Ah, Valentine’s Day. February 14, the most exciting, most wondrous day of the year! Wondrous, that is, if you happen to make chocolates or print greeting cards. Wondrous, if you’re a blonde, diaper-wearing baby who’s packing heat and stalking the lovelorn.

For me, a husband and stepfather, a man vehemently opposed to this made-up, corporate payday, it’s just a royal pain in the… err, butt. Not only is it a pain, it’s confusing as well. Every year Jen and I ask each other, “are you planning anything for me for Valentine’s Day? I need to know.” Every year, we both say “no,” and we mean it, but the “no” is tentative because we don’t want to offend each other. And every year, one of us screws it up by buying something for the other one. I think I’m ahead in this little dance, but it’s not like we’re keeping score.

Nik 5, Jen 3.

Anyway, this year it’s confirmed. We’re not doing anything for each other; the question has been asked several times by each party, and the no’s are absolutely, one hundred percent concrete this year. Booyah!

I just hope my wife doesn’t read this.

Grunts and Elbows

So, I was watching Jen sleep the other day; I like to do that, because she’s not mad at me when she’s sleeping. She’s not usually mad at me when she’s awake either, but there are no guarantees as long as her baby blues are boring into me. When she’s sleeping, I can stroke her hair, I can smile, and I can close my eyes and whisper “thank you” to God for this amazing woman. Sometimes I get a grunt and an elbow, but for the most part it’s a cherished moment, one that I try and take every night.

It’s a strange feeling being grateful to God for another human being; we talk about it, sure, about the thankful heart and about a thing called “destiny,” but my meeting Jen wasn’t destiny. No, it was deliberate. This was God, looking into two lost hearts, blowing gently on the spark that was our unformed love for Him, and then placing us into each other’s lives. This was God saying “that guy needs a cute girl who will make sure he doesn't injure himself (again), and that cute girl needs a trophy husband,” or words to that effect, and then “BAM!” as He joined two lives into one.

Covered in Boils

The paths which brought us together weren’t easy. We’re both divorced, and we both come from backgrounds rife with divorce, booze, and an almost total disregard for God’s authority. We didn’t walk these paths so much as we wandered them, looking for something higher, something we knew was out there and that could make sense of all the crap we saw around us. Organized religion had steered us from God Himself, yet I think we both knew instinctively that He was our ultimate destination. Our relationship builds every day on what we learned in those separate lives. I know God doesn’t like divorce, but I don’t think God much cared for Job’s being covered in boils, for Paul’s complicity in the stoning of Stephen, for the pain and humiliation of His Son being stripped, beaten, and nailed to Roman timber while His people looked on in amusement and hatred. God doesn’t like divorce, but if He has to, He’ll use it.

I hope God enjoys being with us as He watches our love grow. I know He watched patiently as we took those first steps toward Him, as our eyes slowly opened and the spark within each of us smouldered ever hotter. I know He smiled as we gave our marriage vows, not before His pastor but directly to Him, not because of tradition but because we were placing ourselves before Him as a team, as two souls united for Him and in Him.

Lemons

I’m grateful to God, because without God I wouldn’t know Jen. I’m grateful to Jen, because without Jen I wouldn’t know God.

I still thank God every day for this beautiful woman, and I still mean it with every single syllable. I still cry a little when I think about her and about how lucky I am. I still smile when somebody mentions her name, and I still laugh when somebody asks her what the heck she’s doing married to that yobbo.

She’s got no choice. God wants her here. Sometimes life hands you lemons, and it’s an honour and a privilege being Jennifer’s lemon.  

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