Cake Pop Penance

  As I have expressed in previous posting, I am a Confession junky. I don't go crying to a priest over every little thing I do wrong, however, more often than not the real need arises to take advantage of this God-given sacrament. Such a need surfaced recently and there I found myself laying all of sins out on the table for Fr. Friendly. He always seems to know how to pull out the really faults in my actions and aids me in making a true confession.

  At last the time came for Father to give me absolution, and I was prepared for a few decades of the rosary to be in my very near future, which is usually the case. However, on this particular day Fr. Friendly asked me to further reflect on what was discussed in my confession. Fr. asked me to set time aside that evening to contemplate my many God-given gifts and blessings and truly give thank to our Lord for all of them. Simple enough, right? Except for the fact that I had promised my lovely wife I would help her decorate the massive amount of cake pops she had baked and was preparing to deliver to her students and fellow co-workers the very next day. My evening was already planned. I was going to be up late sticking candy eyeballs onto cake lions. Would I really have the quality time to reflect on my blessings while trying not to ruin the miniature confectionery masterpieces my amazing wife had spent the last two evening perfecting?

  It was no mere accident that many of the Gospel passages we know so well involve food in one form or another. From the multiplication of the loaves and fish to the beautiful Eucharist itself, we are a people who find peace and understanding with one another and with our God by way of the meals we share.

  So, it should come as no surprise that I would find very little difficulty of completing my penance by way of cake pop decorating. After all, the majority of my gifts and blessings are under the roof of my home. So, there I was gluing the chocolate chip mane onto the head of a lion that was closer to being eaten then being completely decorated, praying. There I was thanking God out loud in front of my wife for my wife. Thanking my God for our children and our health. Giving thanks for my home and my job which, of course, are also both God given. It felt very good to pray this way, and I'm sure my wife felt good in hearing me proclaim out loud that she is a blessing to me.

Blessings,
Michael

Penitencia de modo Pastel

  Como lo he expresado en anterior reseña, yo soy un adicto a la Confesión. Yo no voy a llorar a un sacerdote en cada pequeña cosa que he hecho mal, sin embargo, más a menudo entonces no surge la necesidad real de tomar ventaja de este sacramento, Dios nos ha dado. Esa necesidad surgió hace poco y no me encontré por la que se todos los pecados sobre la mesa para el padre. Amigable. Siempre parece saber cómo tirar las faltas en realidad en mis acciones y me ayudas a hacer una verdadera confesión.

  Por fin llegó el momento para el Padre que me dé la absolución, y yo estaba preparado para unas cuantas décadas del rosario para estar en mi futuro muy cercano, que suele ser el caso. Sin embargo, en este día en particular el Padre Amable me pidió que reflexionara sobre lo que se discutió en mi confesión. El Padre me pidió que reserve tiempo de la noche a contemplar mis muchos dones dados por Dios y la bendición y dar gracias en verdad a nuestro Señor por todos ellos. Bastante simple, ¿verdad? Excepto por el hecho de que yo le había prometido a mi bella esposa que le ayudara a decorar la enorme cantidad de torta aparece ella había preparado y se disponía a entregar a sus alumnos y compañeros de trabajo al día siguiente. Mi noche ya estaba prevista. Yo iba a ser tarde pegando ojos dulces en los leones pastel. Sería realmente tienen la calidad de tiempo para reflexionar sobre mis bendiciones mientras trata de no arruinar las obras maestras en miniatura de confitería mi maravillosa esposa habían pasado las dos últimas noches perfeccionando?

  No fue una mera casualidad que muchos de los pasajes del Evangelio que tan bien conocemos relación con los alimentos de una forma u otra. De la multiplicación de los panes y los peces a la Eucaristía bella en sí, somos un pueblo que encuentran la paz y el entendimiento entre ellos y con nuestro Dios por medio de las comidas que compartimos.

  Por lo tanto, no debería ser una sorpresa que iba a encontrar muy poca dificultad de completar mi penitencia por medio de decoración de pasteles. Después de todo, la mayoría de mis dones y bendiciones están bajo el techo de mi casa. Por lo tanto, allí estaba yo pegando la melena de chispas de chocolate en la cabeza de un león que estaba más cerca de ser comido después de ser completamente decorados, rezando. Allí estaba yo dando gracias a Dios en voz alta delante de mi esposa para mi esposa. Gracias a mi Dios por nuestros hijos y nuestra salud. Dar gracias por mi casa y mi trabajo que, por supuesto, son también los dos, dado por Dios. Se sentía muy bien a rezar de esta manera, y estoy seguro de que mi esposa se sintió bien en la audición me proclamar en voz alta que es una bendición para mí.

Bendiciones,
Miguél

Want to know more?

  I recently earned my Master of Arts in Pastoral Ministries. I am very anxious and motivated to share my work, perhaps even post certain sections of my thesis. However, I will only do so if my readers would be interested. So, if it at all seems interesting to you, comments on this short post and I will respond accordingly.  By the way, my thesis is on the establishment of a Spanish marriage preparation ministry in my city. Let me know if you want to hear more my precious few followers.

Blessings,
Mike

Why The Bride Cries, Chapter Two - Hand-In-Hand

Wow!

She looks so beautiful! 

I have never seen this woman appear so breath-taking. 

I mean, I thought I had known all the mesmerizing beauty this person had to offer.

I was wrong.  I was so wrong.

Now, right now, in this earth-shaking, diamond shattering, wondrous and glorious moment

I see beauty immeasurable and unending.

Wow!

   There we were.  hand in hand, just steps away from the altar.  In mere moments we would be joined together in holy matrimony, called to be a sacrament to one another for the rest of our lives.  The wait was over.  The day was finally upon us.  The time had at long last arrived.
   Having met in college, I had known my beautiful bride-to-be for five years before our actual wedding day.  Two of those years we spent engaged to one another.  By today's standards we were slow on the uptake in the whole getting married concept by dating for so long and waiting two additional year to tie the actual knot.  Many may wonder why we took so long to get married.  The simple answer is, we needed the time.  Oh, we didn't think we needed it at the time, but in all actuality we most certainly did.  To be honest, I was the one in most need of more time, and if my bride-to-be was truly wanting me in her life she would have to go along for the ride; the most heart-breaking, faith-testing ride of both our lives.
     If it were completely up to me would have gotten married about a year after we first officially met.  It was around that time that my gorgeous new girlfriend was scoping out a university to transfer to for graduate school.  She had been invited to visit a great school in northern California, I mean northern-northern CA.  This university was as northern as it could get without being considered an Oregon school.  My girl need some company for the ride up the state and who better to be that company than this handsome stud right here; me.
   I was excited, very much so.  What more could a guy ask for than a road trip with a beautiful woman?  Just the two of us making the trek across the state.  Can you say adventure and romance? Good, I knew you could.  This was the perfect time to play husband and wife, right?
   Well, the problem was I didn't want to just play at being husband and wife.  I wanted to actually get married on the trip.  Now, that wasn't my original intent when the trip first began.  The actual idea had slowly developed through a recommendation by a professor of ours.  No, she did not straight out suggest we get married in northern CA.  In fact, I'm positive she would have very much been against it.  She did, however, upon realizing my girlfriend and I would be making the very long journey together, recommend several sights to see and great places to eat.  Having grown up in and around the city in which the university was located she most certainly was a wonderful travel guide.  One of the particular locations she highly encouraged us to see was a wondrous state park overlooking the ocean called Patrick's Point.  This happen to be the very sight our professor had been proposed to many years ago.  Now, you are starting to see how the wheels of my young and foolish mind would have started to turn. 
   Many an experienced and wise person recommends taking a long road trip if you truly want to get to know who a person really is.  The nearly ten hour drive to the university gave my girl and I PLENTY of time to get to see sides of each other a normal couple perhaps doesn't have a chance to see until several years of dating, or sadly perhaps even well into their marriage.  The really interesting part of the trip we took was that by the time we arrived at our destination I had actually fallen even deeper in love with my co-pilot, more than I had been before we left town together.  On the trip she proved to be smarter, funnier, and most certainly a whole lot more spiritual that I was at that time.  I loved the way she laughed and made me laugh.  I was enthralled with the way she would become very quiet when she got angry.  She first showed me how she is unable to handle being in the passenger seat for too long.  I discovered then that I would not choose any other person to get lost on an unpaved road with other then her.  In short, I was uncovering important details as to who the person sitting next to me during those long hours on the road was and how I had to have her in my life forever. 
   That trip allowed us an entire four days together.  One day to get to the university, one day to explore it, a day of free play, and a day to get back home.  Of course, if I was to make my move and pop the question it would have to be on the day of free time.  This was to be the day we payed a visit to the infamous Patrick's Point State Park.  I had managed  to convince my witty girlfriend to stop a street fair we happen to see on our way to the park.  It was there that I secretly purchase a ring.  It wasn't your typical engagement ring.  It was made of some kind of stone or mineral, dark silver in appearance.  I wasn't too sure as to it's durability so I bought two, just in case somewhere down the line one happen to break. 
   At long last we found ourselves at Patrick's Point, overlooking the ocean.  We had been told there was a particular wooden railing that held the initials of our professor and her now husband.  Upon unsuccessfully searching for the initials we decided to leave some of our own.  All very much illegal and perhaps even dangerous.  It was then that I ask the love of my life to marry me.  It was as unromantic as it could possibly be.  Keep in mind, I was young and ocward in appearance and mannerisms.  I never got down on one knee, as one day I would.  The entire event was more of a conversation more so that any single question, such as "will you marry me".  I know there was some ocward laughing and I might have even begged at some point during the moment, but other than that I don't remember to much more.  The bottom line, as you may have deduced, was that this gorgeous young lady who wanted me to share in this memorable trip with her said no; she would not marry me. 
   I did present her with the ring and as a sign of our young love for one another she would come to where it, for a short while.  Would you know it, the silly thing broke when she slammed her hand on a table one day.  The second ring I had purchased would meet the same fate. 
   There had to be more than the two of us on that trip to northern CA.  The Holy Spirit must have been guiding our thoughts and our actions.  After we had returned home we knew we would be together for the rest of our lives, we just knew it.  We also knew we were not ready to be married.  I, myself, didn't understand quite may I wasn't ready to be a husband but that personal journey certainly began shortly after our trip.  It was then that I began to get to truly know the faith my beautiful wife-to-be had know all her life.  She was the one who, with loving hands, first opened my eyes to what it meant to be Catholic.  Oh, the stories I could tell of our journey to the altar.  All in due time.
   So, many years later, there we were in front of the altar, hand-in-hand, about to be united as one in the house of our Lord.  She held on to my hands very firmly, as if she would never want to let go, and her eyes were unsuccessfully fighting back tears.  At that moment we both knew this was the right time, this was the right place, and we were the right people.  We turned to face the Monsignor who was to presiding over the liturgy and made our assent up the steps to the kneeler in front of the alter.  My bride looked at me and I look at her, we offered a smile of understanding and gratitude to one another just as the mass began.  And that's when the laughing started.

Blessing,
Michael

Why The Bride Cries, Chapter One - Waiting at the Altar

My heart wouldn't stop racing.

There were so many people there. 

I should have been used to being watched; being on stage; the center of attention. 

I could control the audience; normally. 

What was so different about that day?

I could give a great show; on any other day.

Why was I so giddy?

I couldn't help but smile.

Was that out of character?

Could I really have been so nervous?

I knew exactly what I was getting myself into.

This was what I wanted; wanted my entire life.

I was ready.

Right?

   Looking back I can certainly feel all the excitement of my wedding day.  That was the day I had prayed for most of my life.  It was all happening on that day. 

   Do you find it strange that a male in the twenty-first century would be looking forward to the day he would get married? Sadly, I may perhaps be an exception to the so called "masculinity" that dominate our American society. Where most men today would be feeling as if their independence was quickly coming to an end an overwhelming sense of freedom had awaken me the morning of my wedding and pretty much has stayed with me till this very day so many years later. 

   I saw my beautiful wife-to-be for who she truly was.  She was The One; the one person I could say anything to; the one woman who would know me perhaps better than I would ever know myself.  She was to be my best-friend, my soul mate, my "everything".  If it was positive it applied to her; my wife to be.  What man would see such a person as a weight to burden, a chain to bind him?

   On my wedding day I was overjoyed beyond description, but my emotions were certainly quite evident from the boyish grin on my face; it could not be contained.  This was it, I was ready.  My dad and brothers were by my side the entire morning and I was just waiting for the traditional words of wisdom to come flowing through their mouths.  All I got were smiles, maybe a few nods.  Nonetheless, I knew what the day held in store for me; the start of life long happiness.

   As I stood at the alter waiting for the star of the show to enter and beautifully process down the isle, she to was used to being on stage and knew how to command attention, some thing marvelous happened.  My starlet wife-to-be peeked through one of the small stained glass windows that decorated the chapel doors.  That was so like her to take a quick glace out into the expecting audience just to see if the house was full.  With over Five Hundred people invited to our wedding, YES, the house was full.  By the way, of the five hundred who attended I maybe knew five of them, perhaps six.  However, for that brief moment in which I saw my fiancé in a parade of colors through that small window the attendees disappeared. All of a sudden I broke out in laughter.

   That goofy girl anxiously looking out into the chapel was the only person I wanted to have in my life.  I knew who she was and I loved every bit of her.  My laughter must have seemed as if I had lost my mind; it must have been most certainly unexpected.  My brother beside me also began to laugh, surely to give the appearance of having been in on the joke; pure genius.  His laughter led to the laughter of many more sitting in the chapel.  What happened next was only too predictable.  My wife-to-be just had to take another peek to see what all the fuss was about.  This in turn led to me laughing even harder, which led to even more people laughing even louder.  After a few moments my brother put his hand on my shoulder and asked if I was okay.  His real concern quickly quieted my temporary insanity.  To this day, most people who attended our wedding aren't too sure what exactly was so funny.

   Finally, the chapel doors opened and the pianist began to play.  So many of the people I loved began to slowly make their way down the isle all followed by the most beautiful woman I had ever seen arm-in-arm with my father-in-law-to-be.  My father-in-law bares an amazing resemblance to Tom Sellleck.  He really does.  It's gotten him lots of free coffee throughout his life.  So if you image Magnum P.I. walking down the isle of  a Catholic Church with a gorgeous cherry-blond at his side you pretty much can see what I saw on that magical day. 

   Closer and closer dad-and-wife-to-be inched toward me; larger and large my smile grew.  The moment finally came for me to take my Love's hand, but first I had to shake the hand of the man who would prove to be the pillar of strength in the life of my family in the distant future. (We'll touch on that in another chapter.)  I was expecting a simple, firm hand shake and a smile.  What I got was the grip of a man who was allowing me to take one of his most treasured gifts given to him by God.  This man shook my hand and did not let go until he looked me in the eyes and said, "Take care of her as if your life depended on it".  Up to that point this man had maybe spoken a hand full of words to me; he wasn't a talker.  I actually never took these words as any sort of threat.  There was never any hatred or anger in his eyes.  In fact I took his words just the way he intended me to; as words spoken from faith and experience.  As I was marrying his daughter that day, he and his wife were celebrating their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary.  The man clearly knew what he was talking about when it came to sustaining a long, fruitful marriage.

   To his wise advice, I replied with a brilliant, "Yes, sir", and then took the hand of my lovely finacé.  No matter how hard she may have tried to cover it with her laced vail there was no hiding the obvious; she was crying.

Blessings,

Michael

Who Burnt the Cereal?

  I’ve woke up this morning to the calming sounds of my family. My four-year old gave me a good morning squeeze while I was still in bed and my ten-month old was calling “dada” from his crib. The boys and I decided to let mom sleep-in and headed downstairs for some breakfast before I had to get dressed and leave for work. This has become my Monday through Friday routine, just a father and his boys, and I love it.

  For breakfast I prepared what I prepare best, cold cereal. I know, it’s sad and you saw it coming. It’s a reality I have to face. My wife’s eggs are fluffier, her bacon is crispier and that whole “But I made it with love” bit doesn't make the toast I prepare any less burnt.

  “What’s your poison boys?” is what I call out as I view my vast selection of fruity loops and frosted flakiness. Believe it or not men, I do have an influence on what is bought at the grocery store, and ever since I’ve been letting my sleeping beauty sleep a little longer most mornings breakfast has been a wonderfully sugary adventure.

  “I’d like some Raisin Bran, dad”, is the response my four yr old gives me. Clearly this is his mother’s recent influencing, and also means I better have the raisin bran as well. Guilt, it’s such a Catholic thing. I pour us both a bowl and make some oatmeal-cereal-fluff for the baby. I also throw a few Cheerios on his high chair tray, which is my own personal touch to breakfast. The baby pushed out a fifth tooth last week and has been anxious to use it as often as possible. We once had to dog-sit for my sister-in-law and her tiny, hairy rat chewed up the legs of most of my furniture. That pooch can be considered toothless compared to the piranha that is my baby boy. The T.V. remote control is missing a few buttons and there are now holes on top of my shoes to match the ones on bottom. So, each morning I try to ease his sharp apatite with a Cheerio or two.

  It has to be obvious, even to the youngest of my boys, that I’m a mess in the kitchen. However, they don’t appear to be fearful, but rather may actually be getting a kick out of watching me muddle through our new routine. Their toothy smiles and laughs also put me at ease with the whole Morning-Mr. Mom situation. What a way to start my day. I highly recommend it, soggy cereal and all.

  Before I realize it the boys are fed, I’m dressed, the real Mama is up, and I have to head out to work. It’s a blessed day already.


Blessings,
Michael

Noise

  Each morning I jump into my car, start the engine, and that’s when I face how noisy my life really is. I’m not talking about loud music on the radio, or even construction around the neighborhood. I’m talking about the cries from the foreclosed signs that fill up block after block, and the moans from the rotting wood frames that are unfinished houses. I ‘m speaking of the screams from the demolished iron fence that can be seem from the freeway, and the angry shouts from the eyes of the young women who look three times their age walking the streets just to pay for a room to sleep in that night. This is the noise I see the moment I back out of my garage; the moment leave my faithful wife and oh so innocent children. On most days I just want to pull back into my garage, run back into the house, and burn some more toast, but I don’t; not on most days.

  No, on most days I take that long half-hour drive to the office, waiting behind lost individuals who cut me off in their expensive cars whining about their lattés to a plug in their ear who could care less. These people make noise enough for themselves and countless other around them. Their souls beg for freedom from materialistic slavery. Their hearts emit a retched screech that demands the bonds of secular humanism be broken. Their faces crackle behind posh expressions and no one cares to hear. No one wants to hear the sadness that they all have driven themselves to. Screams for mercy from their spirits go unanswered, passed off as mere common background noise, but not be all.

  The old woman clutching her rosary at the bus stop clearly hears them. These calls for help are heard by the young man offering up his own lunch to the dirty, unshaven, sun-beaten man sitting on a crate on median. The young women giving up her summer to dish out soup in a shelter hears the moans and offers her mercy for all it is worth. I hear them.

  When I look beyond my needs I hear the voice of Christ asking for water and a piece of bread. I hear God asking me to love his children the way I love my own. From my sister who feels forced to sell her body, to my brother who decides to sleep in someone else’s bed I hear the call to love them all. I hear them and answer their pleas when I show my children how to be prayerful. I hear and answer the calls to stop this rollercoaster so many have found themselves on by loving my wife the way the Lord intended, sacramentaly. By looking beyond myself I respond to the noise that saturates this world.

  It may be thought that I ache to get home at the end of my work day simply to escape all the noise that’s out in the world. Not true. For we all know we cannot rest from answering God’s call to be pastoral to everyone we encounter until we see heaven; otherwise we may not see heaven nor hear the sweet sound of His voice. The best way to preach the Gospel is by living it each and every day. The journey is not smooth, but we know we do not take it on alone and each lump is well rewarded on the last day. Wait…Do you hear that?


Blessings,
Michael

Sinners on their way to Sainthood

  "The Catholic Church is not a country-club for saints, but rather a rehab center for sinners".  These are the words spoken on the radio that struck me deep while driving home from work today.  A rehab center for sinners?  Is it an accurate statement?  Does it do justice to who we are as Catholics?  You bet your holy sacraments it does; at least by my standard.  We are all sinners on the way to sainthood; we're not there just yet, and some of us are not as far along that journey as others, but on that journey we find ourselves nonetheless.

   The great news is we do not travel alone.  We have the Bride of Christ as a real presence in our daily lives and her guidance is infallible.  Now, that should take some of the pressure off of living up to the standards that have been placed on us by those in social circles that wouldn't mind if we fell right on our ...backsides while on our journey.  Perhaps we have set standards for ourselves that are near impossible to keep; I know I struggle with that. Whatever the case may be , we can always rely on the Church and it's many blessings to point the way and perhaps even give us a nudge every now and then.

   A few such blessings are those of the Sacraments; seven beautiful signs of God's love for us.  The sacrament that I will focus on in this article is that of Marriage; the one sacrament in which both the husband and wife continually administer to one another.  I will focus on my marriage in particular and will use examples from within it to illustrate the journey to sainthood my wife and I assist each other on.  The stories I will share are not so the reader my get to know me or my wife better, but rather to open a few windows of self-reflection in the life of said reader, whether married or planning on marrying.  If my job is done correctly the reader should find reflection will come quite easily.

"I believe in getting into hot water; it keeps you clean."
G. K. Chesterton
English author & mystery novelist (1874 - 1936)

  I've said before and it definitely deserves repeating; I truly believe my best shot at an eternity in heaven is living my marriage as it was meant to be lived, as a sacrament.  In all honesty, I could find no better company on this journey than Christ and my wife.  The reasoning behind this is simple. I tend to take Chesterton's advice a little to often and get myself into a lot of hot water and who better to help me emerge from said water, a smarter man for it, than Christ and my wife?  Husbands, and husbands to be, you have to be truthful with yourselves.  In marriage there will always be hot water and you will find yourself at certain times up to your neck in.  Many times it may feel as if the loving hands of your wife are pushing you further down into it.  Have no fear, that is when Christ comes in to sooth the mind of your beautiful bride, pull you out, and help your both dry off. In reality it was Christ who was holding on to your belt trying to stop your from jumping into this mess in the first place, but will let your wife figure that out on her own, when the wet floor has dried and she is a bit more calm. 

   One of the occasions when I put the water on the stove to boil (got myself into hot water) was not long after my wife and I had just bought our first home in town.  This house was ours; every inch of it was under our name.  Well, in reality, it still belonged to the bank who held the loan, but we were making payments .  So, for the sake of not stretching this article out too long, lets just say it was ours.  I held the keys in my hand all week long as I went to and from work each day.  I may have even slept with the keys in the pocket of my pajamas.  That's how ecstatic I was to be blessed with a new home.  I was also fearful that this was all a joke and any moment the bank would pop out of the closet in roars of laughter and take the house keys and kick me and the family out to the curb.  I know, I know, I have issues.  It just all seemed too good to be true.

   In an effort to solidify this house was truly our new home, one Friday I invited family over for a small Bar-B-Que to happen on Saturday.  It wasn't to be a big gathering, just my parents...and my three brothers... and their wife and kids; which wouldn't have been too much to handle with my wife's excellent organization skills.  The thing is I neglected to send an invitation to my sweet wife.  Husbands, and husbands to be, you all know where I'm going with this.  NEVER make plans for people to be in your wife's house, (that's right, it truly belongs to her, despite what the deed says) without clearing it with her first.  Faithful as she is, she may not divorce you, but the thought will cross her mind if even for a brief moment.

   Thankfully, the next thought to strike her will be on how she can pull it all off with the time frame you so graciously gave her.  To complicate the matter, in my particular circumstance, being so newly moved-in we weren't completely...moved-in.  I had invited family over for a Bar-B-Que and I hadn't even unpacked and re-assembled the grill.  I had been waiting to hire landscapers to put in a backyard.  You read correctly, I didn't really have a backyard.  We just had a large open space.  We had dirt, plenty of dirt, but little else.  The old lawn chairs I reminded my beautiful wife we had were of no help.  In fact, I decided to hide them out of fear they were light enough for my wife to pick up, but still heavy enough that one being thrown at you could still do some damage. 

   When I tried to reassure my wife that my family has always been pretty laid-back and they really wouldn't care what the backyard looked like I was forgetting to take my wife's emotions into account.  By her perspective, any company to be invited over is to be treated with the respect and courtesy of an honored guest in your home; everything should be in order.  Supreme effort should be taken to insure the comfort of everyone in attendance in your home.  She was right then, and obviously still is today.  It's because of such beautiful thinking that our home today is often described as welcoming, warm, and a place you feel at home in.

  The impromptu bar-b-que never saw fruition.  Not because of anything on our parts, but simply because of the health of a beautifully aged woman.  My grandmother became ill and my parents decided  it would be best to make the long drive to pay her a visit ASAP.  My dad asked me to do most of the driving to which my wife was very quick to answer with, "Please, take him for as long as you'd like".  It was just a day-trip but time my wife would obviously use to calm down and relax after a few hours of intense stress caused by yours-truly.  I thought it would be funny to bring the wife some ribs from the restaurant my parents and I stopped at on the way home from the trip.  Lets just say, for that night,  it's a good thing the couch was unpacked and assembled.

   There is no 50/50 in marriage.  You are either willing to give your spouse 100% of yourself 100% of the time or you're not.  Even when you feel your spouse is not truly giving all of themselves to you you're still called to give that good ole' college try in showing your full love to them.  In no other time is this evident then in the modes and methods in which the two of you communicate.  Had I relayed my fears of losing our home, childish as they may have been, to my wife and trusted in her to want to understand out of love for me we could have avoided such a trying moment in our life. 

   Now, I'm no over-emotional fool over-exaggerating on the importance of a silly bar-b-que.  In our marriage there have been seriously earth shaking moments that truly tested our faith.  However, it's in those smaller moments where one can see a bit easier what we are called to do in everyday life; when the honeymoon is over the real marriage begins.  For many, it's by living and praying one day at a time that leads us to ten years, twenty years, and even eighty years of marriage in which each of those days has been lived as God intended; filled with Christ-like love for one another.  It's my wife who will get me into heaven.  It's my privilege to do the same for her.
 
  As far and few in between as they may be, your wife may find herself needing to be pulled out of some hot water herself.  I'll have to save on elaborating on those moments in our marriage for another day.  Until then, Husbands, stay clean, stay dry.

Blessings,
Michael