Pursuing Holiness

Just about everyone has a story of a lost love; the “one that got away.” This Valentine’s Day, I want to share the story of the one who stayed. The Man Of The House™, also known as Kris, and I have been married now for 14 years. I have known him for almost 23 years, and since I am now 38, that is more than half my life. The first time he asked me to marry him, I said no. When he asked why, I said it was because I didn’t love him. He said, “You will.” And he was so confident that I almost said yes because part of me believed him. Our story took place over nine years, in several different states, and included cancer, drugs, welfare, divorce and death. It amazes me how God got us from there to here.

1984 - Prince was at the top of the charts, but I was more of a Van Halen fan, or better yet, Led Zeppelin. My friend Sonya and I breezed into Chimes bar. The height of coolness for a just barely 16 year old girl who was already looking forward to telling this tale in the cafeteria on Monday. My first time in a bar. My parents were divorced and I wasn’t burdened with a lot of parental supervision, so we had decided to meet Sonya’s brother and his friend Reggie, and after a few drinks, we were going to the local (illegal) drag racing strip so they could race. (Did I mention we were idiots?) As soon as I set eyes on Kris, I had a tremendous crush. Flirting and a miniskirt availed me nothing. Kris was 21 and I was jailbait. I learned later that he was married, and had been separated from his wife for almost a year. He said hello, and proceeded to ignore me, which naturally made him irresistible. The evening passed with no deaths or arrests, although we were well deserving of both. God’s mercy in action. Kris moved to Florida later that year.

1988 - Prince had yielded the top of the charts to George Michael, and we all had Faith he’d stay there indefinitely. I had graduated and was in college. My boyfriend of two years had a great swimming pool where our little gang practically lived. We girls baked ourselves in the skimpiest of bikinis under the guys’ watchful gaze, and we ended up most days with a case of beer, bizz-buzz, and quarter bounce. I was in love, and life was perfect. I still saw Sonya periodically, and she mentioned that Kris would be having surgery for testicular cancer, and that it was serious. I hadn’t thought of Kris in quite a while. Months passed, and the updates from Sonya revealed that he was being treated at MD Anderson in Houston, and there was a real fear that this cancer (stage 4, metastasized to his lymph system and lungs) could kill him. I was wrapped up in my life and my upcoming wedding. Nobody told Kris he was supposed to die, and so he lived. His recovery was long, and my fiancee and I had him over to watch a movie once just so he could get out of the house a little while. I had seen Kris occasionally in the last couple of years whenever he was in town and chatted briefly, but that was the first real conversation we had. I began to think of him as a friend. My fiancee and I broke up on Valentine’s Day of 1989.

A couple of months later Kris called me from a nearby payphone at 6am. He had been up all night driving back from Houston. MD Anderson had told him the day before that he was officially in remission! I greeted him with frowsy hair, in sweatpants and a cut off sweatshirt. My teeth were not brushed. I had been awake less than ten minutes, but I was very excited for Kris. He told me his plans - move back to Florida and stay with some friends until he found a job, which he expected to do immediately given the labor shortage. Then he dropped the bomb on me. He proposed. I said, “No.” When he asked why not, I told him that I did not love him. His response, calmly: “You will.”

Kris left the next day for Florida. A week later, I met the man who became my first husband. Three weeks after that, I married him. Two months after that I got pregnant. Kris and I were both in the wedding party for his sister’s wedding in July, 1989. He just shook his head at me and told me I’d made a mistake - I should have married him. I remembered that on December 12th, when my life hit a low point. I had just been released from the hospital - complications with the pregnancy - and found an eviction notice taped to our apartment door. While I was in the hospital I lost my job, and I had no idea how I could possibly get another one since I was visibly pregnant. We had not had electricity or a phone in months. I had no idea where my husband was, but a safe bet was that he was in a bar somewhere. I dug the bible my father had given me years before out of a box in the back of the closet. Flipping it open at random led me to Romans 8:28. “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” Did that mean I’d look back on this time and think it was beneficial? That didn’t seem possible.

I flipped again and found Luke 11:9. “And I tell you, ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.” Nothing to lose. I prayed that my husband would stop drinking and using and that we would somehow work things out. All I wanted was a husband who loved me and would take care of our baby. And I actually felt better! I imagined a future where we sat on the front porch looking at our grandchildren play, and laughing about what idiots we had been, way back when. This pleasant daydream was interrupted by my husband’s return a few minutes later. He had not visited me in the hospital, and I hadn’t seen him in a week. He didn’t have much to say, except that he wouldn’t be back. He packed a bag and left. I saw him once more before he committed suicide while on drugs, an awful ending to a very unhappy life. I remember thinking, so much for that whole God thing…

1990 - Wilson Phillips was on what seemed like every radio station every minute of every day advising everyone to Hold On. My life was in a shambles, but I was trying. After all, I was living for two, with a due date near the end of April. My mother and I have always had a rocky relationship, but she took me in, and to her credit, never said “I told you so.” Kris was still living in Florida. Finally May came and the Daughter Of The House™ arrived nearly two weeks late. The whole time I was in labor I found myself thinking of Kris. I somehow knew if I called him he would come. I never called. However, he moved back to New Orleans soon after the DOTH™ arrived. Kris is brilliant, and unbelievably stubborn. Since being direct had not worked, he began a campaign of Stealth Dating by asking me to help him shop for various items. For example, “I need some new jeans for work, and I can never find anything in the mall. Do me a favor and help me out after work tomorrow, will you?” After shopping, he’d say, “At least let me buy you dinner to say thanks.” He never flirted or hinted, although I began to wish he would. Finally I did, and we moved into our first apartment in 1992.

1993 - Whitney Houston sang “I Will Always Love You” continuously, and I sang along, thinking of Kris. After more than a year we decided to get married, and wanted to do so in church, so we began attending a nearby Baptist church. We couldn’t afford a big wedding, and since our families didn’t want us to marry we weren’t keen on inviting them anyway. We arranged to get married after church with just a couple of witnesses. I had to send away for a copy of my first husband’s death certificate before we could get a marriage license, and the next Sunday after we got our paperwork in order was Valentine’s Day, 1993. Kris officially became the Man of the House™ and our life together now had the church’s sanction.

Kris and I went through quite a lot before we were married, and things were not all sweetness and light afterwards. We both still had a lot of growing up to do. Our growth in the Lord has continued and when I look back, I see now that Romans 8:28 did in fact apply to me. I see the selfish, immature child that I was, unfit to be a wife or a mother, and I see that God was with me when my parents divorced, when my heart was broken at the end of my engagement, when my husband left and when he died, and at every other ending, abandonment and trouble in my life. The times when I was in the most pain have turned out to be the times most beneficial to me, just as Malachi 3:3 implies. He has made (is continuing to make) me into a woman who is fit to serve Him. Luke 11:9 is true. I used to wonder how a merciful God can allow bad things to happen; now I know. He answered my prayer, albeit not in a way I expected. And I am so very thankful. Kris and I have been married for 14 years today. Our daughter (he adopted her a few years after we married) is 16, saved, and growing into a rather amazing young woman.

And all three of us have an ongoing, growing relationship with the one who stayed, the only One who will always stay, the lover of our souls.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Trackposted to Outside the Beltway, Is It Just Me?, The Virtuous Republic, Perri Nelson’s Website, The Random Yak, Big Dog’s Weblog, Adam’s Blog, basil’s blog, Common Folk Using Common Sense, Stuck On Stupid, The Amboy Times, The Bullwinkle Blog, Cao’s Blog, Conservative Cat, Random Dream, Rightlinx, Faultline USA, third world county, stikNstein… has no mercy, Pirate’s Cove, Blue Star Chronicles, Planck’s Constant, The Pink Flamingo, Gulf Coast Hurricane Tracker, Dumb Ox Daily News, Right Voices, and Gone Hollywood, thanks to Linkfest Haven Deluxe.

written by Laura