I am married to a wonderful woman. 

I recall grunting in agreement and relishing the moment.  I had found the one.

But now I’m not so sure.

For those who may know me in person, please don’t start any rumors.  Shelaine and I have a sound marriage, a strong bond, and a deep love.  But I am no longer convinced that our marriage is strong because Shelaine is perfect for me, or that I am ideal for her.  We are certainly compatible, and share similar values and ways of thinking.  But we differ on all sorts of interests and skills.  So why does our marriage work?  I’m now more convinced that the success of our marriage is not because we “found the one,” but because we have “chosen this one” to love deeply and faithfully.   There’s a big difference.

The Myth of Finding “The One”

The myth that there is one perfect person out there who will make the ideal mate shows up in our fairy tales, favorite movies, and video games.  The myth goes something like this:  You are a searcher in this game called love, and if you put your time in, and meet lots of potential mates, you’re bound to find “the one.”  But it’s not all up to you, for Lady Luck will be on your side.  And one day, cross your fingers, you’ll discover your very own one-in-a-million mate.

While this prospect may seem daunting, the myth also promises that you will know “the one” from special signals—a glance across the room, their drop-dead good looks, or magical words they speak.  After meeting “the one,” you will fall for him or her as naturally as gravity drops stone.  You will feel emotionally and sexually drawn to them, think about them, spend money on them, act crazy around them, and ignore others for love of them.  Eventually you will fix your hopes and dreams on them, for after all, they are meant for you.

It’s a nice story but let’s look at this objectively… 

What if Lady Luck really is in charge of us finding a life partner?  This means that our lives are not much different from rolling dice in Vegas.  Some get lucky, and win the jackpot.  Most do not.  But at least in Vegas the odds of throwing sevens with two dice (for example) are 6 out of the 36 possible combinations, or 1 in 6.  Those are pretty good odds.  Wouldn’t it be great if every sixth person we meet could be “the one”?

But the myth says there’s just one.  Not one in six.  So with eight billion people on earth the odds against us increase dramatically.   Finding true love with Lady Luck makes for a slim chance it will happen.

Believing the myth leads to two harmful patterns

The first is to think that the more people we date or marry or love, the more likely we will finally roll a winner.   In its honest form this makes us date-maniacs; in its ugly form it makes us promiscuous.   In college I knew a guy who took one woman to a morning soccer game, another to an afternoon football game, and a third to an evening play.  When I commented, quite smugly, “I date only women I think I might marry,” he smiled and responded, “Me too!”  Maybe so, but to me it looked like he was fishing.  And I probably was too.

The other bad pattern is that we begin to think that a series of failed relationships increases our chances of getting lucky the next time.  This is called the gambler’s fallacy.  Like a person who has not thrown a seven in thirty attempts, we are prone to think “I am due for a winner; the odds are now for me.”  Truth is, in the rolling of dice, the odds of throwing a seven are always 1 in 6; always, no matter what came before.   In relationships I suggest the odds of landing a ‘winner’ actually decrease, for a series of failed relationships probably tells us more about our choices than about the odds.

But what if Luck isn’t at work, but Fate?

What if our success in relating has already been pre-determined by some impersonal force in the cosmos?  Or what if our past actions have in some way determined our current circumstances?  Believing that our lives are planned out by an impersonal force can lead to other problems relationally.

Some readers may recall the song popularized by Doris Day that said:

When I was young I fell in love,
I asked my sweetheart what lies ahead,
Will we have rainbows day after day?
This is what my sweetheart said:
“Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be,
the future’s not ours to see; que sera, sera.”

There’s wisdom in the song.  We don’t know the future.  We don’t know if it holds rainbows or thunderstorms or drought.

However, if we think everything is planned out, beyond our control, we may hedge on our role to make wise choices or to own the consequences of choices we make.  A fatalist, when encountering marriage problems, has an out and may think “I guess this was not meant to be. I can’t change; my partner can’t change.”  We resign ourselves to inaction because, well, it won’t make a difference anyway.  Que sera sera.

But what if neither Luck nor Fate guide our relational experiences.  What if it’s up to us and we’re responsible for the choices we make?  And what if God cares for how our relating turns out, and supports and guides us along the way?

I know that theologians have debated whether God predestines our entire life to the very last iota, or if He gives us real choice within the wider boundaries of his will.  I lean more to the second idea, especially in relating.  So to revise my opening idea, I will be bold enough to suggest that success of our marriage is not because we have “found the one” whom God planned for us, but because we have followed him in obedience to choose one person whom we love deeply and faithfully.

Why am I so sure?

The main reason is because we are made in God’s image, and God is a choice-maker.  He didn’t set things up and then walk away.  (That’s deism.)  Rather, God has made, and continues to make, choices in human history—choices that have played out in how we relate to him.  For example, he chose to create the first couple, chose to remove them from paradise when they disobeyed, chose Abraham to bless, chose David and other kings to rule, and chose Jesus to make right our estranged relationship with him.  I believe he chooses to engage his creation, including us, as we depend on him and his Spirit within.

So what does this mean for Shelaine and me?  It means that I not only chose her from among several potential mates, but that I continue to love her despite the presence of other women in my world.  This is called covenantal love.  I chose her, and continue to choose her, forsaking all others as the old vow goes.

It also means that our differences and arguments and misunderstanding are not a sign of us having married “the wrong one,” but an indicator that we have work to do, work such as active listening, honest validating of each other’s views, and clear communication as to our hopes and concerns.  It means we make personal choices, and couple choices, in order to build a better bond.  It means we make promises for the good of our relationship, and stick with those promises.  Even if you find a mate through a values-based matching service, you may marry someone who is compatible, but still fallible, and requiring patience and grace.  You still choose to love.

Finally, when we recognize that we choose one to love, one to whom we remain faithful, that we can’t hide behind flimsy and selfish reasons for abandoning ship when we hit rough waters.  It may mean we humble ourselves and get counseling.  It may mean we make hard choices about working less and relating more.  It may mean we have to forgive and reconcile rather than carry toxic resentment.

One day Jesus explained to his disciples this dynamic of choosing to love.  John records it this way in Chapter 15:

As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. … My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.  … You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last—and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you.  This is my command: Love each other.

Let’s not look for “the one” to love.  Let’s choose to love, especially our “chosen one.”

Take the next step:
What does God’s love look like?
How to be happily married
Rebuilding Trust – learn to trust again

This account of Jesus healing the leper early in his earthy ministry is peculiar.  It runs against the grain that anyone new in town with an agenda to make a difference would tell people he helped to stay mum about it.  Can you image politicians running for office cautioning people in their riding “Now be careful! Don’t tell others what I’ve done for you to make your life better!”  It just doesn’t make sense.

Well, yes and no.  Have you ever had a secret you wanted to keep for a while for strategic reasons?  When my wife and I became pregnant with our first child, we were ecstatic.  We wanted to tell the world, but we didn’t.  We knew that some babies don’t make it past the first twelve weeks, so we didn’t tell the world.  We called her folks and mine, her sister and my siblings.  After two more months, we told others.  Timing was key.

Jesus did similarly with regard to his identity as the Messiah—the Savior of the world.  He did not refer to himself as the Messiah when he began his ministry, rather, he called himself the Son of Man, another term for “human being” (as Ezekiel used the term) who had godly power and authority (as Daniel used the term).  He knew his early 1st-century Jewish audience had distinct expectations associated with “Messiah”—such as military ruler, earthly king, and another high priest.  He didn’t want to muddy the waters of his identity until they were more prepared for it, even though it was very good news.  Yet later he did.  Timing was key.

Sometimes we have good news that needs to be handled carefully.  An acquaintance of mine had yearned for a new job on the west coast. He and his wife had discussed it, and he was sure she supported him in pursuing it.  He applied, and a few weeks later received a phone call inviting him to a new and exciting role.  In a flash he picked up the phone and called his wife who was busy at home with three kids.  “I was offered the job!  And accepted!  We’re headed for British Columbia!”  Not until he got home six hours later did he realize his wife had had a horrible time processing his bold declaration, with no discussion, and alone with three kids.  She was a wreck and the two had to work through it.  Years later he told me he wished he had handled that disclosure more carefully.

In all these instances it those with good news had a decision—to tell or not to tell, right away or later, while in tune or not to those they told.  Without doubt good news is worth sharing, yet timing is key.

Questions:  How do you handle big news?  Do you post it online at first chance?  How might you share it discerningly?

Last night my favorite hockey team, the Vancouver Canucks, beat the Minnesota Wild 3-0, and one of their best players, Henrik Sedin, earned two more points to pull away from Claude Giroux of Philadelphia to top the total-points race.  When your team is winning, it’s easy to bask in their accomplishments and take them on as your own.  I do that.

And yet if you see who the scoring leaders are, some names are conspicuous by their absence.  Among the top five skaters you won’t find Crosby or Ovechkin.  Among the top goaltenders, no Luongo or Miller.  Of course Crosby struggles with post-concussion issues, but the others are just not at the top of their game. They play well, but their current glory is faded.

When Peter said that all of us are like grass, and our glory but like flowers of the field, he was picking up on the prophet Isaiah’s wording to convey the idea that our lives, achievements, and head-turning performances may be amazing today, but gone tomorrow like sunflowers in August heat.

Peter goes on to finish his idea.  He says …”the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord endures forever.”  What is ‘the word of the Lord’?  Again context helps.  A bit earlier Peter wrote:

“For you know that it was not with perishable things such as silver or gold that you were redeemed from the empty way of life handed down to you from your ancestors, but with the precious blood of Christ, a lamb without blemish or defect. He was chosen before the creation of the world, but was revealed in these last times for your sake. Through him you believe in God, who raised him from the dead and glorified him, and so your faith and hope are in God.” 1 Peter 1:19-21.

So the word of God is Jesus, and it’s through his death that God overcame sin and Satan and proved to everyone that he really is looking out for us.  And so the glory belongs to God for what he has provided in Jesus’ redeeming death, rather than our efforts to be ‘good enough’ or to ‘measure up’ in God’s economy.

Sometimes I need to remind myself of that.  Like elite athletes, my achievements are here for a season, but their ‘glory’ isn’t lasting.  They may be a good sign that God is working in me and through me, but they are still just gold and silver which are not enduring.  But thank God that Jesus’ achievement opens the door for us to know his salvation forever, like a flower that never fades.

Questions:  Are you working diligently in this life to try to prove your ‘glory’ to God?  What is keeping you from receiving and relaxing in the gift of God’s salvation through Jesus?

I don’t know what your experience is with work.  I’ve seen it all.  Like the business owner with five stores in two cities commuting to and from whose kids had not been on a family vacation in their lifetimes as six- and eleven-year-olds.  Like a professor who gets four weeks free in summer but chimed “I don’t think I’ve ever taken off a whole month. What would I do?”  And still others who are working hourly-paying jobs, enduring the routine, and forever eyeing the clock.  They loath their work, glory in coffee breaks, and live for long weekends.

Bryan Robinson studies workaholism and defines it as a compulsive disorder characterized by self-imposed demands, over-working, and the inability to regulate our work.  One sign of it is not investing in our home lives.

At the other end of the continuum is sloth which is inactivity born of ‘careless indifference’ or not giving a rip.  Maybe we don’t care about work when we find no purpose in it.

I suppose there’s virtue somewhere in the middle.  In between is that mix of hard work and intentional play.  In the creation story God’s purposes were wonderfully guided: He intended to architect the universe, earth, bugs, and us.  And then he rewarded himself, not because he was tired, but because he wanted to set an example for us, his creation.  Work, work, rest; work, work, rest.  When those tasks are out of balance, we’re prone to exhaustion on the one hand, or insolence on the other.

Questions:  How’s your work-life balance?  Does your work sap your life?  Does your life provide no purpose for your work?  How might God help give purpose to life and work?

I love the word juxtaposition—to place two things or ideas side by side to see how they click and clash to make new meaning.  Today two flyers came in my mail, and their juxtaposition made me chuckle.

One was a glossy black, yellow, and red multi-sheet flyer with “CRAVE” at the top in 72-point font.  A double-patty hamburger and fries completed the picture along with the promise of “up to $41 in savings” inside.  The flyer was a booklet coaxing me to crave and cave to my fast-food inclinations.

The second flyer, equally glossy, asked the question “Is the ‘good life’ killing you?”  It pictured a woman, exhausted on the floor, surrounded by her cell phone, rolodex, business binder, and office supplies. Its flipside promoted a seminar by an international speaker and life coach as to the true ‘good life’ and how God plays a part in it.  While I’m not prone to signing up for such events, I was impressed that the speaker promised to offer a biblically-based approach to financial, physical, spiritual, mental, and emotional health.

Thus the juxtaposition.  One business promoted the good life through indulging my cravings with double cheeseburgers, lattes, sugary soft drinks, and greasy fries.  The other assumed the good life requires balance, faith, and personal direction.

Is it possible that fearing (respecting) God can influence our diet choices?  Possibly.  I don’t imagine wise and knowledgeable people lining up regularly at the drive thru.  Can knowledge of God make a difference in our relationships?  Or our finances?  Some people don’t make these connections, but the writer of the proverb does.  God-like wisdom probably helps us make wise decisions which better guides us to the good life.

Questions:  What really is ‘the good life’?  Is it one of financial responsibility and relational bliss?  And if these are part of it, what role does our relationship with God play in achieving them?

“As he was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance and called out in a loud voice, “Jesus, Master, have pity on us!”

When he saw them, he said, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were cleansed. One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him—and he was a Samaritan. Jesus asked, “Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Has no one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?” Then he said to him, “Rise and go; your faith has made you well.”

(Luke 17:12-19)

My wife arrived home with flowers more beautiful than any I had ever given her. A dozen roses: pink, white, yellow, red, orange. They burst from the vase amid baby’s breath and leafy filler. And she wore a smile that told me she felt appreciated.

My wife is a career counselor and coach.  She helps people figure out why they can’t get employment or keep it. Each month she sees a dozen clients pass her way who struggle with issues related to work and home. Some lack schooling. Others perseverance. Still others carry deep wounds from hurtful pasts that make them seethe with anger—and it shows. For many their hurts act like leprosy, gnawing away at their vocational potential.

By the time clients leave the course they have picked up important insights into their personalities, how they manage time (or not), how they handle conflict (or don’t), as well as interview and resume-writing skills. During the program some people huff and gruff and argue “I know all this,” or “The problem isn’t me; it’s been my four bosses!” and they leave largely unchanged. Others show a more humble posture, listening, learning, soaking it in.

One attentive client was Nadia, and within a few weeks of finishing the program, she landed her dream job as office administrator and bookkeeper for a small construction firm. Days later she returned with the roses as a thank you. My wife will see a hundred clients a year, but only a handful return to say thanks. Like the nine lepers who were healed, the other ninety-some are busy about their lives, forgetting whom they might thank.

It really doesn’t matter who we are or what we’ve accomplished, we’re all lepers in some way. And along our journey others have helped. A teacher, a coach, a parent, a friend. May we be thankful for those who have invested in us, and let them know it.

Question: Who’s patient witness has touched your life? Who might you hand a dozen roses?

What are you craving? Intimacy? Destiny? Meaning? Explore your cravings.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

Above my 19-year old son’s bed, on the wall, hangs an orange “slow-moving vehicle” sign. It’s the kind you see on the back of tractors and hay wagons. If you knew Clark, you might smile, because his demeanor is laid back, go-with-the-flow, and thoughtful.

We decorate our homes with artifacts that signal our interests, and even our personalities, that’s nothing new. What struck me, however, was the message the sign had for me. I have been recently going through some minor health concerns—nothing that has kept me from work or family—but ailment that has slowed me down. “Maybe I should put that slow-moving sign on my back,” I thought.

While I’m not one to interpret God’s messages through every little image or icon that crosses my path (in fact, this isn’t healthy), I thought it interesting that the orange triangle gave cause to pause on my own season of life. The author of Ecclesiastes mentions seasons of life we all encounter: times of birth and death, pain and healing, planting and uprooting, mourning and dancing, searching and quitting to search, among others.

Ever wonder what God’s season is for you just now? I think we sometimes ignore his signs along the way, signs that tell us it’s time to slow down and rest in Him, signs to yield areas of our lives we desperately cling to rather than giving them up, signs to merge our efforts with others in community to accomplish something together, and signs to not park our gifts but to put them to His service.

And for some of us, we stand at a crossroads, with one arrow pointing to “a meaningful journey with God” and another pointing to “my way.” For while God has seasons for us to enjoy or endure, he also expects us to make choices along the road.

Questions: When you lie down on your bed at night, and look at the wall above your head, what sign do you see?

Do you need to talk to someone? We are here to listen.

“As He was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met Him. They stood at a distance and called out in a loud voice, “Jesus, Master, have pity on us!”

When He saw them, He said, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were cleansed. One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him—and he was a Samaritan. Jesus asked, “Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Has no one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?” Then He said to him, “Rise and go; your faith has made you well” (Luke 17:12-19).

My wife arrived home with flowers more beautiful than any I had ever given her. A dozen roses: pink, white, yellow, red, orange. They burst from the vase amid baby’s breath and leafy filler. And she wore a smile that told me she felt appreciated.

My wife is a career counselor and coach.  She helps people figure out why they can’t get employment or keep it. Each month she sees a dozen clients pass her way who struggle with issues related to work and home. Some lack schooling. Others perseverance. Still others carry deep wounds from hurtful pasts that make them seethe with anger—and it shows. For many their hurts act like leprosy, gnawing away at their vocational potential.

By the time clients leave the course they have picked up important insights into their personalities, how they manage time (or not), how they handle conflict (or don’t), as well as interview and resume-writing skills. During the program some people huff and gruff and argue “I know all this,” or “The problem isn’t me; it’s been my four bosses!” and they leave largely unchanged. Others show a more humble posture, listening, learning, soaking it in.

One attentive client was Nadia, and within a few weeks of finishing the program, she landed her dream job as office administrator and bookkeeper for a small construction firm. Days later she returned with the roses as a thank you. My wife will see a hundred clients a year, but only a handful return to say thanks. Like the nine lepers who were healed, the other ninety-some are busy about their lives, forgetting whom they might thank.

It really doesn’t matter who we are or what we’ve accomplished, we’re all lepers in some way. And along our journey others have helped. A teacher, a coach, a parent, a friend. May we be thankful for those who have invested in us, and let them know about it.

Question: Who has touched you? Who might you hand a dozen roses?

Is your life out of focus? Do you need to refocus your priorities?

“God said to Abram, ‘As for me, this is my covenant with you: You will be the father of many nations. … I will establish my covenant as an everlasting covenant between me and you and your descendant after you for the generations to come, to be your God and the God of your descendants after you’”  (Genesis 17:4, 7 & 8).

I was supposed to be up at Whistler today. You may remember images of Whistler from the 2010 Winter Olympics near Vancouver. While the city lacked snow that year, Whistler didn’t, and a year later now the whole region has had piles of the white stuff. Beautiful stuff. ski-able stuff. And this year my good friend and I made plans to “visit Mecca,” where Whistler—and neighboring Blackcomb Mountain—support twenty-five lifts, two hundred runs, and vistas prairie people put on placements.

Instead, I sit at home, with a sick son down the hall sleeping soundly. Yesterday Eric began feeling nauseous at school mid-afternoon. It came on him like a storm, and he was soon losing his lunch and feeling horrible. Once home, the pattern didn’t stop, and for four hours he was between couch and bathroom. My wife knew Eric was becoming dehydrated, so she encouraged him to drink water and a re-hydrant with electrolytes. But neither stayed down. Eventually we took him to emergency where they gave him an IV drip of fluids spiked with anti-nausiants. And now, the following morning, he sleeps.

Family experts tell us that parent-child relationships are lop-sided covenants because children need and need and parents give and give, yet few think this is unfair. And that’s what’s going on here. But don’t think I’m a saintly martyr. My first thought was I could ski if my wife took care of Eric, but she had commitments she couldn’t change. I even reasoned that a senior in high school should be able to be sick at home alone. But down deep I knew he needed adult attention. So today I’m a dad, not a skier.

In Genesis 17 God promises Abraham a similar lop-sided deal. “I’ll be your God, Abe, through thin and thick, sickness or health, when you don’t love me back, and make stupid mistakes. You’re a needy guy, Abe, as are your children, but I’m committed to your clan for the long haul.” And God has kept his promise.

We make similar covenants with our spouses, our workplaces, and our churches. Almost anywhere we commit to others for their benefit, and not expect an equal return, is a lop-sided agreement. If we renege on them, we may gain personal freedom, but at what cost?

Question: What lop-sided covenants are you committed to? And who is committed to you in this way? Have you considered God’s promise to be with you always?

“Do not lie to each other, since you have taken off your old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator.” (Colossians 3:9-10)

A few years ago I put on a new identity by becoming a Canadian citizen. To qualify I was required to account for my whereabouts since moving to Canada, produce a birth certificate proving my United States origin, study a booklet about Canadian history, culture, and geography, take and pass a test, and stand before a judge to promise to be the best Canadian I could be. Soon I held official papers indicating my new status as a Canuck.

But in my other pocket, I still held a U.S. passport. That’s right. U.S. law allows its citizens to hold multiple citizenships. But it wasn’t always this way. For several decades Americans were required to revoke their U.S. citizenship if they became a citizen of any other country. During that era I chose not to become Canadian because I valued my American roots too much to let them go.

I kind of liked it that old way.

The old way required one to commit, to engage, to embrace. It required you to declare if you were one or the other, American or Canadian, and to put your legal identity where your heart was. The old way didn’t allow you to waffle, to play one identity today, and the other tomorrow.  By contrast, the new law allows you to flip flop. Today, when border crossing into the U.S., I can show my U.S. passport. Upon returning I can flash my Canadian one. Just who am I really?

While the parallel isn’t exact, the similarity to our identity as humans is unavoidable. We all begin with the baseline identity of being made in God’s image (imago dei) yet we are still in desperate need for renewal because of sin. The Good News is that when we recognize our failures, welcome God’s forgiveness, and embrace a new identity in Christ, we begin to shrug off the old self and take on the new. I like how Paul says it in Colossians as he explains why we should speak truthfully. Why? Because “you have taken off your old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator.”

Paul understands that this shifting and shaping of identity is a journey; we are being renewed. It’s a process. Knowing we are in a new relationship with God is a sure thing, yet growing in a new relationship with God requires us to commit, engage, and embrace his ways, study his book, stand strong when tested, and act on God’s promise of new life.

You will never find a lost passport and wonder whose it is. Their name is right there on the first page.  The question is, Where is that person on their journey? Are they embracing and acting on their new identity, or are they clinging to the old one?

TAKE THE NEXT STEP: Who does God say you are?

Question: Have you welcomed God’s forgiveness in your life to enjoy new identity in him? If so, where are you now on your journey?