Oct 13, 2006 |
by Annette Bridges. © 2006. All rights reserved.
I fell in love with John while standing in line for an amusement park ride. City girl meets country boy. Seven months later, we married. I had found my Mr. Right.
But soon I found out he thought his first name was “Always.”
He always knew best—where we should live, what we could spend money on, what we would do for fun. My opinion didn’t seem important. Compromise? Not an option.
We immediately moved into the old farmhouse John’s parents owned on their Texas ranch—and right next door to my in-law’s brand-new house. As resentment built in my marriage, my hatred of our home grew.
We rarely had an amicable discussion about how to spend our finances. With John as the primary breadwinner, I often felt I didn’t have a say in how we spent our money.
I’d end up in tears of frustration.
I thought he showed little appreciation for the work I did in the home. He dropped his dirty clothes on the floor by the hamper. He left his coats and shoes wherever he took them off. I’d often end up in tears of frustration as I cleaned up after him time and time again.
I also became increasingly frustrated with living on a ranch, far from the city activities I liked. Going dancing or out to the movies became extra-special treats. And when I suggested these outings, John showed little interest.
I often resented his absence.
Years passed with me spending a lot of long days caring for our young daughter while John worked equally long hours at his construction job, an hour’s drive from home. I appreciated his hard work, but I often resented his absence.
Eventually, I realized I didn’t like the person I had become—the critical, angry, quick-to-judge person. Maybe my husband had room for improvement, but was I really so perfect?
I did love my husband. We spent many happy family moments together. John and our daughter, Jennifer, developed a close relationship. He always took time to talk to her—especially during the long drives to her weekly dance classes. And he taught her to appreciate the outdoors and to fish—so well that Jennifer can outfish him now. When she was older, she used to cook our supper while John and I took care of the ranch chores.
I began to see how disconnected I’d become from my spiritual identity I learned about during years attending Christian Science Sunday school. I had learned about a loving, wise, forgiving God—and as a child of God, I reflect those attributes.
I wanted to be a new “me.”
I had also learned that if I wasn’t happy with the way I viewed myself, I could pray to see myself as God’s reflection and start afresh without guilt or self-condemnation.
I wanted to be a new “me” and toss out the “grouchy me.” I wanted to love. To feel love. To think lovingly. To be loving. Could I do this? Could I love in spite of my circumstances or surroundings? Could I love in spite of how I was treated? Could I love first?
A statement Mary Baker Eddy wrote in the chapter on “Prayer” in her book Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures gave me renewed hope: “Desire is prayer; and no loss can occur from trusting God with our desires that they may be moulded and exalted before they take form in words and in deeds.”
Since I have always believed in the power of prayer to transform and heal, I found great comfort in the idea that prayer based on good desires can lead to healing results. I took my desire to be a more loving “me” to God in prayer.
I turned to the Bible to see what Jesus taught.
I started by looking for an example of a truly loving person—someone I could emulate. Jesus came to mind first. So I turned to the Bible to see what he taught about love and also to examine his relationships with others. I found lessons of forgiveness and unconditional love for both friend and foe. In awe, I wondered if I could truly love this way.
Then I came across Paul’s definition of love in his letters to the Corinthians. Every line defined love in a different way. Patient. Kind. Not proud. Not self-seeking. Not easily angered. Keeps no record of wrongs. Always protects. Trusts. Hopes. Perseveres. (See full reference below.)
Well, I didn’t change overnight, but I took these ideas to heart and worked through several years of progress, prayer and tender lessons. Eventually, though, it hit me. Truly, God is Love. The source of love. And my husband and I are children of Love. We both are unique and individual expressions of this Love.
Love is a choice.
But even more, love is a choice. Jesus chose to love. And I too could choose to love. Besides, as a child of Love, how could I not be loving, act lovingly, think lovingly?
With love as my center, it became very natural to choose patience instead of frustration. Empathy instead of criticism. Joy instead of sadness. Peace of mind instead of anger. Trust instead of doubt. Forgiveness instead of condemnation.
Tears and resentment disappeared along the way. Looking back on these years, my husband commented to a friend, “I realize it was tough for Annette in the beginning—living near my parents and in the country. There was some friction between us, but Annette worked through it with prayer. She became more tolerant, well-adjusted, less judgmental—and I hope I did, too.”
I enjoy the time I spend with my husband.
As I began to realize and appreciate John’s goodness—and the goodness of our home—my perceptions changed. Our communications grew into a sweet interchange of openness and respect.
Today we still live in the same house on the ranch, but I love it now. And I enjoy the time I spend with my husband, regardless of what we’re doing.
In fact, now I find my reactions to everyone around me come from my desire to love more and to think lovingly. I want to love. I choose to love.
John and I will be celebrating our 24th anniversary in March. I can honestly say we share a mutual consideration, thoughtfulness and tenderness for each other’s needs and feelings. I have an equal say in how we spend our money and our time—and now we go to movies or out to dinner weekly. John even joins me for the annual Nutcracker ballet.
So what about my Mr. Right? I’ve found him.
Gratitude and forgiveness
Oct 13, 2006 |
by Annette Bridges. ©2006. All rights reserved.
This is my family’s first holiday season with a loved one deployed overseas. Our son-in-law, Justin, is serving in the United States Air Force. It’s been a difficult time, but as we’ve been praying, the idea for a new tradition emerged.
In keeping with the Thanksgiving theme of gratitude, our son-in-law’s empty place will be set. Before we raise our forks, those of us at the table will express gratitude for Justin and his willingness to put the safety and security of his fellow citizens before his own.
We will pay tribute to his ideals, dedication, passion, patriotism, courage and conviction. We are very grateful for Justin and these wonderful qualities he expresses so freely.
We’re all the children of the one Father-other God.
As we’ve been praying for Justin, we are reminded that we are all brethren with one Father-Mother God who is loving and cherishing each of Her children.
Of course, the United States is certainly not the only country who has soldiers and families separated from each other. So we’ll also be thinking about all of those selfless and brave hearts serving their respective countries throughout the world.
I imagine that most families think about their deployed family members and friends frequently, and we’re no different. We keep our soldier close in our thoughts, conversation and prayer. We never leave him out.
We mail him packages and cards frequently. And we hold on to every word he says when he gets the opportunity to call. We appreciate technology that helps the world stay more connected via the Internet, and often look at photos he sends us by email.
Our prayers give us the most comfort.
We feel connected to Justin because of all these things, but it’s the prayer that gives us the most lasting comfort and peace of mind.
Through prayer and Bible study, we’re reminded that God is as near to our soldier as He is to us back home. There’s an implied sense of safety in this truth. We’re all together in God’s embrace.
But sometimes we get fearful about Justin’s safety. Like other military families, there are days upon days when we don’t hear from our serviceman. That’s when fears and anxieties run the highest.
We’ve found the Book of Psalms in the Bible to be particularly reassuring at those times.
“If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there.”
Psalm 139 affirms: “Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me.”
We’ve discovered Psalm 91 is a very powerful prayer. We personalize it by putting our soldier’s name in place of the pronouns:
“[Justin] dwelleth in the secret place of the most High [and] shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.” Or “He shall cover [Justin] with his feathers, and under his wings shalt [Justin] trust….” As Justin is in the Air Force, we especially love the verses that mention wings.
It’s wise to turn to God for protection.
And these thoughts about safety aren’t just wishful thinking—they’re powerful forces for good. I’ve experienced the power of prayer in my own life, and I know turning to God in matters of protection is a wise thing to do.
I admit that in the past I didn’t give more than a passing thought to the sacrifices made by those in the military and their families, but our current circumstances will change that forever.
I’m making a promise in my heart to continue our new tradition. We’ll have an empty place set at our dinner table every Thanksgiving and Christmas to remind us to love and pray for the thousands that are separated from loved ones during precious holiday gatherings.
And most importantly, we’ll pray for their safe return home.
Dec 12, 2002 |
by Annette Bridges
One Christmas long ago, I discovered a priceless treasure in giving the gift of gratitude. My family has a long tradition of watching Bing Crosby’s White Christmas on Christmas Eve, and a song from that movie, “Count Your Blessings,” is a holiday favorite. One line is for me a humble reminder of that Christmas more than three decades ago: “When your bank roll is getting small, just think of when you had none at all, and you’ll fall asleep, counting your blessings.”
I was 10 years old the Christmas of 1968. My mom and I were traveling west from Georgia to escape the wrath of my dad after their divorce. We had little money, no income, no home, few clothes and no toys, and we were separated from other relatives. We spent Christmas hiding out in a trailer park.
We got a tiny Christmas tree. We had no stand, but we found a way to hang the tree from the ceiling. We had no decorations, but we strung popcorn and made paper garland.
It may sound gloomy, but I often think back on Christmas 1968 as the best of my childhood. I think my mom would say the same. But why?
By all appearances, we were in danger. We were living in a perilous time in bleak conditions. And yet my memory of that Christmas is a peace-filled one and, yes, a joyous one. I can’t tell you what gifts I got, although I’m sure that my mom managed to put a few under the tree. But I can tell you this much: We were safe, we were happy, we were expectant of a brighter tomorrow, and we were grateful to be safe and together and to have the promise of a new day.
Christmastime in any age brings the promise of a new day, a new birth, just as it did centuries ago. But Christmas 1968 became the special memory that it is because of the gift of gratitude my mom and I gave each other. In everything we did, in every moment we spent together, we were grateful. We were grateful for present moments, and we were grateful for whatever tomorrow would bring. Gratitude helped us to see what was right in our lives instead of what was wrong. And now, every year, I’m reminded that Bing’s advice to count your blessings is a good one, and not just at Christmastime.
There is a hymn in the Christian Science Hymnal that speaks of a grateful heart. Three verses describe the grateful heart as a garden, a fortress and a temple. A grateful heart is a garden of comfort and peace that dispels anxiety and fear. A grateful heart is a fortress replacing feelings of helplessness and vulnerability with certainty and hope. A grateful heart is a temple of strength and courage that brings expectancy for better things.
Since Sept. 11, 2001, I have found that I give much more thought to what I am grateful for in my life, in my family, in my community, in my country. And I am finding that gratitude is moving me in directions I never considered before. Gratitude is shaping my decisions, my attitudes, my ideas, my actions, in ways that are more productive, more open, more unselfish. And gratitude is empowering me and inspiring me to look forward to each new day.
Try it. Give the gift of gratitude to yourself. And share gifts of gratitude with family and friends. They may be the most precious you give this year, and the most memorable.
Originally published in the Dallas Morning News, December 2002. ©Annette Bridges. All rights reserved.
