It wasn’t our finest moment. But truth be told, we had quite a few like it.

I could go into all the details. How Tim always wanted to build his own house. How it had to be on some land out in the country. How I let him talk me, and our preteen kids, into helping him do it. But that’s a story for another time.

But we did pursue his dream. And toward the end, we had a challenging piece of sheetrock that needed to be hung. Only it was on the ceiling, three stories up, over an open stairwell, at an angle, against a large support beam.

For days, I’d seen Tim’s mind struggle to figure out how the four of us could balance on his hand made scaffold. How the kids and I could hold a 12-foot, 40lb board, while he screwed it into place.

But we gave it our best shot. Tim lectured us on his strategy. The four of us teetered on six-inch boards, high above the basement floor. With creative positioning, we finally got it in place. But when Tim let go to put in the first screw, our strength gave way, and the sheetrock slid down the beam.

We regrouped and tried again. But the same thing happened. Not once, not twice, but three, four, or maybe five times. Tim’s frustration grew. About the sixth time I yelled, “I quit!”

Grateful we’d driven separate cars; I stormed out of the house and stirred up gravel as I tore down the driveway.

The kids later told me how Tim picked up that piece of sheetrock and hurled it into the wall of brick that made up our fireplace. Then he followed my footsteps, leaving our kids stranded out in the middle of nowhere.

But, you know we both came back. And we did figure out a simple plan. Tim taught Daniel, who was the smallest, to use the screw gun. Then with Tim’s strength, we held the board in place while Daniel attached it to the beam.

If you’d been there, you’d have thought we were nuts. And we probably were. Cause Tim and I were horrible at problem solving. In fact, for 38 years we did just about everything wrong you can do in a marriage.

But if you ask our children today what they saw, they will both tell you, “A love story.”

Cause sometimes passion has an ugly side. And sometimes we bring a lot of junk into a marriage. And when that junk mixes with our passion, explosions take place.

But before you call it a day, or you think you’re saving your kids from the ugly, think again. Cause sometimes, love just doesn’t make any sense.

We lived in that house for 18 years. And the whole time there was a white swatch of sheetrock embedded deep into the brick.

Now I don’t advocate letting our passions run amuck. But I also don’t advocate using them as an excuse to call it quits. Problem solving can take many paths. But the clear path should always be the one that keeps the family working together.

 

 

 

 

I met him on a dating sight. We talked on the phone a few times. He wanted to meet, so I suggested coffee. But against my better judgment, and my friend’s advice, we met for dinner.

Rigid and uptight, I knew instantly he wasn’t for me. We hugged, but he was awkward and stiff. I tried to steer our conversation toward the personal. I wanted to know about his kids and grandkids. But the most he revealed was their names and ages.

I’m not one to judge people by their past experiences. I want to leave room for men to have learned from their mistakes. Nor do I want to rank my dates by whether or not they’re good enough for me. It just sounds arrogant. So divorce doesn’t make me pull away, even if it’s been two or three.

But I’ve learned broken relationships have jaded many of my potential suitors. And the majority of the eligible bachelors my age have, possibly unknowingly, created walls around their hearts keeping them from ever experiencing much of what I took for granted in my 38-year marriage.

Yes, the bible tells us to guard our hearts. And to be hurt by someone you love as much as a spouse, can tear it to shreds. But there’s a big difference between guarding them and hardening them. And maybe that’s where Tim and I succeeded.

Somehow, though I’ll never understand it, Tim and I never crossed that line of hardening our hearts toward each other. Many times, after inflicting our wounds, we turned away, but we always came back.

Maybe there’s no big secret to a successful relationship. Sure, our mates should share many of our passions. Especially our faith. But maybe 29 dimensions of compatibility are overkill. Maybe we underestimate the power of forgiveness and simply staying in the fight.

So I’m not looking for the perfect man. And if you knew Tim, and you know me, we were far from perfect. But I am looking for a fighter. A man strong enough to go into battle – for love. Because that’s the kind of man I married. And I now know, they are the hardest to find.

Every Valentine’s Day I cry. Because I miss him. I miss the flowers, the candy, and the killer jewelry.

I also laugh. Because I remember the year of my knee surgery. How I was all alone in our big house on four acres. How I stepped out on our balcony to grill a steak for lunch. How the door locked behind me, leaving me stranded in 40-degree weather.

Had I not been on crutches, I’d have shimmied down to the ground. Had I been smart, I’d have worn more than my pj’s and slippers. Had my frustration not gotten the best of me, I would not have hurled that steak across the yard.

Left with just a fork, I did my best to jimmy the lock. I prayed the UPS truck would pull up our gravel driveway. I swore I’d scream forcing him to walk to the back of our house. I figured any shame would be worth getting back inside.

But nothing worked. So for the next five hours I huddled in the corner and tried to stay warm.

The image is frozen in my mind. Through the French door, I see Tim enter the living room carrying a box of roses. His brows furrow. He cocks his head struggling to grasp why I’m on the balcony in a flood of tears. Why I’m jumping up and down. He opens the door and wood chips from where my fork did its damage, flow down.

It’s all funny now. But it wasn’t then. Just like so many events of our 38 year marriage. What seemed like a tragedy was really not that big of a deal. So much stuff that just wasn’t worth the trouble.

So today, I challenge you to give your Valentine a big ole hug. And make a new vow to see the humor in your story. To not dwell on the little things. And to save your energy for what really matters.

I can promise you, what you’re sweating over today, may just be what you laugh at tomorrow. So why not start the party early.