This post is dedicated to my beautiful, tree-like husband….even if he doesn’t think he is beautiful.
It seems I married a sapling….a new believer who was cut down, right and left, by anything that sought to destroy. Years one through three it was the big things, but there were little things as well.
I read somewhere awhile back that “women marry men hoping they will change….and men marry women hoping they won’t”. I think of that almost every time I look in the mirror….and I heave a heavy sigh.
When Papa Bear and I decided to rebuild our marriage….starting with ashes, a Bible and a broom, I knew, in theory, that the journey would be long. Still, I wasn’t prepared for what seemed like an abundance of failures and setbacks along the way. “I found porn, again!” or “I caught him in another lie!!” I moaned to God, wondering how long this pain was going to continue. That is, until one day I was emoting to a friend and she quoted something she’d first heard from her grandmother. “People grow like trees,” she said. “You can’t watch it happen; you look back on it and say, ‘Wow.’ But, to see anything at all, you have to look year by year and stop looking day by day.”
It’s been over four years now since I’ve started viewing my husband as a tree. Today, when I got in the car, I turned the key and immediately heard praise music blaring through the speakers….and all I could say was, “Wow.” Even though he’s had a heart for worship for awhile now, gratefulness spawned a flashback to the years of pleading and praying I took silently to my Savior….asking Him to give my husband a passionate hunger for the things of Heaven.
When he teaches our children about God….”Wow.”
When I look at him and see that….
He picks me flowers.
He preaches the gospel.
And when I see that he has somehow become the sane one in this relationship….
“Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow!”
I am floored by the well-watered growth rings Papa Bear has gained in the past four years. He’s not a perfect man. Good thing; I am not a perfect woman. As a woman who has longed for growth and change, though, it is easy for me to get caught up in wanting more (more, more, more, more, more, more) instead of reveling in how far he’s come (how far we’ve come). But his current failures are only evidence of his continued need for a Savior. The rings reveal who he is; and you don’t count rings every day.
The man I married seven years ago is a tree, and so I know he will bear good fruit….when that fruit is in season. And he’ll continue to prosper and grow, but not necessarily in the direction I might point him. After all, he’s a tree, and trees must grow toward the Son.
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Papa Bear needed the video camera tonight for a school assignment. To make sure he had enough room on our thirty minute point and shoot, he spent some time going through the old clips and deleting anything that wasn’t save worthy.
A few times a week, I let the kids run around with the camera and tape each other just being goofy. So, there were about twenty short clips dating all the way back to February. I told him to go ahead and delete them all. When he found this one (dated the beginning of March), though, he insisted that I post it.
Or that at least I had to show it to Ellyn.
What I can remember about this clip is that after hearing the camera click on and off, on and off, several times in a matter of seconds, I finally realized that the kids had given the camera to Baby Bear. A little short tempered (and if I remember correctly, right in the middle of kneading bread dough), I bolted upstairs to rescue the camera from what was supposed to be a napping baby.
Here’s the thirteen second result…
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I just threw a massive hissy fit over the missing Roku remote. I mean, there were tears, and I didn’t really even want to watch t.v. I just wanted it playing in the background. I’m not a big PMSer, but I usually have one outburst kinda like that that causes me to check the calendar. Then, when I realize what’s going on I can usually get back to my day. At least, that’s how I see it. Don’t question Papa Bear unless you’re interested in finding him in a dumpster. I’m totally joking. I could never drag him that far.
I just got back from a late night walk with my tiniest little daughter. Bay Bit is just so small and precious, even when she gives me her best mad face and stomps her chubby feet (now I’m picturing it and laughing out loud). The first time my dad heard her pitch a fit, he was heartbroken. She definitely exudes the aura of angelic perfection….even though, in reality, she is the loudest child in the world. I’m not sure if she really is exceptionally small or if she just has a way of making herself seem that way. I guess it’s probably only that she’s smaller than her sisters (I wonder if that will always be the case??).
I will never forgot the first time I saw my older girls after giving birth to Bay Bit and Lil Prince. They walked through the door of my hospital room (they were walking, Baby Bear STILL isn’t walking), and I gasped, “Oh my gosh! You’re huge!!” Ever since, there has been that line between first set and second….although, Papa Bear can still dwarf the older girls and make them look incredibly sweet and tiny.
Anyway, Bay Bit and I were walking down the street tonight, and she kept letting go of my hand. I looked down at her and her cute little Meg Ryan walk, and I felt like crying (which is when I first suspected PMS), “One day soon, you won’t be tiny anymore. So please hold my hand now, OK.”
We sat down in front of the library to tape her kidterview, and we got a little carried away with the time. So, even though these are usually unedited, this one is chopped for time…and humor.
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