Our Story: The Wait

My husband and I waited until marriage to have sex. That's practically unheard of these days, I know. Sometimes I wonder if we only waited for fear of being caught in an awkward situation, but then I remember the times we had opportunity but parted ourselves anyway. There is one time in particular that frequently comes to mind, and occasionally I feel we should win some sort of medal for purity - though most of the world would just call us foolish.

One year, before my man graduated from high school (I was in my second year of college), I went to Orlando with his family. At the resort, I shared a room with his sister, and he and his brother slept on the hide-a-bed in the living room. On our last day there he and I were sent back up to the room for a forgotten key to return it to the office. While in the room, we thought to double check for any other forgotten items. We also, since we were alone, essentially locked in the room, took the opportunity to kiss without his family members making comments. Two young people rarely kiss in private without going horizontal, so it follows that we ended up on one of the beds, he on top of me. 

This, of course, would have been the opportune time for us to tear each others' clothes off. And oh, we wanted to. Between kisses we talked about how exciting it would be, and how no one would know. After all, society expected it of us anyway, right? Who would ever believe we didn't? 

But we stood up, grabbed the spare key, and returned it to the office. Then we crawled into the van with the rest of his family, unembarrassed, and watched the resort disappear into the endless line of Disney-themed hotels and chain restaurants. That's my favorite part.

I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem,
    that you not stir up or awaken love
    until it pleases.

               Song of Solomon 8:4

Pointing the Finger

Bad moods have the tendency to keep us from seeing things in the proper perspective.

Today is one of those days.

After reading Dr. Gary Chapman's The Five Love Languages before getting married, I became a firm believer in love languages. I had thought that mine had something to do with getting one-on-one time with loved ones, and found that mine was Quality Time. So after a week of my husband working all night and a weekend of sharing him with friends and family, I was excited to spend the day with him on Monday. However, when he called work to get his hours for the week he found out he was scheduled to work, even though he had asked for it off. I hate to admit it, but I was inconsolably disappointed.

I wasn't angry with him, it wasn't his fault. After calling about seven different people who claimed they couldn't work his shift, he ended up going in and leaving me home alone for the night. This isn't the first time our plans have been cancelled because of a scheduling mistake or a last-minute phone call. Mostly, I felt let down by these people who he cancels plans to work for all the time, but who then won't do the same for him.

I've been thinking a lot about our culture that has sold itself to an entitlement mentality. Everyone tends to put themselves first without really considering others. Even I'm guilty of this more often than I would probably like to admit.

So, as much as I would like for someone to go in and talk to my husband's coworkers about teamwork and dedication, I realize that it's important for me to think of where I could give more of myself as well. It takes the effort of individuals to make a team function at its best. And I am my own responsibility.

Vulnerable Me

 About a week ago we discussed vulnerability in one of my writing classes. The class started with some uncomfortable shifting in seats and possibly some eye-rolls. However, it turned out well, and we had a good discussion. Maybe it's just the dynamic of a classroom setting, but most students left agreeing with the professor's main point: we must learn to be vulnerable.

While writing my short story for that same class last weekend, I was struggling with the ending. I will point out to you here that to talk about this I must make myself vulnerable. So, I was writing my short story, trying to figure out where I went with the ending because my professor didn't find the first draft believable. In the first draft, my main character finds out she is pregnant after a rare and accidental one-night stand, and decides, since she is pretty fresh out of college, to get an abortion. I just couldn't let her go through with it and had to find a way out, so I had her call the baby daddy at the prodding of her roommate to ask for some help with the decision. He, of course, is far from okay with the thought of abortion and offers to raise the child if she will only carry to term, which ultimately causes the main character to change her mind and not get an abortion.

Don't worry, I now see where the story went wrong. I think I did at first, too. But I was having a hard time really being open to taking a risk in this story. I decided that a risk had to be taken, and while I was re-working the end of the story, the end became a story of it's own, and it is now the beginning of the piece. Yup, I chucked out the whole first draft, and basically, started over. All because I was willing (finally) to become vulnerable. In allowing myself to potentially be hurt by taking a risk, I actually wrote a much better story... which would be tooting my own horn if I didn't know from the writing process that it really is a better story.

Our culture tends to think of vulnerability as synonymous with weakness. It makes sense, considering the dictionary definition: capable or susceptible to being hurt or wounded; open to moral attack, criticism, temptation (definition from dictionary.com).

Vulnerability is the main topic of Brene Brown's Ted Talks, which can be found on the Ted Talks website or on YouTube. Brene Brown studies shame for a living, and found that while dealing with shame one must become vulnerable. She is pretty inspiring and I would recommend taking the time to check out some of her speeches.

Now, we have established the definition of vulnerability, but does that make it synonymous to weakness? Yes and no, I think. If you've ever looked in a thesaurus you are aware that looking up the definitions of words is also important; not every word listed as a synonym actually has the meaning you may be looking for. So, where vulnerability is synonymous to weakness, it is not necessarily weakness.

In order to be vulnerable, you need to be willing to make yourself susceptible to weakness - to being hurt. These days we work really hard to close ourselves off and be strong so that we can't be hurt by anyone; we won't allow anyone to hurt us. But in order to be real, and according to Brene Brown in order to be truly happy and free, we need to learn to allow ourselves to be vulnerable.

Vulnerability is honesty. Openness. In being vulnerable we do open ourselves up to be hurt, but we also learn to trust that way, too. Meaningful relationships can't be built through a wall. To develop a truly strong relationship with anybody - a friend, a potential dating relationship, a therapist, even - we must be vulnerable.

In opening up we learn the freedom of trusting people, and find little pieces of ourselves on the way.

Morning Mocha

Coffee and I have a love/hate relationship. It beckons to me from distant places, and I follow its call like a little lost lamb. Once the craving hits, it can't be satiated by mere substitutions. My cafe drink of choice is the mocha, and it has to be dark chocolate. I love my mocha, and my mocha, well... it tries. It brings me momentary satisfaction, but often only to let me down in the long run.

I suffer from migraine headaches, which I'm beginning to find are more common in people these days, especially in young people close my age. Millennials, we are too heavily caffeinated a generation.

If caffeine helps when you have a headache (even a little one), if you get headaches after a few days without caffeine, if you get headaches regularly, then you may also suffer from migraine (as if you haven't suspected, because you're one smart cookie). These are questions my father-in-law (who is a doctor) asked me when he heard me complaining far too often of my headaches. My mom gets migraines, my sister gets migraines, and I never thought that I suffered from them, too, but as it turns out, I do.

The only way to deal with migraine headache is to try to find what creates it (i.e. caffeine) and basically stay away from that thing. People, even doctors, will talk about "triggers" (red wine, chocolate, red meats), but I've heard mixed commentary on whether triggers really exist or not. Caffeine withdrawal is what normally causes migraines, which I've found by experience when, say, I drink coffee or Dr. Pepper every day for three or more days, then don't drink any caffeine for a day or two. Those are the times I get the worst migraines: first the dull headache, then tightness in my shoulders, nausea that radiates through my fingertips and pounds to my head until it feels like my head will split open. Such an awful experience, and if you can relate, I feel for you.

My husband works hard at keeping me away from caffeine entirely. He implemented a similar tactic that I took in high school, for health purposes rather than avoidance of migraine, but I didn't realize then how much I may have been helping myself.

In high school, I would allow myself only one pop each week, two under special circumstances (I wasn't a coffee drinker in those days, but I did love my Red Bull). I rarely, if ever, experienced migraines, so when they manifested in more recent years, I was shocked to find that migraine is basically a life-long condition. It wasn't until college that I found the magical powers of a morning coffee and started feeling the effects of long-term caffeination. So my dear sweet husband now allows me only one or two caffeinated beverages a week, because avoiding the addiction is the best way to avoid the withdrawal.

So, it is Tuesday, once again, and here I sit with my weekly mocha. The added benefits to drinking less caffeine of course are that it's easier on the budget and the waistline. On Tuesdays my husband and I get up and out the door earlier, and surprisingly, it's actually the weekday I  look forward to the most. I get my blog, I get my mocha, and the day starts off well.

Life is good when you don't have to give up something you love in its entirety. In exchange for my caffeine addiction, I get comfort from being enslaved to it (those who drink caffeine every day and suffer from migraine must drink coffee every day).

 It's about compromise.

Our Story: Becoming "Official"

During spring break in 2008, when Garth and I were still not quite a couple, Garth's family was going to Hawaii with his grandparents. I was a little sad knowing I wouldn't get to see him for over a week, especially a week when we had no school, but I was going to stay with a friend while her parents were out of town so I wasn't too heartbroken. Besides, I was still trying to convince myself not to get attached to the boy.

At youth group a few days before they were heading on their trip to the Warm Lands, Garth's mom asked me what I wanted them to bring back for me. I told her I really didn't want anything, that they didn't have to get a gift for me, but she wouldn't have it. Gifting is not my love language. In fact, they tend to make me a little uncomfortable, and being Garth's not-girlfriend made gifts extremely uncomfortable for me.

When I dropped him off after youth group that night, we had one of our nice talks that we always had, as he insisted he wanted to listen to the radio, and would never leave my car. When he finally did leave, I looked through the open door before he closed it and said, "What? No hug?" He smiled and leaned in across the seat, and what I got was not a hug.

Nope, he laughed nervously, leaned in, and gave me a very nice kiss. I was still smiling when I went to rehearsal for chamber orchestra the next morning. My obvious grin that led my friends to see right through to the happenings of the night before was fairly humiliating; but it was such a good feeling.

 That weekend I went over to his house one last time before he went thousands of miles away for ten days. We were sitting on the couch talking, picking on each other as we always seemed to do, and he asked me if I would call him my boyfriend. He wanted to know before he went away. I thought for a few moments, and responded that I would call him my boyfriend if I missed him while he was gone. Yes, I am aware that I was mean, but remember that I was "morally opposed" to becoming attached to him.

After all, I didn't want to ruin whatever possibilities he may have had with the island girls. If only I had known he just wasn't that type.

He left for a family vacation, and I moved into my friend's house for a week and pretended to be a grown-up for awhile. Three days went by, and I did not hear from Garth.

One of the last nights of spring break, halfway through Garth's vacation, my friend and I threw a party. We had promised her parents that we wouldn't have anyone over, but we just couldn't go a whole week without breaking that rule. We went out and got some pop, and picked up the guys so that there wouldn't be any cars sitting outside the house, lest the neighbors be watchful. As we entered the neighborhood, we had everyone duck down in my friend's mom's Nissan Murano (nice big car for transporting a number of teenagers). We had rented some movies, and ordered a pizza. I remember us making fun of ourselves for throwing a party while her parents were out of town, and our drinking consisted only of caffeinated beverages. It was a fun night though, and I don't know if her parents ever did find out, but I'm sure they wouldn't have cared if they knew.

As our party was in full swing, my phone rang. I thought perhaps it was my parents, they hadn't heard from me all week, after all. I was surprised, and very excited, to see Garth's name light up on my phone. I took the call and ran upstairs, and the boy who claimed to not do well talking on the phone kept me retained for an hour.

Yup, he played it well. Gave me time to miss him, then called to show he cared. Smart guy, there. And I didn't suspect a thing.

When he came back the next week I ran over to see him during lunch. He was so excited to see me that he lifted me off the floor when we hugged. I felt like I was living a fairytale for the first time in my life. To my high school child self, this was the way it was supposed to be. The guy had me hooked.

That weekend, I went to his house to "finally" hang out with him, and hear tales of island life from his family. When I got there, his mom sent him away and they all acted suspiciously. Garth went to his room and came back with his arms clasped behind his back. He was acting nervous. He gave me a hug and put a tiny bag in my hand.

I opened my hand to find a string of pearls. I had mentioned once, offhandedly, that I loved pearls, and I couldn't believe he remembered. Maybe he didn't, and just had good taste, but either way he had me.

A week later I told him that I did miss him while he was gone, and that I would like to call him my boyfriend. It was official.

Our Story - The Beginning: Part 2

If you missed part one of Our Story, click here.

Around this time of year, nearing the end of February four years ago, my husband and I went on our first date. Neither of us bothered to keep track of the date, mostly because we didn't really expect to be together forever (well, I didn't, anyway).

The day after the Super Bowl party where my husband Garth and I first bonded, our school group found out that we would be staying at Luther College for an extra night, because school had been cancelled at home due to a snow storm, and the bus would not be coming to get us. Because of the unplanned night spent at the college, the girls had no place to sleep, as we had stayed in the study center. The girls, boys, and teacher all had to stay in the student lounge. Normally this would be a big no-no, but we were a small group of students, and our teacher woke up and patrolled a few times to make sure the boys and girls stayed separated and respectable. My man and I, however, who I called a man-boy at the time, were still awake at the 2:00 teacher patrol, and again at the 4:30 patrol. Why? Well, this beautiful blonde boy who was younger than me was reading his Bible right there in front of everyone. Just that he had brought the Bible with him threw me. I asked him about it, and he totally didn't think it was a big deal. It was just normal to him. I wanted to know more about this person, the type of person who was unashamed to read his Bible in front of his peers outside of church or youth group. The type of person I was not.

My questions started a discussion, which branched off into talking about previous relationships and crushes, family, and all the silliness in jokes and funny life stories that still make us laugh today. We stayed up all night, getting only one hour of sleep, then sat next to each other on the bus ride home and talked some more. Never in all of this time together did we think we would be more than friends; though I know both of us were hoping to be.

The week that followed consisted of he and I running into each other at lunch, as he passed my locker after school, all the places our paths had crossed before that we had never noticed. Then, on that Wednesday night, I finally accepted my best friend's invitation to her youth group, and found "that boy" once again. His mother was there that night, and remembered me as a little blonde girl from when her sons and I went to the same elementary school.

Garth and I found each other after the night's activities and spent the remainder of the night talking. He even begged his mom to let him stay until I left so that I could give him a ride home. When I pulled up to their house that night, I was a little taken aback at the large house they lived in, and asked what his dad did for a living.

"My dad's a doctor." He replied.
"Oh yeah. I think I knew that." I said, embarrassed.

I was invited over for dinner by his parents a few times (yes, not Garth, but his parents), and his brothers and sister took to me well, too. I started wondering if this would become more than just a friendship, but I didn't want to bring it up.

A guy friend of mine from school, who was also friends with Garth, was on to us before we even were. He kept asking us both if we liked each other, and we both always denied it. He kept asking if he could just ask Garth and I finally told him okay, but that I didn't want to know the answer. One day he told me he was finally going to ask, and that he would tell me the answer if I wanted to know. I told him to do with the information what he wished. The next day I received a text message that said, "he likes you!!!"

Of course, I didn't bring this up with Garth.

Two weeks later, on a Wednesday, as I drove him home from youth group, Garth asked me out.

As soon as I began to pull out of the parking lot, he started, "I've been wanting to talk to you about something, but I haven't wanted to do it after school."
"What is that?" I urged.
"Well, I'm wondering if you'll go out with me."
"What do you mean, 'go out with you'? Like, on a date? Or as your girlfriend?" I asked, nervously.
"Like, when people ask if I'm going out with Bre, I can say yes."

I could hear the smile in his voice. At first I was speechless, but when we pulled into the driveway I dug into every reason why he wouldn't want to go out with me, trying to convince him to change his mind. For forty-five minutes all he had to say to each of my reasons was that "that's what I like about you," or, "I don't mind."

So finally, we reached a compromise. I told him he can take me out on a date, and that after just dating and hanging out a little longer I would decide if I really wanted to call him my boyfriend, if he still wanted me to be his girlfriend.

So he asked if I'd like to go to a movie with him that weekend, and I agreed. We went to the theater, and he bought me pop. I can't remember if we got popcorn, or candy, but I remember that the awkwardness I expected was not present during our date. In fact, going on a date with him seemed perfectly natural.

We all know where this story ends. But I hope you'll join me as I tell the story of how we got there.