WWJD?... Would He Cage Fight?

Ummm, so, yeah...

Jeff, the kids, and I tried a new church this morning and I have to say that I was actually really optimistic that we would quickly find the right church for our family; after all, we've had excellent success in finding the perfect church in the last two states we've lived.  

From the looks of it, the church we selected this week had a lot going for it: it's Baptist (more difficult to find in the Northeast than it is in the Bible Belt), had a nice mix of young adults, children, and older members, AND had an AWESOME website; sadly, the latter of the three was the factor than tilted the proverbial scale to green-light a Sunday morning trial.

So, we went, and almost immediately after walking in we realized that the entire ambiance was different - weird, even - but once you've walked in, your stuck right?

On the upside, everyone was really friendly and the feel was casual, which was nice - one guy was even wearing cowboy boots, a definite bonus to a Texas girl like me.

The first thing that stuck out to us was that the entire interior of the sanctuary was painted black - black walls, black floor, black seats, and black stage.  Definitely a far cry from our beautiful and bright church back in McKinney and an even further stretch from the churches that my husband, the Catholic, is accustomed to.  

"Poor styling, no big deal," I thought, trying to stay positive.

But then, there was the pastor...

It was difficult, but I was able to look past his tight fitting T-shirt (Jeff commented that the shirt would have fit Jake, and he may actually be right!).  I could overlook (with a great deal of channeling my inner WWJD? mentality) the Bedazzled rhinestone-studded back pockets of his jeans.  But, during a discussion of fear, when the guy said, and I quote, "You think I'm not scared when I step into that cage?"... I had to ask myself if I'd misheard what he'd said.

Just a few minutes ago, Jeff jokingly asked me if the pastor was a cage fighter - we giggled, and were both under the (naive) impression that the dude was painting a figurative picture, but as a self-proclaimed investigative reporter, I decided to turn to my most reliable informant, Google, and searched the man's name - we'll stay generic: Joe Smith- cage fighter.

Would you believe that results actually popped up!!!  Turns out, he's the featured pastor in a documentary about cage-fighting Christians...  really?!?!?

Don't get me wrong, I'm all about "to each his own," but there's something about seeing a pastor on a movie trailer, punching someone's face in that screams - no - whispers, in a spine-tingling, hair-on-the-back-of-your-neck-raising voice, "run."  

Ugh, so, so weird.

Needless to say, the chances of us returning to that church are slim to none.  The unfortunate thing is, I now have an overwhelming desire to call area churches to ask for the pastor's stance on cage fighting.  And, no, I'm not kidding and, no, me choosing to do so isn't completely out of the question...

Chalk this one up to yet another lesson learned in judging a book by its cover, or in this case, website.

Praying we find an awesome, family-oriented, Bible-believing and teaching, NON-VIOLENT church.

With this Ring...

Early yesterday evening I made my weekly trip to Wegman’s, the NY grocery chain that locals promote as though it’s a main tourist attraction (and for good cause, may I add – this place is easily the best grocery store I’ve ever visited, and I have dozens of chains in 7 different states  by which to compare!).  Among the Garman household staples like milk, yogurt, and applesauce, I planned on purchasing ingredients for this week’s menu of Filipino Adobo Slow-Cooked Pulled Pork, Pork Chops with Brown Sugar Apples and Brown Rice, and for a special stay-at-home movie/dinner date night, fresh sushi with edamame and seaweed salad.

I had just turned my increasingly overflowing shopping cart down the seasoning aisle, giving myself a mental pat on the back for so easily finding an item in this new, absolutely enormous market when my Blackberry let out that familiar ring.  I was expecting a call from a channel support manager in Chicago, and was surprised to see that Jeff was calling – I’d only just spoken with him a half hour or so before.

I could tell from Jeff’s pause after my greeting of “Yes, love?” that something was wrong – and not “I-had-a-bad-day-at-work” wrong, but really, really wrong. When I asked what was going on, I could hear him try to speak, then immediately heard him struggling to swallow his words.  My heart sank.  Last I talked to him, he was on his way to pick up the boys from preschool – did something happen to one of my babies?  Was something wrong with one his parents?  Did he wreck his company car?  A million thoughts – all horrible, of course – passed through my mind.  Before I could press him for an answer, Jeff managed to choke out the words, “I’ve lost my wedding ring.”

My initial feeling was that of relief – when you’ve been through true tragedy, and we have, everything else seems to pale in comparison.  That feeling was fleeting, however, and almost as quickly as it had come, it was gone and replaced with a gut-wrenching, overwhelming desire to cry.

In less than a second I was transported from the wall of seasonings at Wegman’s to the Jared Galleria of Jewelers in Portsmouth, NH in the summer of 2007…

I must have spent hours there, carefully and thoughtfully picking out the perfect ring for my soon-to-be husband.  I knew that Jeff preferred white gold, but also knew that he had a yellow gold chain that he’d worn since high school, so I decided to find a ring with both.  After speaking with a sales woman, I determined that platinum, instead of white gold, was the best fit for Jeff – at the time, we were both selling windows and doors to Home Depot and doing necessary resets – the durability and low maintenance of this precious metal were extremely appealing.

Within seconds of being shown the platinum and yellow gold combination wedding bands, I saw it – the one, if you will.  Women often speak of trying on wedding dresses and instantly knowing that they had found the dress for them – the dress they could see themselves walking down the aisle in, having the first dance in, having pictures taken in.  For me, when I saw this ring, I could picture placing it on Jeff’s finger then looking up to see the smile on his face.  I have to say that seeing the price tag was a little discouraging, but I ultimately decided that I would spend less money on the cake, flowers for the big day, etc, so I could afford to buy this ring for the love of my life.

My trip down memory lane didn’t end there.  Naturally, my next memory was of our wedding day, and seeing that smile I had daydreamed about just a few months before.  Then, I pictured that same ring on that same hand as it clenched mine, helping me into a wheelchair on a cold, snowy night in Newburyport, MA., that same ring that cut into my fingers as I squeezed Jeff’s hand as I listened to his words of encouragement cheering me on, “One more push, you can do this,” the last words he said before I heard the first cry of my first born baby boy.

This was the same ring he’d worn through countless sonograms, during countless high-fives and fist bumps for my awesome jokes or stellar performances during Saturday morning basketball shootouts in our living room (toot my own horn much?), and hundreds of twirls and dips during Friday night dance parties at the Garmans.  I loved that ring, but not nearly as much as I love the man and the memories from our life together.

If I’m being honest, though, things haven’t always been perfect…

Marriage isn’t easy, folks – in fact, it’s frickin’ difficult, draining, frustrating (you get the point) at times.  And, other than choosing to accept and follow Christ, picking the right person to marry is the single most important decision we can ever make.  That’s a lot of pressure, right?

And while so many people, women especially, can’t see past the excitement of the pre-wedding bliss that is dress shopping, and showers, and the wedding day itself, I – being the realist that I am – went into marriage knowing that things wouldn’t always be fairytale worthy.

It was easy to anticipate arguments over what color to paint the kitchen, which movie to see on the weekend, or what amount of money is too much for a Coach purse.  What brought me  back to Earth though, were the things I couldn’t anticipate – like moving in and out of 5 houses in as many years or going months, literally months, without a date because your nearest relative or friend lives over 1000 miles away.  I didn’t anticipate that we’d both get promotions within a month of each other and be thrown into management roles where we have to learn more and work harder than we ever have, not to mention that I now live away from home for a week out of every month.  I couldn’t plan for surgery to remove pre-cancerous cells or a doctor finding a lump in my breast, all while in my late 20s.  I couldn’t have prepared to have my wildest wish of having twins come true, only to experience the unshakeable heartbreak of losing a child I never got to hold…. 

Perhaps more simply stated: it’s easy to anticipate laughter and love, but much more difficult to anticipate life.

While this would probably make for world’s worst wedding toast, the silver lining is this – Sunshine without the rain is a desert, and it’s the valleys, the hard times, the arguments that make you all the more appreciative of how blessed you are to have that one person in this world who loves you more than life itself…

I have that.

 I screw up… a lot… but to quote my father, “marrying that man is the smartest thing you’ve ever done.”  And despite the many ups and downs of our time together, I’m just so thankful that of all the women in all the world, Jeff picked ME.  He’s not perfect, and neither am I; but we’re perfect for each other.

I’m so thankful to have a husband who shares common interests, who has ambition and a passion for life in the very same way I do.   A man loves new experiences and is teaching my children discipline, respect, to seek adventure, and to love their momma more than anything on Earth.

All of these thoughts overwhelmed me and I forced myself to return to reality in hopes of avoiding a public meltdown – after all, I’m new to town and any number of the Wegman’s patrons could be a neighbor – I continued down the aisle and took a right, reading the overhead signs trying to find Mott’s for Tots sugar free apple juice.  Hmmm, if I were apple juice, where would I be…..

Before I could finish my thought, the Blackberry rang a second time – Jeff again.  He’d found his ring.

I breathed a sigh of relief – out loud I think – and smiled a little too.  Traditional vows refer to rings as “tokens” of love and affection and I was given an unexpected, humbling reminder that there are a lot of symbols of love, but symbols without substance mean absolutely nothing at all.

 The past few months have easily been the most stressful of my life, but I’m so thankful, so blessed, to know that there are a lifetime of memories that I’ll share with my very best friend through good times and bad, ‘til death do we part.

With this ring, forever and I ever, I do.