Challenges For Godly Young Men

2009-04-15T07:36:00.000-07:00

I came across this poem by an anonymous author last night, and I thought that I should share it with you.

The Tracks of life

I was once a little train, sitting by the track,
Listening to the freight yard’s roar and all the rushing clack
When one day came steaming by an engine large and brave
My heart did a quiver leap, my wheels a twitter gave
Every day when passing by, the more our friendship grew
With each fleeting whistle blast, and more each time it blew
Then one day in passing, upon his track I went
Joyfully to meet him, from wither he was sent
Blasting from the distance, an airy cloud of steam
I rushed forth to meet him, the engine of my dream
Then with shock and wonder, my joy was gone alack!
For though we both were meeting, he wasn’t on my track
Off into the distance, he chugged and puffed away
Sweeping with him pieces of my broken heart that day
Often now I wonder, will he come anon?
Or was this a chance meeting, and now again he’s gone?
The tracks of life are tangled, in the freight yard of our race
We meet other engines that hold both heart and place
How do we, I wonder, when through our live there sail
Many other engines, that aren’t upon our rail
Will we grow quite bitter, when those meetings on the tracks
Seem to mock the aching heart for all the love it lacks?
May each little engine take head to what I bade
This life below is scattered, with meetings on the grade
Take each passing whistle not as one of gloom
Pushing back the others, and making itself room
I will always cherish, that engine bold and brave
Remembering now with fondness, the joy to me he gave
But now into the distance, I hear upon the breeze
That fleeting cry of freedom, which my heart did seize
Once every while, I gaze sadly down his track
But in my little engine heart, he’s never coming back
And so I hold those memories, and never do I fail
For God had a reason for our meeting on the rail

The Interview

2009-04-14T04:11:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I got ready for two job interviews/ applications. I had been planning on working this summer for the U.S. Census bureau, but they scheduled a week of training that I could not attend until the end of May because of my schooling, so I planned to go to two different golf courses that I knew of. Well, the first one was the Westlake Country Club. I had a bit of a hard time finding it, but at last did so and went inside. The guy was very nice and the interview went quite well. He asked a lot about me and my schooling, and was very positive.
The next golf course was a place called W********t Country Club. As I got near where I thought that the club would be, I noticed that the woods slowly gave way to a lusciously trimmed and perfectly manicured pro-golf course. The houses also took on a monstrously expensive and mansion like design. I would drive by a house that must have been easily 10,000 square feet, and there sitting in front of it were two old people. All that house was lived in by two people. I have never been good at math, but I have sat down and figured that each person had 5,000 square feet to live in. What a dull existence, just a lot of money and a huge empty house! Well, I probably passed 500 such houses before I saw looming in front of me the gates to the W********t Country Club. Huge wrought iron gates with polished granite pillars and carved stone balustrades lined and fenced the tree endowed lane. Then I turned a corner and came insight of the clubhouse. My jaw dropped at the sight that lay before me. The clubhouse was a huge octagonal structure with three tall towers projecting from its roof. It was set on the edge of a ocean-like pool, that, fortunately for me, seemed not to be open for the season yet. The structure was one of the most extravagant I have ever seen . The sidewalks were made out of cut granite slabs, and all around the edges of the towers, which seemed to be open-air lounges, were little potted shrubs. Well, I pulled my car into the lot and into the midst of the most expensive cars I have ever seen. I had never heard of most of the models, but I was very careful in parking, realizing that I probably could not afford to replace a single bolt on any of them. I parked, said a quick prayer that went something like, “Oh Lord, I don’t have any idea about what I am about to get myself into, but please help me anyway,” and walked towards the huge double glass doors. Everything about the place screamed, “I cost millions of dollars so don’t you dare touch a thing!” I pushed open the door and walked into the rather dark interior. As I looked around I realized that the place was basically a very, very, very, posh bar. “Oh brother,” I said to myself. “Here I am looking for a job at some ritzy place, and it seems to be a booze hall!” Well, as I looked around for some kind of front desk where I could at least inquire about who to talk to, I noticed that all the people were very well dressed, most were dressed as if they were going to a senate or presidential dinner. At the end of this, “Hall of Bacchus” I saw a long curving counter that seemed to be the front desk. I started walking over the marble floor towards it in the dim light, I don’t remember any other light but that from large skylights and windows. The guy at the desk seemed totally oblivious to my presence, as were all the other people there, so I said, “Excuse me, do you know…….” That was all I got out before a large, pompously dressed older man glittering with diamond rings let out a shout someone else in the dark shadow of the room. “Hey!” he shouted, jerking the hand that was not holding his precious booze in my direction, “Get him out of here!” I froze, all the people in the room looked disapprovingly in my direction, glaring at me with perfect malice. Out of nowhere these two huge guys wearing starched white short-sleeve jacket with braid on them came up behind me. They both had dark sunglasses on and some kind of black cloth tied tightly on their heads like biker scarves. Both of them were very big men, strangely broad in the shoulders. “What is wro….” I managed to say, before the one shook his head and started escorting me to the door. They never laid a finger on me, but then hustled me out the door faster than you could believe. Once outside the door, I said, “Tell me what is wrong? What did I do?”
The one bouncer, for so I believe they were, said, “You broke four rules of the pro-golf club. Only members are allowed to speak in the clubhouse, and you can’t wear jeans, tennis shoes or a shirt like you have on.” Now, in my defense, I had put on a new pair of jeans, had nice shoes on and a clean polo shirt. Evidently that was not good enough. I explained to him that I had only come in answer to the ad I had seen. The guy told me that he would go and get “The Boss.” I waited outside. “The Boss” came out with the application form and seemed quite sorry about the scenario. “Let me get you a Martini to calm yourself with,” he said by way of a conciliatory gesture, “It’ll be on me.”
“No way!” I said, “Just give me the application and I will fill it out.” Now, the application was for a job that would have me out on the golf course, not in the bar, so I was still going to fill it out.
“Well,” said “The Boss” rubbing his chin, “Don’t fill it out here, one of the members might see you.” He was so haughty and demeaning, I felt like a total outcast or like someone from a lower class. I have never felt such revulsion from someone, and it was not like I as dressed in filthy rags or anything like that.
“O.K.” I said, “I will go sit in my car and fill it out. “Which is your car?” the guy asked. It should have been obvious. It was the only car there that DIDN’T cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. I pointed to my car.
“Oh no!” The guys said, “Go move it quick! That is the parking spot of one of our best club members. He always come at about 5:00, and if he finds his spot filled he will probably go ballistic.”
He must have seen the look on my face. I guess that it read the tension of the situation. “It’s alright,” he said. “Just go move it while I get you ‘one for the road’”.
That was it. I said, “I’ll have you know I am under 21, and if you offer me hard liquor one more time I will see to it that you lose your license!”
The guys got this really scared look on his face and started to apologize. I just left. I still have the application, if anyone out there wants to work for this lovely company I would be glad to mail it to you.

My Assessment Day

2009-04-09T08:01:00.000-07:00

Today at Liberty University we got the day off from classes for ‘Assessment Day’. This is a day when all the student have to take test so that LU can keep its accrediting status. My day started at eight when I walked into the Helms School of Government with its large leather couches and 15 foot circular roundtable of polished walnut. I was informed that I would have to take a test on Biblical worldviews. It was an easy test and I finished in about 20 minutes. I was then told that I had no more tests until 3:00 PM. “Great!” I thought to myself, “Now I have to find something to do for the next seven and a half hours. I had forgotten my laptop, and as I soon found out, the entire library with all the computers was closed until 9:00 PM, when it opens again until three AM. So I left the School of Government and started walking past the Family and Consumer Arts Department. This department has several large metal cases set along the wall which contain mannequins which get dressed up in different attire each week. I was idly looking at this one display case which contained two mannequins. I was busy looking at the one male mannequins suit before I noticed that the other mannequin, a female, had on a very similar suit. Now, this may not seem like a big thing, and I am not normally interested in fashion at all, but with seven hours to while away without any hope of Facebook……I had left my books at home, anything to lessen the time was of value. So I had been standing there looking at the mannequins for about five minutes when I decided to noticed that the woman mannequin was wearing a ring. “That is odd,” I stupidly murmured to myself, “That looks like a real ring…..wonder why they would risk the chance of it getting stolen.” I stooped slightly and peered into the mannequin’s face. Now the women mannequin had a brimmed hat on and was standing at an angle to me. When I looked at her face, the blood within me froze. The mannequin looked at me, and then burst into laughter, peals of uncontrollable laughter. She straightened up and pushed open a door in the side and came out to where I was standing in total humiliation and shame. I have never been so embarrassed in my life. Here I had been staring at this woman for several minutes with a boldness that makes me blush to recall, and had never for a moment thought that she was anything but a mannequin. Well, I apologized profusely while she stood there laughing; apparently I made her day. She had seen me coming and had stood so still that she could have passed for a statue. After I was able to politely disengage myself, I went and sat outside….very embarrassed. Well, now I only had about a little less that 7 hours to go. I decided to walk to North Campus to go swim. Just as I got there they closed…..another repercussion of assessment day. So I walked back to my very sweet car and ate an orange, or I though I did. Apparently I ate it in my mind because it was still in my lunch bag when I got home. However, here is the mystery; I distinctly remember eating it. I will let you decide. So I decided to walk all the way around campus, from the tunnel by the Vines center back around to the bridge where the new bookstore was going in. I planned on walking it 7 times like Joshua did, but I only went three times. On my last time around I was crossing the bridge that spans route 460 and I stopped midway. As much as I find it fascinating to watch semis rush headlong at me and then fly beneath my feet at the last second, I found it much more interesting to be over the opposite lane where the trucks would suddenly burst without warning from beneath me and rush past. I was there leaning on the bridge when this car pulled up behind me with about 4 LU girls in it. They must have though I was suicidal, because the all started yelling at me, “Don’t jump, you’ll regret it!” Well, I had no intention of jumping, but that kind of took all the fun out of it. I kept walking. As a side note, when crossing in front of the dorms on East 23 I nearly got run over by a nice new mustang GT. Well, I went back and sat in my car and read the owners manual, very good reading too by the way. I got sick of that at about 11:00. At about noon, I realized that there was a long line forming of students to waiting in line to get into the grand lobby of DeMoss. I went and got in line. There were 14,000 students standing four wide in a very, very, very long line. I have no idea how long it was, but it seemed about a mile. So I stood in the icy cold wind for three hours, nearly freezing my ears off. Then, finally at about three thirty I got into the building to take the “official” test. I went in and was told to write my name and student id# on this little card which was, I was told, being entered into a drawing for a laptop. Well, I may not be good a math, but I did a little figuring. There are about 14, 000 student including local online student that where there on campus. Add to that the 45,000 other online students and I have a chance of about 1 to 49,000 that I will win that laptop. I would have better luck with the lotto, which, by the way, I do NOT endorse. I was hustled into a long line marked “Freshman”, and then funneled into a room where I was told the first part of my test was to give an impromptu speech on a given topic before a panel of judges from the accreditation board. “Great,” I thought, “I have about five minutes to come up with a speech on the history of America political machinery. I think I bombed it. Then I was packed into a room with computes, explicitly told NOT to go on any social networking sites, and told to bring up my three part, 497 question test. It was a enormous smattering of math, science, stuff that I have never heard of, psychology, and about 40 questions which dealt with a rather bizarre topic. I had to interpret and explain the data from all these statistical graphs showing the results of a study done on the responses of mealworms to light, heat, and moisture. Yes, you heard me right, mealworm mortality rates. That, ladies and gentlemen, is YOUR tax dollars at work. What more pressing issue is there than finding out how mealworms feel about their environment? If I were in power, I would nuke all the mealworms. Anyway, I slogged through this thing and finally finished at about 6:00 PM. It had been a long day and I was glad to get home

The Voice in the Gale

2009-04-01T16:36:00.000-07:00

The wind whipped around the bowed head of the sailors. In the dusk of night, their bent and laboring forms could be seen toiling desperately through the slanting rain and buffeting wind. With desperation driven by fear, the sailors forced their weary and bleeding fingers to work even harder to combat the impending doom. The wind screamed with the fury of ten thousand devil, hurling salty foam and mist into the eyes of the sailors, burning their cuts and searing their eyes. As the storm grew to a crescendo, one of the sailor paused in his desperate gamble for life and looked out across the water. Through the foam and waves he saw something. It was something white and bright, glowing with brilliance against dark fury of the waves and sky. To the stressed and bleary eyes of the sailor, the apparition took on a supernatural gleam. “Heaven preserve us,” the sailor cried in terror. “It is a ghost! We have seen a spirit!”

Yet in the next instant came voice, cutting through the wind, the waves, and all of the panic. “Have no fear,” the voice said. “It is I!”

The sailor doubting the reality of this statement replied, “Lord, if it is truly you, ask me to come out to you on the water!”

“Come!” replied the Lord, beckoning with his hand, “Come to me.” The sailor, Peter by name, acting in faith stepped out of the boat and walked towards Jesus with eyes fixed to his Lord. What a beautiful picture of our relationship with Christ. Here we are, young men and women living in a fallen world. We are facing storms, the gale is all around us. But when we are in the gale, HE is in the gale, standing by us to help us. What wonderful assurance, and what great peace can be ours when we are with the Lord. But, notice what Peter had to do. He had to GET OUT OF THE BOAT. Before he could walk on water he had to leave his comfort zone and take a step of faith. What are you facing in life? Are you at a crucial crossroads in your life? What is the gale that you are in? Do you have to make a move in some direction, but you aren’t sure which one? Re-read Matthew chapter 14 and see how it could apply to your life. If you don’t know which way to turn, do what Peter did, move towards the Lord. His voice cuts through every storm, every heartache, every struggle, every temptation, and every turmoil. When you are facing tough times as every young person will, turn to where you hear the Lord speaking. Sometimes this may mean taking a step that is hard, “getting out of the boat,” so to speak. But remember, once you take that step, keep your eyes firmly fixed on the Lord lest you begin to sink like Peter. As long as we keep our eyes on Christ we will be safe throughout the gales, but when we falter remember, if we look up and follow the voice of our Lord, then truly we can “walk on water.”

Only a Rose

2009-03-30T14:33:00.000-07:00

Charles had only been married a month when he noticed a marked change in his wife’s visage and demeanor. His wife, a normally sweet and cheerful soul, seemed weighed down by a burden too heavy for her slight frame. Her face was drawn and when Charles would ask her what was the matter, she would look at him as if to say, “Do I have to tell you?”
Charles was not an overly clever man, nor emotional. But though he loved his wife and it upset him a little to see her in this straight, he could not for the life of him decipher the difficulty.

“Surely,” he would mutter to himself while trudging off to work, “It is nothing I have done. Why, we have never argued or anything like that. I wonder what is up. Maybe she is just like all other women…..undecipherable and confusing”

After dismissing the issue from his mind with these words, Charles continued his walk to where he worked at a local sawmill. All morning long he labored hard, lifting and bending all the time puzzling over the strange behavior of women. By the time the noon hour whistle blew, he was thoroughly rankled at his wife. “Here I am working hard all morning to provide for her,” he grumbled under his breath as he took his lunch pail to a shady spot under a tree, “and all I have is a sour wife to go home to every night. I wonder what made me do a foolish thing like marrying her.”

With these words he took his lunch pail and opened it, tearing off in his haste a thin crimson ribbon that held a beautifully penned note tied to handle of the pail. Casting the ribbon aside he took out a meat pie, three slices of frosted cake, a bottle of iced lemonade, and a carefully made packet of mini muffins. Charles bit deep into the meat pie and was drinking the lemonade before he felt the eyes of the other men looking at his lunch.

“Wow,” chuckled one of the older men in the group, “Your Missus’ shore takes good care of you! Mine don’t cook half so good for me, even though she could if she had a mind to it.” Charles gave a half-guilty laugh and cast a quick glance at what the others were eating. The fellow on his left was also newly married, and he was chomping stoically away at a hunk of rather under-baked bread and an apple. The guy on his right had a tin with one cold potato in it and a pork rind. The old gent who had spoken earlier had already consumed his thin sandwich and was slowly chewing a piece of hay.

“Yes sir!” said Charles, squaring his shoulders, “My wife cooks for me like I was the most important fellow in the world!”

“I should say!” replied the old man. “My wife never did care for the little things like that. When it comes to meals I have to fend for my own, if you know what I mean.”

Charles nodded and ducked his head almost guiltily as the thoughts of his earlier complaints flooded his face and reddened his cheeks. He was lucky, no, blessed to have a wife who did all those little unasked things: had he appreciated it? Had he once thanked her for and complimented her on the little things she did? Those little touches she had given to his meals, that ribbon with the note, what had he done with it? Hurled it in the bushes had he like a fool? He thought of all the special things she did for him: keeping his shirts ironed, his collars fresh, his lunches made with extra care, how had he acknowledged these acts of love on her part? He had blindly stared at the notes on the lunch, and had blindly tore them off, and never realized that each night when he brought home the lunch pail, his wife’s eyes would dart quickly to the ribbon, and then quickly to him, and her tender heart would be torn afresh by his unheeding ways. How often had she been disappointed when her loving little touches she had given him in his meals were brushed off with caviler looks, and insensitive silence. His wife saw every act she did as an outlet for the overflowing love she had for him every second of every day. Charles saw her acts as acts that all good wives are duty bound to perform. “That is just her job,” he would tell himself. And so the saga had gone on. His wife had imagined marriage as a time when each would be trying to outstrip the other in acts of love and kindness. She would put a note on his pail, he would read it over and over through the day, and when he came home in the evening he would tell her how her words had made the labor of his hands light. Then the next morning she would awake to find that her husband had been up at dawn, scouring the hills and woods for the finest array of flowers for her. She would take these and put them in her hair, the thought of his love making her washing light, and her wearisome and lonely chores a time of singing and anticipation of the time when he would return. This was how she had envisioned it, a lifelong commitment to loving each other and each out-loving the other. Yet how cruelly she had been disappointed, and how keenly she was hurt every time her loving acts went unnoticed, and her kind deeds unreciprocated.

All across this land, this scene is replayed. The young wife being reduced to a drudge by the husband’s brazen disregard for her little acts of love. After a time of being hurt, the wife will no longer have the spirit or will to keep it up. One-sided love burns out faster than anything else.

Yet if you would ask Charles, “Do you love your wife?” He would undoubtedly answer, “Yes” and be angered that you would even doubt his felicity. Notwithstanding, love without actions is no love at all. Think back to when you where courting your bride. If she sneezed, you were there with a handkerchief, when her face clouded albeit for a second, you chided yourself and searched your soul to find whether you had been the cause of her pain. Where is that feeling now in your life? Has it grown cold or been trampled or squelched? Or have you stopped the flow of love by being callous to your wife’s sweet hopes, and her vision of what marriage would be like. God forbid that we should ever be found guilty of slaying our wife’s vision, and trampling on her dreams. And may heaven help us poor blind men, and open our eyes to see what we largely have done. For what has been perpetuated and exacerbated by the husband will undoubtedly effect the two, for in marriage their minds should have knit as one, and their emotions been bound in unity.

Thoughts of this sort and many more of a self-deprecating nature flooded poor Charles’s mind as he sat stupidly under the tree, staring at the note he had pulled from the hedges into which he had thrown it. His dirty hands cradled the carefully pinked note card, and as his eyes clouded with tears, he read the following poem composed by his wife.

Only a Rose

Only a Rose, when touched by love
Can make our home like heaven above
Only a word, when said with grace
Can embolden the heart and lift the face
Only a touch, on a hand lain
Can free the mind and lift soul’s pain
Only a deed, no matter how small
When given in love, is worth it all
Only a smile, given to cheer
Can brighten the cheek and banish all fear
Only a hand, when clasped in mine
Can make all the heartache worth the time
Only your step, when firm by my side
Can make my heart leap, and fear subside
Only your joy, so precious to me
Can wipe all my tears, and set my soul free
Only our love, faithful and true
Can hold us both close, me and you

Charles buried his head in his hands and wept. He cried unashamedly asking God to forgive him for his calloused treatment of his wife. How he had slighted her, yet she still loved him to overflowing and only needed his response to be able to release her love to him entirely. Catching up his hat, he rushed off down the road, ignoring the cries of the foreman to halt, and ran panting into his cottage. His wife was seated with her back to the door mending. He ran to her crying for forgiveness and clasped her to his heart. He told her with tears how he had been so hard and unfeeling and had overlooked her acts of love. After several minutes his heaving quieted, and he systematically told his wife exactly what he loved about her, and where he saw her acts of love. He told her how much he appreciated the little things she did, the unseen yet sensed things that are often overlooked. Things like how much he loved how she always made sure his coat was dried by the fire after a rain storm, and how she always had his favorite coffee ready went he came home. As he spoke she began to cry. She had been almost past hope, for this is a thing that if you cannot figure out on your own, your wife will never find it in her grasp to tell you. For her it is granted that you should know. If you do not know what she is sad about, think: have I been thanking her for the little things? Have I noticed her small acts of love as well as the big ones?
These are some things that are very sobering and thought provoking. Remember my friend, it is in the little things that strong marriages are built, and it is in the little things that so many men fail. He that is faithful in little is faithful in much.

The Rarest Thing in the World

2009-03-24T08:23:00.000-07:00

Think of something that is very expensive and rare, something that is out of the reach of the average man. What are you thinking of? A fast speedboat? A platinum and diamond ring? Maybe a gorgeous vacation home? Well, according to the Bible, there is something in the world far more rare, and if found, far more valuable that ALL of the riches of the earth combined. What could it be, you might ask, what is there that is that valuable? The answer is, a Godly woman! Yes, you heard correctly, a Godly woman is the most valuable thing in existence besides the word of God. It says in Proverbs 31:10, “Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.” This means that everything else pales when compared to a woman who truly fears the Lord. How, in this day and age, is it possible to find a woman like that, and is it possible to find one? The simple answer is, yes, there are such women in the world, but the true answer is far larger. We as men have fallen down on the job. We have begged and pleaded and moaned, “Oh Lord, I know SHE is out there, Lord, let her fall onto my doorstep someday and land in my lap, don’t make me, PLEASE don’t make me look for her.” And so forth. We have expected the Lord to do all of the work while we sit in false piety claiming that our inactivity is a measure of faith. That is blindness, and utterly foolish. No man who has found a rare diamond found it whilst he was lying on his couch waiting, and no man will find a woman who fears God unless he does some serious searching. And yes, that may mean actually leaving the comforting shadow of your mother’s kitchen and venturing out into the street, or (God forbid) another state. We have been coddled too long, and softened by our generation’s apathy towards the noble calling of Godly manhood. No longer should we sit in the dark, waiting for our “princesses” to come, we must GET OUT AND LOOK! For the sake of the next generation, get off your bed of lethargy and prove yourself a man! Seek out a Godly woman, they are out there, and what is more, they are wondering where YOU are, if indeed you are man enough to be husband to them. They are not to come find you, that is your job. They sit quietly at home, and they wait. If you think it is easy, then put yourselves in their place. They are far better prepared for marriage than most men, yet they have no recourse. The men of their generation want to build up their careers and establish themselves before they even think of getting married, and then it is only an after thought. Just like every successful man needs a car, a nice house and a good set of golf clubs, they consider a wife a symbol of prosperity. “Oh, Mr. Jones, I see you have a huge pool, a vacation home in Florida, what more do you need to round off your collection of fine things?” “Well, I was thinking that now that I am approaching 40, I need a wife to appear at the business meeting, gives me some status you know.”
You may think I am being factitious, but I am in dead earnest. The Christian community faces the catastrophe of young/ not so young, unmarried men who have no desire to be wed until they are well grounded in a “career”. This is wrong, and we must not let the future suffer from it. It is all well and good to have a nice job, but think of it this way. I am a student at Liberty University where I am majoring in Pre-law. If I were to keep with my current course, I would finish school at age 24-25, and then finances permitting, I would face three grueling years at law school. I am then 28, (best case scenario). I then attempt the bar exam, two, three, perhaps four times, before passing. I am then approximately 30, and presumably ready to look for my first job, hopefully I will be able to rake in a lot of dough. The girl that God intended for me way back 10 years ago, has either gotten fed up waiting and married someone else, or has passed out of my life. But here I am, “ready for life.” This is what most guys would consider a good time to be married, but if I had quit school, learned a trade, sought out that Godly woman, I would probably own my own business, I wouldn’t be $200, 000 dollars in debt, and I would have children to raise for the Lord. Which scenario best describes the attitude of the men in the Christian population? The former is the way that they have been expected to go. It is time that we strike away from the status quo, and begin our lives with our wives not after we built up a career, but rather we should marry, and together we would build a family and subsequently a career. Does this mean that we should marry just any girl when we are fresh out of high school? Absolutely empathically not. The Lord would not have us rush into it with our eyes blinded and our arms flailing. Rather we should earnestly seek the Lord and the counsel of our parents. This is all assuming that we have been carefully preparing ourselves for marriage during our high school years. When you marry in your early twenties, you get the joy of spending the best and most prosperous years of your life with the wife of your youth. You both will grow and mature together, work and plan a family together, build a career, together. This is God’s plan, that man should be his wife’s best friend and that they should have Godly children.
“What kind of woman are you hoping to marry?” you ask, “have you any idea of what she would be like?” Yes, I do. I see myself marrying a woman who will put God and her children ahead of the pressures of the world. A girl who has not been pressured by the world to find her meaning and fulfillment in life in the work place. The woman whom I shall marry is one who recognizes that the, “Hand that rock the cradle, rules the world,” and that her power and glory comes from her rearing her children and making the choice vessel for the Master’s use. She will also be the woman who is her husband’s best friend. She shares all his hopes, dream, visions and fears. Together they will walk, hand in hand, with the hope of the Lord in their hearts and His grace their guide. She will be one who will listen to his fanciful dreams, and his goals, and walk with him with a heart dedicated to him. She will be his closest confident and advisor in all things, the one on whom the husbands sun rises and sets. If you can find such a woman, do not let the time slip by. Just as you would lose no time in snatching a gold nugget from millrace, lose no time in this endeavor as well. Those of you who know what person the Lord has for you, know for certain that that woman will not be around forever. She will not wait until Gibraltar is cast into the sea, or the mountains become valleys. Act now, today.
In my minds eye, I see myself and my future bride walking hand in hand though an alpine valley, sitting and talking by a flowing stream, and my heart cries within me as I long for that day. That day when I can tell her my all, my hopes, my dreams. I am a dreamer by nature, and my soul longs for one to share my dreams with, to commune with as with my own heart and to love as my own body. This is what we are called to, and even designed for. My heart is too full for words when I think ahead to that glorious day when my now rift soul shall be united for life with She whom the Lord planned for me. The girl that I marry will be one with whom I shall walk, hand in hand into the setting sun of life’s end, and when looking back from death’s mountain, I shall see the valley below filled with the children that we have reared for the Lord and shout for joy! What are college degrees and titles compared to this? What a beautiful picture of Christ and his Church, and what a joy it is to be able to replicate this divine institution on earth. Arise men! Throw off the dew that has encumbered you, and misted your eyes, and seek out a Godly woman, for truly it was spoken, “Her price is far above rubies.”