Chicken Soup for the Bride's Soul (31 page)

Now, we need to agree how to redecorate our house. Sounds easy enough. . . .

Gwen Rockwood

Unbeknownst to Patty, Scott had registered them for wedding gifts at The Sportsman’s Superstore.

CLOSE TO HOME ©
John McPherson. Reprinted by permission of UNIVERSAL PRESS SYNDICATE. All rights reserved.

The First Freeze

T
here is no joy in life like the joy of sharing.

Billy Graham

“I think we should. What do you think?”

“Maybe,” I replied to my husband of less than four months. “Yes . . . no,” I waffled in hesitation. “What do you think?”

Nervous giggles broke out as we paid our restaurant tab and debated about doing the unthinkable—jumping in to help a desperately understaffed diner in the midst of the Georgia Ice Storm of 2000.

It was Sunday morning and church was cancelled. We realized this only after braving the roads and marveling at how bright and clean our Atlanta suburb looked covered in ice. This was our first winter storm together, making the experience all the more heady.

Luke and I were caught up in “firsts” these days. We were in our first home, first year of marriage, and were discovering firsts about one another daily. He became acquainted with the laundry bin. I learned to buy new things at the grocery.

Our big joke surfaced each night as we got ready for bed. Marriage was like a slumber party because neither of us had to go home at the end of the night. We relished our newfound freedom as a married couple.

The late January ice storm took everyone by surprise. Even the meteorologists were caught off guard. We thought it was romantic—another first.

Since church was called off, our attention quickly turned to our growling stomachs. Luke and I went to find breakfast only to realize power was out everywhere. We happened upon a new place, noticing the neon “Open” sign was lit up. Luke eased our car into the 78 Diner; we were happy to be off the icy roads and out of the cold.

The renovated Denny’s was practically empty. We found a booth and placed our order. Slowly the diner filled up to capacity. The wait staff, a team of brothers from Crete, scurried to keep up with the mob of customers.

That’s when Luke posed the question, “Why don’t we jump in and help?”

We bantered back and forth the pros and cons of pitching in. It is important to note neither one of us had ever waited tables.

As we finished paying the bill I got the nerve up to ask one of the brothers if we could assist. He handed us order booklets and scurried toward the kitchen while we looked at each other in disbelief and started to fill drink orders.

The diner became a bustling madhouse. The coffeepot was a bottomless pit and the cook (a Cretan cousin) was so overwhelmed by all the orders he was rendered nearly helpless.

When they found out we weren’t real waiters, people refilled their own drinks; a teenage boy bussed tables; customers experienced in food services joined our sides. Before long an excited spirit filled the 78 Diner. We were all in this ice storm together.

At the height of the frenzy, the servers yelled for their breakfast platters. My order had been in for forty minutes and I found myself frying bacon beside the frazzled cook. Luke was having a hard time getting food to his tables. He felt sorry for the other servers and kept giving his customers’ meals to them. Meanwhile no one in his section had food.

He asked if I could get their orders filled. I looked at him and thought only of the three orders I was about to place.

Then something inside me said,
What’s his is yours. The two of you are one. If it’s important to him it should be important to you.

The reality sunk deep into my heart. For our marriage to thrive, I would have to begin putting Luke’s needs on the same level of importance as my own. His request widened my heart and melted away the “single” mentality that said
my
desires took precedence. Another first.

I sighed and placed my order booklet in my front pocket. “Here, let me have your orders. You entertain all of our tables and make sure their drinks don’t run out.”

“Sounds great.” I heard the relief in his voice. “I appreciate you.”

I headed back into the kitchen to work on Luke’s orders and check on the beleaguered cook. There was a lot of pancake and hash brown making to be done.

Hours later, with the crowds gone and the tables wiped clean, Luke and I exited the 78 Diner where a brilliant winter sun greeted us.
What an unexpected adventure,
I thought to myself. Not so much waiting tables, but learning to serve my new husband with an open and willing heart.

We held hands and smiled. The Georgia Ice Storm of 2000 and the lesson I learned about marriage would not soon be forgotten.

Paige M. Kolb

Dot-to-Dot

L
ive to learn and you will learn to live.

Portuguese Proverb

I fell head over heels in love with the perfect guy. My Prince Charming had no faults. Of course, it’s easy for a girl of twelve to overlook imperfections. Three years later we started dating. We were young, carefree and totally oblivious to any problems that could arise in our relationship.

By age nineteen, we announced our engagement and set a wedding date. Ours was a fairy-tale romance and I looked forward to happily-ever-after.

Then we went to our pastor for premarital counseling. On a large piece of white paper, he drew a tiny black dot the size of a period at the end of a sentence.

“What do you see?” he asked.

“A spot,” we answered without hesitation.

He smiled. “What else do you see?”

The two of us looked at each other in confusion. What else could there possibly be?

“You see only the spot,” he said. “A tiny black dot I drew to represent all the troubles that could lie ahead in your marriage.” Smiling again, the pastor pointed out what we obviously overlooked: the white space that made up the rest of the page.

“The good things are so obvious they can easily be ignored. Don’t forget to look beyond the spots.”

Our married life certainly hasn’t been stress-free. There have been lots of tiny black dots. We’ve been laid off, changed jobs, moved six times, disagreed about money and housework, and—nine months and twenty-six days after our wedding—welcomed a daughter into our life.

But we look beyond to the white space. We have the love we shared as teenagers, countless blessings and three beautiful children. We really are living happily ever after!

Pamela Doerksen

Advice from the Groom’s Dad

T
ry praising your wife, even if it does frighten her at first.

Billy Sunday

I have the most useless job in the world: father of the groom.

Our Stephen is getting married this weekend and, as father of the groom, I’m expected to do absolutely nothing.

Okay, I have to show up. But that’s all. I have no duties. I don’t have to hire a string quartet, arrange for flowers, select a modest but saucy little wine or walk down any aisle. I could nod off and no one would care. Or notice.

Well, not for me the role of nonparticipant, I want to get in my two cents’ worth.

So, as my contribution to the wedding, I offer Stephen and his bride, Rhea, this advice on marriage:

Always eat a good breakfast. A good marriage requires lots of energy and you shouldn’t start the day on an empty stomach.

Always put the other person first.

Never leave home without a kiss. It’s nice. If you can work in a little pat, I’m all for that, too.

Have fun. If you don’t make each other laugh, there is something wrong.

Accept early in marriage that there are some things you’ll never agree on—the proper room temperature, station wagons, Capri pants, the three Stooges. Don’t panic. This is normal.

Don’t try to win every argument. Compromise with dignity. And no gloating.

Live within your means. Money management is a lot more important than you may think in marital bliss. Don’t be afraid to do without. Things won’t keep you together. When you look back, it isn’t things you remember.

Surprises. You need lots of them. Just the other morning, I found a little poem left by my place at the table. That’s why I think I have the finest life partner in the galaxy.

Don’t sulk, whine or leave things in your pockets on washday.

Don’t save your best smiles for strangers, people at the office, clients. Get your priorities straight.

Talk to each other. I’m a big believer in this.

Have a nice, big, cozy bed where you can start and end each day with a cuddle. If you’re too busy to cuddle, you are probably suffering from a bad case of self-importance— fatal in a marriage.

Don’t take each other for granted even if you’re celebrating your golden anniversary.

Be faithful.

Don’t figure romance is over once you’re married. It’s just started, if you play it right.

Have dinners at night with everyone around the table discussing the day’s events. Don’t have the TV on. Don’t read the newspaper. Don’t complain. It’s time to lighten up and relax.

Serve whipped cream now and then. Whipped cream puts everybody in a good mood.

A little lace never hurt a marriage.

Have children. And when you have them, take care of them. Love them, enjoy them, spend time with them, say “no” to them, play with them, hug them. Children are probably the most important contribution you’ll make to the world, so don’t treat them like a hobby or leave them to strangers to raise.

Have a porch as soon as you can. And a couple of nice chairs. Sit out on summer evenings and watch sunsets. You don’t always have to be on the go.

Be around when things go right, but also when they go wrong.

Listen, listen, listen. You’ll be surprised what you learn.

No double standards.

Early in the morning, when you’re still just half-awake, reach over and touch your partner to reassure yourself that he or she is there, and that things are all right. Tenderness is legal.

Gary Lautens
Reprinted from
The Best of Gary Lautens

Time for a Tune-Up

I
n every house of marriage there’s room for an interpreter.

Stanley Kunitz

I’ve lost quite a few points, enough for them to take away my license—my marriage license, that is. Communication is stalled. Sex drive is running on neutral. To be honest, most areas are at pretty low levels.

If I was my car, someone from Saturn would send me a “friendly tune up reminder,” quite a few of them by now. They would have called, left messages, sent e-mails. But after ten years of marriage we have yet to receive an “important marriage reminder.”

Not one call, one message, not even a mass-mailed postcard saying:

Dear Spouses,

The marriage installed in your life could be due for its annual inspection, major tune up and cleaning. A properly maintained marriage operates more efficiently and lasts longer.

Come to think of it, I don’t know why they even bother giving out licenses for marriages. We didn’t have to study. We didn’t have to pass a test. There was no temporary permit allowing us to be married as long as we operated it in the presence of a qualified spouse and refrained from marriage after dark.

We just had to show up, spend a ton of money and throw a big party.

But I nearly forgot; we did take a marriage course. We spent a hundred bucks to sit in a school gym with thirty other couples and cram all of what they thought there is to know about marriage into one afternoon. Issues like financial planning, effective communication and getting-to-know-each-other exercises.

What a waste. What about the big issues like the proper way to squeeze toothpaste? (How was I to know I had been doing it wrong all my life?)

We needed help with the big questions. Not, “Do you want to have a baby?” We already talked about that. What about answers to things like, “Who pulls hair clogs from the bath drain—the spouse who cleans the tub or the spouse with the longest hair?” “Who changes the vacuum bag?” “Who cleans the fish tank?” (Thanks for nothing, guys, our fish died.)