

The thing is, some days we just don’t FEEL like being married.  We don’t FEEL knock-off-our-socks, sweep-us-off-our-feet, and madly in love with our spouses.  And when these feelings come knocking, they bring with them a very repulsive and deadly friend that goes by the name of Despicable “D”.  

Despicable “D” has a pretty trashy reputation that is known all around the globe. His presence in someone's life has actually shortened their life expectancy* (*see below for all documented stats) In fact, a researcher from Yale concluded that the effect of Despicable “D” in a person’s life is so dangerous, it is almost comparable to smoking a pack a day.

Despicable “D”  has a negative influence on the mental health of both men and woman that often rears it’s ugly head through depression, hostility and negative personal growth and relationships.  As if ravaging the mind and body weren’t enough, the Despicable “D” goes after people’s pocketbooks too.  Sixty percent of those who have been pillaged by the Despicable “D” are under the poverty line.  

Unfortunately, the Despicable “D” is no respecter of persons and it is not beneath him to attack innocent children as well.  These young victims will sometimes earn lower grades and be less pleasant to be around than their peers.  The older victims (teenagers) are more likely to need psychological help with a year of the Despicable “D” visiting their home.

In studies that compare the children whose parents were affected by the Despicable “D” verses children whose parents died, the children from homes affected by the “D” have MORE psychological problems (more on this below also).  The health of children from these homes is also at risk.  Children affected by the Despicable “D” are more likely to experience injury, asthma, headaches and speech defects.  There is more on the Despicable “D”’s rap-sheet of suffering and pain but there’s not enough room in this blog to continue.

Take a breath right now if you need one.  I understand that well since my heart is heavy too as I share these sickening and mind-boggling statistics about divorce, the Despicable “D”.

Divorce isn’t the easy way out of a marriage, it’s the hard way.  May I now suggest something about those feelings that tell us we’d be better of without him/her…the feelings that say we don’t have the same _______ (passion, love, fun, fill in the blank here) as we did when we were dating or first married?  We need to tell our feelings to take a long walk off a short pier.  We need to kick their butt out of our lives when they are shouting BIG lies into our heads.

There are many things that ignite passion in my Irish blood (and my husband is a passionate man as well) but there is nothing we feel MORE passionately about than this: the “D” word will NOT be an option.  The Despicable “D” may come knocking and he can huff and he can puff but he will not blow this house down.  Good ol’ Mr. RIP VanWinkle is the only way the love of my life will ever get rid of me (now don’t get any ideas, my dear).

Best-selling author and marriage guro, Gary Thomas, puts it this way, “If we get married for trivial reasons, we get divorced for trivial reasons.  Compare yourself to Jesus and tell me if you have any time left over to fix anyone else.  Let us purify OURSELVES (not our spouses) (2 Cor. 7:1).”  I love the biblical concept he presents that is quite opposite to the world’s ideology: the MAIN purpose of marriage is not to make us happy but holy.  

To be quite honest, I’m not very excited about this concept when I’m facing off my sweetheart in some all-important debate (that I can never remember later, why is that!?), because I want HIM to make ME happy.  But in those (rare!!!) times that I die to self, entrust the situation over to God in prayer and let His peace fill my heart then I feel God changing me.  He makes me more like Him.  That is HIS goal (1 Peter 2:5) and I’m striving to make it MY goal too (rather slowly and with some backward steps too as my husband could confirm).

We need to face down the Despicable "D" Grumpy-Old-Men style: ornery and stubborn.  Will you be ornery, mean and stubborn about not letting this be an option?  Because if so, it could change your life and the lives of your children forever.

*Note from author: this is a message written with the audience of married people in mind. Knowing that this audience may include people having gone through divorce, I want to encourage you that there is ALWAYS hope and grace in Christ.  Even a dark and difficult situation can be turned around and (my favorite part) gloriously used in His Kingdom!  Also to be noted: there are biblical grounds for divorce and I am not arguing against those as much as the very petty reasons people are separating over these days.  If you are in a situation of ANY kind of abuse, it would be wise to seek immediate help and possibly a separation while you both undergo professional counseling.  With care and prayers, Tara Cole


The STATS:
Life expectancies for divorced men and women are significantly lower than for married people (who have the longest life expectancies). 3
A recent study found those who were unhappy but stay married were more likely to be happy five years later than those who divorced.4
The health consequences of divorce are so severe that a Yale researcher concluded that “being divorced and a nonsmoker is [only] slightly less dangerous than smoking a pack a day and staying married.” 5
After a diagnosis of cancer, married people are most likely to recover, while the divorced are least likely to recover,6 indicating that the emotional trauma of divorce has a long-term impact on the physical health of the body.
Men and women both suffer a decline in mental health following divorce, but researchers have found that women are more greatly affected.7 Some of the mental health indicators affected by divorce include depression, hostility, self-acceptance, personal growth and positive relations with others.
1 Pamela J. Smock, "The Economic Costs of Marital Disruption for Young Women over the Past Two Decades." Demography 30 (1993): 353-371.
2 John Crouch, "Virginia"s No-Fault Divorce Reform Bill," interview with John Crouch and Jim Parmelee on Television Channel 10, Fairfax, VA, www.divorcereform.org.
3 Robert Coombs, "Marital Status and Personal Well-Being: A Literature Review," Family Relations 40 (1991):97-102; I. M. Joung, et al., "Differences in Self-Reported Morbidity by Marital Status and by Living Arrangement," International Journal of Epidemiology 23 (1994): 91-97.
4 Linda Waite and Maggie Gallagher, The Case for Marriage (New York: Doubleday, 2000), p. 148.
5 Harold J. Morowitz, "Hiding in the Hammond Report," Hospital Practice (August 1975), p. 39.
6 James S. Goodwin, William C. Hunt, Charles R. Key and Jonathan M. Sarmet, "The Effect of Marital Status on Stage, Treatment, and Survival of Cancer Patients," Journal of the American Medical Association 258 (1987): 3125-3130.
7 Nadine F. Marks and James D. Lambert, "Marital Status Continuity and Change among Young and Midlife Adults: Longitudinal Effects on Psychological Well-being," Journal of Family Issues 19 (1998): 652-686.
5. Studies in the early 1980’s showed that children in repeat divorces earned lower grades and their peers rated them as less pleasant to be around. (Andrew J. Cherlin, Marriage, Divorce, Remarriage –Harvard University Press 1981)
6. Teenagers in single-parent families and in blended families are three times more likely to need psychological help within a given year. (Peter Hill “Recent Advances in Selected Aspects of Adolescent Development” Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry 1993)
7. Compared to children from homes disrupted by death, children from divorced homes have more psychological problems. (Robert E. Emery, Marriage, Divorce and Children’s Adjustment” Sage Publications, 1988) The DEATH of a parent is LESS devastating to a child than a DIVORCE. (Even I wouldn’t believe this if I didn’t see the statistic myself.)
8. Children of divorce are at a greater risk to experience injury, asthma, headaches and speech defects than children whose parents have remained married. (Dawson, “Family Structure and Children’s Health and Well Being” National Health Interview Survey on Child Health, Journal of Marriage and the Family)

My Once Upon a Time in Mexico

I glanced at the giant clock ticking on the wall in the empty airport.  Two hours had passed and I was still trying to figure out what to do.  I was scared, alone and Spanish-less in a city that spoke nothing else.  The clock read 11:00 pm and I decided it was time to go somewhere…but where?

I was nineteen years old and sitting on my suitcase in an empty terminal in the city of Monterrey in Mexico.  I had remembered to pack everything; a year’s supply of clothing, teaching supplies and gifts for my new students, a Spanish-English pocket-size dictionary and even my favorite heels that I figured I may never need at my destination of a village with dirt roads.  There was one thing I forgot to pack though: the phone number of the person who was supposed to pick me up.  That would really come in handy right now.

I took a breath, said a prayer and stepped out into the muggy heat of an evening in Monterrey.  A plan was coming together in my mind that seemed simple and good: hail a cab, give the driver the name of the village and school where they would be expecting me the next morning and voila, everything should work out perfectly afterall!

Now, how do you say “taxi” in Spanish?!

I quickly realized I should have payed more attention in my high-school Spanish class to how to speak Spanish instead of the cute guy in the third row!   My taxi driver and I were having a major communication break-down (the fact that he was missing most of his front teeth didn’t help the language barrier) although I was able to gather he would be delighted for me to come to his “casa” for “mucho tiempo” and there was something else he kept saying that left me clueless.  After repeated, frantic searches through my pocket-dictionary, I just nodded “yes”…and sometimes “no”, and hoped the rest of my ride would be in the back-seat and not the taxi’s trunk!

I also quickly discovered two things about the booming city of Monterrey; 1. No one in the entire city of Monterrey had ever heard of the village of El Carmen and 2. in spite of what my American banker friend had promised, no hotel within a hundred miles of the airport accepted cashier checks.  

This was precisely why my toothless taxi-driver dumped me on the steps of a police-station two hours later, at 2:00 am.

Should you be thinking, police-station, that sounds safe…what a good idea!  Let me paint the scene: I’m standing on the steps of a building that looked like a bulldozer had started to demolish it in a neighborhood that would make an American ghetto look like Beverly Hills.  I’m holding onto a giant suitcase, a purse crammed with valuables, and am probably the whitest thing other than the stars overhead in the dark sky for a mile radius.  Once I walk inside the police-station, I also notice I’m the only one not wearing a bullet proof vest.  Darn.  That’s another thing I forgot to pack.

I’ll save myself the embarrassment of reenacting what came next.  It involved a room full of amused police officers that didn’t speak English, a girl (me) that wished like she’d never wished before that she spoke Spanish and a game of charades with the contestant (me) acting out an airplane, school-teacher, taxi-driver and a rude hotel clerk while the participants (policemen) shouted out guesses in Spanish and laughed.

Thankfully, no one got that on video.

It seemed at the end of that little game that (other than being exhausted from some good belly-laughs) the officers understood what had happened and decided I could stay while they figured out what to do with me.  Perhaps from sheer habit or lack of originality, they had me step into a jail cell and fingerprinted me while I filled out some forms (that I didn’t understand as they were all in Spanish).

It was at this point that I got a little worried.   I hadn’t really been scared until I heard the latch click when the jail door slammed behind me.

I remember thinking at that moment, Well, God, I thought you led me here. If I could offer up a suggestion for how I’d like my life to end, PLEASE don’t let me disappear forever in a little jail cell in a city in Mexico.  I promise I’ll never forget to pack someones phone number again…especially in a foreign land where I don’t speak the language.  Oh, and sorry I didn’t pay attention in Spanish class either!

But, speaking of phone numbers…I suddenly remembered something!  This could be my salvation…

To be continued tomorrow...!

YOU are Ashton Kutcher

Here’s a little known fact: I’m in Ashton Kutcher’s Fan Club.

Okay, I’m not actually signed up to be in his Fan Club and I don’t want to receive autographed postcards or A.K. Newsletters, but I am a big fan of how this guy treats people overall (let me assure you, my dear husband endorses this message as he knows I’m not ga-ga over this celebrity because he has a sexy “blue steel” look or something like that, hear me out and you’ll understand why).  I’m not saying I would vote him into the Noble Peace Prize Hall of Fame with the likes of Mother Teresa or Gandhi, but if you’ll pull up a school-desk next to me, we could learn a lot at The Ashton Kutcher University.

Born in the land of corn (Iowa) to a factory worker and a mama who made sure she hauled her family to a Roman Catholic church that honored her Irish roots, Ashton Kutcher came into this world kicking and screaming like we all do, but he didn’t come alone.  Ashton had a fraternal twin named Micheal and while they had many similarities, there was one thing about that was very different.  Ashton had a strong heart and Micheal did not.  When they were young, Micheal received a heart transplant in the hopes of getting another chance at life.  Unfortunately, not long after the surgery, Micheal developed a heart muscle disease that begin to weaken his newly transplanted heart.  The daily stress of Micheal’s failing health hit his twin brother hard and while Ashton’s friends dealt with the high school drama of dating, sports and parties, he struggled with thoughts of suicide.

Then one terrible day, Micheal’s heart stopped for a moment and the doctors had grim faces when they gave his family the report, “He only has hours to live”.  The news felt like a knife in Ashton’s chest and a few moments after hearing it, he climbed onto the hospital balcony, ready to jump and die so that his brother could have his heart and live.  

Ashton clearly remembers that day, "I'm standing on the balcony, thinking about jumping off, and my dad comes out and says, 'What are you thinking about?'  I tell him. He comes over and says, 'You can't do that' - and right then the doctors come rushing out, (saying), 'We have to prepare the operating room.  A woman died in Florida in a car accident, and there's a heart on the way.’"

The surgery was a success and Micheal and Ashton are still the best of brothers.  Ashton hasn’t been a model of perfection, but the choices he makes in life are evidence that his heart is not only physically strong, but also strong in good characteristics like kindness and humility.

Just the other day, I was talking on the phone to my sister-in-love, who is a fellow A.K. fan.  “Did you know that Ashton is known for responding to the ‘nobodies’ on Twitter?  That’s one of the reasons he has a HUGE following!”  Well, what do you think I did when I hung up?  I signed into my Twitter account and started following Ashton Kutcher of course!  Because, though I may be a somebody to my friends and a BIG somebody to my kids, to Ashton, I’m really a nobody.  The thought that somebody that BIG would shoot the breeze with ME seems pretty stinking cool.

If you think about it, everyone is a nobody to someone and a somebody to someone.  One can tell A LOT about a person’s character by how they treat the “nobodies”, the people in someone’s life that may seem to not do anything for them.  The people that won’t give them that big break, the people they may never see again; the stranger in line at the restroom, the McDonald’s worker that ask if they want fries with their order, the mom who spills her groceries in the parking lot when they’re in a hurry to get home, the man with a tear streaking his dirty face and smoking a cigarette by a back dumpster, or the kid who ask a celebrity on Twitter, “How can I be a movie-star as cool as you?”  Those people.  

A wise man I know named Bob Cole once said something that I adore, “Great people don’t just show off their treasures, but reveal to other people their own.  The funny thing about that is when we do reveal another’s treasure, we are better for it.  We learn something new.  We grow.  We get blessed.”

A friend I have, Daisy, lives this out.  Everywhere you go with this shining lady, she takes time to care about people, about the “nobodies”, because they matter to her.  I recall a time our children were jumping around the McDonald’s play-land together and a lady missing most of her teeth wearing tattered jean cut-off shorts smiled shyly at us and asked how old our kids were.  Daisy scooted close enough to hug this woman and treated her like the President of the United States.  Daisy asked her thoughtful questions, smiled warmly and listened intently.  Daisy loves on people who can’t necessarily give her a “leg up” in life and to me, that reveals the depth of her amazing character.

The truth is that no one is a nobody to everybody because everyone is a somebody to someone. Maybe you’re Ashton Kutcher's "nobody", but remember that to someone else, YOU are Ashton Kutcher.   

"The greatest good you can do for another is not just share your riches, but reveal to them their own."

Disraeli

Be not forgetful to entertain strangers for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.

Hebrews 13:2

It is one of the most beautiful compensations of this life that no man can sincerely try to help another without helping himself.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Never look down on anybody unless you're helping them up.   

The Reverend Jesse Jackson

My (Muddy) Black Suede Boots

I set the last bag of groceries on the counter and turned around, it was then I noticed muddy footprints had followed me through the kitchen.

Oh, lovely.  I glanced down at my boots and the offending culprits were discovered.  My suede boots that used to be jet-black were now a muddy-chocolate color and I wasn’t too thrilled about the new look!  First of all, because it’s a fashion faux pas to wear brown with black, but second of all, because my previously crème colored kitchen rugs were now coated in dirt and leaves.

If only we had an attached garage, I thought, I wouldn’t have to endure this kind of persecution! I wouldn’t have to trek through the swamp of melted snow and mud next to our driveway when I’m unloading groceries from our van.

Now step with me out of my muddy boots and into our church’s sanctuary.  I’m standing in the back as I scan the room in search of a good seat…a padded seat.

Our church is temporarily meeting in a school gym while we build a new building as we got too big for our britches in the old building.  As such, chairs are set up each Sunday morning to transform a basketball court into the Court of God’s Presence.  All of these chairs are folding chairs, some are the standard hard metal ones but some are more like the pillows at the Hilton: soft and padded (but with no little mints underneath, last I checked).

Those were the ones I wanted.  Because, gosh darn it, I wanted to worship in comfort on a Sunday morning.

Since there were none left, I was debating between arm-wrestling little Mrs. Smith or my four-year-old son’s best friend for their padded seat when a question popped into my mind,

“Would you still worship me if you faced TRUE persecution?”

My first reaction was, “But Lord, sitting in a hard chair for two hours IS persecution!”  Yeah...that response went over like a lead balloon.  Ever get the feeling like God is rolling his eyes at you?

Okay, okay, sometimes I’m…lame.

This last week I’ve been devouring the book, "Radical", by David Platt.  Warning: do NOT read that book if you are comfortable in your religion and want to stay that way.  By the time you get through Chapter 1, you may feel like you’re hanging upside down from the Tilt-a-Whirl ride at the fair.

The cover of the book sums it up, “Tacking back your faith from the American Dream”, and the words inside the book have been exposing just that in my life: how materialistic and petty I’ve become in my walk with God.

Platt shares with a humble heart a very different kind of faith than what I’m used to in America.  A radical-kind-of-faith that he experienced during his numerous visits to parts of Asia, where the government forbids open worship of our Savior.

These Christ-followers don’t consider muddy boots and metal chairs persecution.  They sneak under the cover of darkness at night and slip into small rooms to worship God in the homes of fellow believers.  Once they are inside, they remove muddy boots that have trekked through murky woods and dark alleys as they risked their lives to disobey a law that defies God’s own command to “not forsake the gathering of believers” (Hebrews 10:25)

They quietly collect on the floor in a cramped room void of air conditioning in the season of stifling heat and during the winter months, they rub together hands that are chilled to the bone.

In this setting, a hard metal chair would be a luxury.

In this setting, persecution-TRUE persecution, means being captured by those opposed to Christianity and having your tongue cut out.

In this setting, at any moment, the doors could burst open and police could pour into the room with guns and clubs, grabbing whomever they desired and bringing them in to be tortured.

In this setting, persecution means false accusations and imprisonment.

Inn this setting, persecution means losing your life.

The only believers that are present for this church service are those that came to truly worship their Savior.  They aren’t present to socialize with friends or hear a thought-provoking message.  They aren’t there to sit in comfortable chairs in an air-conditioned room.  They aren’t attending to have a spectacular experience with a live worship band performing under a display of bright lights.

They have come to “The Underground Church” because they love Jesus.  It’s that simple.

When I remember these believers and their courage, my heart feels heavy, what has my personal definition of persecution become; a house too small for a family that’s growing big?  Having to eat at McDonalds instead of The Olive Garden on date-night? A metal chair instead of a padded chair at my church service? A detached garage and having to step through a mud puddle instead of an attached garage and clean boots?

Next time I scrub the mud off my boots and sit in a cold, metal chair, I’m going to take a moment to say a prayer for my fellow believers in Asia (and all around the world) that are risking their lives to serve the same God that I sometimes expect to serve ME.

I’m thanking God for muddy boots to remind me to keep things simple: love Jesus and worship him for who He truly is!

Saving Moo-La-La #2: 'Tis The Rummage Sale Season!

Well, folks, it's THAT season again.  Garage doors across America will be flung open as the warm weather descends and junk galore will be hauled out and sold to the highest bidder.

Welcome to Rummage Sale Season.

When one is seeking smart ways to save money, garage/rummage sales should be seriously considered!  If you are of the opinion that garage sales are not sexy enough for a savvy shopper like you, I'd love to encourage you to de-saddle off that high-horse of thought as we consider what people may REALLY be thinking about "Rummage-ers"...

* People may say you (gAsP!) WALK in other people's garages and yards!!!

*  They may say you...(drum-roll please!)...SAVE MONEY!

*  Tongues could wag over the fact that you are not willing to cash in your 401K to invest in wardrobes for your children that are outgrown (on average) in 

three to six months!

And, last but NOT least, people could say you...

*  Are willing to wear clothes that have been previously worn by other HUMAN BEINGS!

If this all seems a bit silly, it's because it is absurd to think garage sales are not sexy for savvy shoppers.  Being BROKE your whole life or wearing clothes that all belong to the VISA company ain't sexy, honey.  Having money in the bank is cool and this is just one more way we can do it!  That being said, here are some Rummage Sale Season tips that I have gleaned from fellow shopping friends and my own personal experience over the years...

1.  Prepare!  Bring cold, hard cash: money talks.  Carry a list of items (clothes, toys, books, a bike, specific household things) that you will be seeking so you have focus when you shop.  Find the sales: bookmark some local newspaper classifieds on your laptop and check on them every week or so.  When you find a listing nearby that offers some of the items you are looking for, load up the kids and head out!  It also helps to know what areas are nice neighborhoods as often (though not always) they offer items that are in good condition or have some of your favorite name-brands of clothing.

2.  Negotiate.  It's a garage sale, people!  If they don't want to take a buck off the asking price, I sometimes wonder why they don't have the item bronzed and displayed in their home instead of selling it at a garage sale!  Only in America do we tip-toe around bargaining, other countries expect it (and even enjoy the process).  Done politely and with a smile, it can be a win-win for the seller and the buyer.

3.  Involve the kiddos.  Invite your children along (what else could you do with them anyway?) and let them bring some money from their piggy-banks to pick out a toy at each stop.  You never know when a pirate sword or another fabulous Barbie may be discovered.

4.  Plan ahead.  If your child is like mine, it can be pretty much assumed that pants that fit just right this month will be looking like capris at the same time next year.  If you have the room in a storage area (attic, basement, dry garage, etc.), label some large totes for each child and fill them up this spring with clothing they could wear NEXT year too.  For example, my oldest is in 5T sizes right now, but when I'm out shopping, I'm on the look-out for 6 and 7 sized items to stash away because I know they will be needed soon.  Sometimes, I've gotten lucky and scored clothes with the tags from the store still on them for only $1-$2 a pop!  Also, if I am purchasing MANY items of clothes from one family's sale, I first mention I could be buying a lot if they'd consider giving me a 25% or 50% discount... I've never yet had someone say no! (:

5.  Frugal Friends.  Not only is it more fun to hit up a bunch of weekend sales with a friend, it's also what I like to call "shopping therapy".   Another creative way to help out a friend is to see if they are needing anything (a pack n' play, clothes for their baby girl, etc.) and keep an eye out for those things while you are garage-sale-ing to either purchase for them or let them know where you saw the item they are in need of.

6.  Reward yourself.  Now that you saved all that money, Rummage-Sale-Sista (or Brotha), take out your lucky spouse on a date (wearing those cool new heels you scored for $4 bucks!) and celebrate your savings together!