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Please (Don’t) Send Help! I’m Trapped With a Psychic And I LOVE Her! January 23, 2015

Posted by michaelnjohns in Uncategorized.
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DEAR GOD!  My wife is amazing.  That’s not a vain expletive; it’s praise.

She is amazing.  She thinks she’s not perfect, but I think she’s pretty close.  Sure, she doesn’t do everything I want exactly the way I want, see the Love Language article I posted earlier for more about that.  But she’s pretty close.

You all should find someone like this.  It’s mushy and romantic sounding, but like the cheesy line from that cheesy chickflick “Jerry Maguire,” she completes me.  I don’t believe she’s really a psychic, since we’re both Christ-followers.  I think some of the people with “psychic” powers are either not spiritual at all (see the show Psych, on Netflix), but just people gifted with astute powers of observation and connection.  And if they are spirits, they aren’t really good spirits no matter how harmless they may seem.  I don’t mean to say that it’s not real, I mean to say that it’s dark and dangerous to tinker with.

But my wife!  I think if I were to spiritualize it, I’d do it like this:

You may have read King Lemuel’s words in Proverbs 31, about an ideal woman.  I’ll save King Lemuel’s identity questions for another blog.  Yeah, his “virtuous woman,” she’s so ideal she sounds “virtual.”  She runs the house, she does the shopping, she handles the investments, she commands respect at home and away from home.  What’s left for her husband to do?  It sounds like a fantasy, the stuff one would be inspired to write a poem about.  It’s an acrostic poem, taking each letter of the Hebrew alphabet and writing something good about her, like, the one you sang to your mom at the mother’s day presentation at school, “M is for the Many things she gave me.”  That was Eddie Arnold, if you want to look into it further.  Lemuel, or Lemuel’s momma, sounds pretty serious, when giving advice on what to look for in a great woman.  Maybe it’s his mom telling him how good she was, and he should be so lucky as to find another one. Or maybe it’s hyperbole, the sarcastic guy saying it’s not possible to find one.  If it’s sarcasm, that would render a hilarious interpretation.  Read that through with the sarcastic, incredulous mindset, just once.  And then, guys, read it through and pray you find one.  But my wife!  She’s the real thing.  Sorry, guys.  By God’s grace alone, she decided to choose me, and hasn’t changed her mind.

Hallelujah, because if she didn’t I’d either be working a lot harder than I do, or I’d be a hopeless wreck.  It goes farther than that.

And although Lemuel goes on to say how “charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised,” let me go on from the latter to sing the praises of the former.  Not only does she kick my butt spiritually, reminding me of things I need to be about, she is smarter than your average lady, and also my beauty contest winner.  Those eyes.  I’ve written about them elsewhere.  That laugh.  That smile.  And the rest.  I’ll stop now.  I once heard a hilarious comedian, Mark Gungor, address the Song of Solomon, where it described the woman.  My wife is nothing like that, thank God again.

I have to give praise where praise is due, or “the rocks [might] cry out.”  When I thought about that verse, I envisioned some other poor schmuck’s wife pelting him with the rocks and him crying out because he didn’t sing her praises.  Or a frying pan.  My wife is almost as jealous for me as I am for her, and by that I mean we want exclusivity.  When I mention how jealous we are, it’s not a bad thing.  I want her to be safe, and keep herself only for me, and she wants the same from me, just like we promised at the wedding.

But there is something to being completed, that only works in a marriage the way God designed us.  We are supposed to need each other.  We are supposed to complete each other.  There’s a physical design, there’s an emotional design, and there’s a spiritual design.  Taking anyone who doesn’t complete you by design is, in my opinion, a huge mistake.  If you just want some companionship, go to someplace where people spend time, and spend time.  If you want someone who completes you by design, you have to search diligently, or wait until the happy “accident.”  And usually the happy accident happens while people aren’t looking.  More often than not, I’ve heard the sob story of the lady who has sworn off all men because they’re pigs (sorry, just usually true).  She’s not interested, not looking, doesn’t care.  And then she meets the guy.  They like the same things, the same foods, have similar life goals, he’s polite and respectful and caring and gentle and clean and understanding of her past, and so on.  Yup, some people have to live life and kiss frogs to learn what a loser looks like before they can pick a winner.  I think life sometimes teaches us until we learn the lesson, and I hate that.

If you know what you want, you’ll either set an impossible standard, or he’ll rise to it, if he’s worthwhile.  If you don’t know what you want, you have to decide on the fly, which makes the whole thing difficult.  When I was younger, I didn’t know what I want and she was very much my happy accident.  But it went deeper than that.

I didn’t know what I wanted before I was married.  I know so much more now more than then.  And proving the wisdom of The Rolling Stones, I don’t always get what I want.  “You can’t.”  But I’m committed to make our relationship work in spite of the ways she doesn’t really speak my love language fluently, but uses an accent.  And thankfully, she puts up with my accent even though sometimes I KNOW she doesn’t understand and can’t hear my saying what she needs to hear.  If you’re already in a relationship, it may not be satisfying you, but if you’ve made the commitment, I believe you should keep trying.  And if you’ve made promises, I believe you should work hard, to keep them at all costs.  I prayed SO hard when I was dating.  I prayed I wouldn’t mess up.  I prayed I’d be wise.  I prayed God would send away the wrong ones.  I prayed for steadfastness and true love.  And I’ve messed up.  And I’ve done foolish things.  But God was gracious to send away the wrong ones, and she has proven herself steadfast and true.  (I hear the readers going, “awww!”)  I have held on for dear life, and it’s been worth the death-grip.

And, call me psychotic if you want, but there was a Voice in the back of my head going, “she’s the one.”  I prayed that if that Voice was wrong, it would shut up.  But it didn’t.  I met other women.  I was free to choose.  And the Voice kept saying, “she’s the one.”  I’d spot the lie, and see that the other women weren’t “the one.”  It didn’t change.  And hasn’t.  She’s the one.  I see the eye candy, in the media and in real life, but they aren’t real somehow.  I’m charmed by a beautiful voice, teased by curves, drawn in by written words that express someones heartbeat, shows the beauty of their soul.  I can honestly say that I love quite a few of those people, but it’s different.  I don’t want them.  They aren’t “the one.”  I want “the one.”  Not the others.  I celebrate that the others are beautiful and that my heart resonates with theirs, but I revel in my relationship with “the one.”  When it’s rough, sure, it’s rough.  But when it’s good, it’s perfect.

Guys, be the kind of guys that ladies will respect, or she won’t stay interested.  Ladies, be the kind of women that men will love, or he will look elsewhere.  You’re out there for each other, I believe it, but if you’re not ready, it won’t happen, or it will happen in a bad way.  Wait patiently because like First Corinthians says, “Love is patient.”  If you’re not, it’s not love.  Ask anyone who’s been married and divorced, they’ll tell you their horror stories.  “I thought [insert misconception] but I found out [insert realization of truth].”  Sometimes that one is the hardest one to deal with, and it’s why I was advised to summer and winter before I made my choice.  And I’m glad I did.  “She was so demanding, so nagging.”  “He never kept his promises and he kept going off drinking with his college buddies and gazing longingly at other women when I was RIGHT THERE.”  “She had an affair with someone from work, and tried to make excuses”  Et cetera.  See also lots of Jerry Springer and other “reality TV shows.”  Here’s a list for your review, amusement, or horror.  If he’s abusing you, call the police, file charges, run away far and fast, and don’t look back.  Some of these things are shallow when you look at them on paper, but if you look at them in your spouse, they can certainly seem significant.

Genesis 2:24 and Matthew 19 show me what I believe is God’s pattern for marriage, that we are to be one.  But I believe it’s supposed to be true in ways much deeper than the physical consummation.  She does that whole “psychic” thing I was hinting at, like she’s in my head poking around and knows what’s in there.

Do I love her so much because she’s tinkering with the inside of my head?  Maybe she’s in there flipping switches and controlling and manipulating me and that’s why I love her.  I can joke about it, but I don’t think so.  But something just seems to click with her toward understanding me, better than it clicks with me toward understanding her, for some reason, and she knows me.  It’s happened more than once, that she just knew what I wanted and lovingly made arrangements for what i wanted to happen.

She does it with food, all the time.  She does it too often to just be a coincidence.  I’ll be at work, daydreaming about a food, and I won’t call her, but then I’ll drive home after work and there’s my daydream, my fantasy food, sitting on the table for dinner.  And it’s been different kinds of foods.  My daydreams are not always the same.  Burgers.  Pizza.  Eggrolls.  Fried chicken.  Pork cutlets.  Potato pancakes?  Broccoli?  “Breakfast food.”  Weird food.  Fast food.  A specific flavor of cake or pie.  A specific snack.  I daydream, sometimes it’s not even in the house and she’s gone out to get it.  Like she’s reading my mind.  Or maybe we’re craving the same thing, because we’re “…not two, but one…”

She did it today, which is why I’m writing this.

It’s Friday.  Normally we’ve been having pizza on Fridays, with the kids.  They like it.  But today, I had a very specific daydream about orange chicken.  After the daydream passed and I got on with my workday, I received the following email:
*****************************************************************************
So, Are you hungry for some Chinese? I am! Wanna go out?
We could go back to the house to watch a movie?

What do you think?
Love,
*****************************************************************************

And then she signed it.  I swear, I am not making this up.  Orange chicken.  Boom.  How does she do that?

Anyone else have a similar experience?  If not, I bet you wish you did.  Pray hard, work hard, and seek that kind of fellowship.  Communion.  Connection.  “The one who seeks, finds.”  Wait patiently.  Set the high and lofty expectation for what you want, not just what you need.  Someone who will bless you with a lifetime relationship, not just a soluble, degradable one.  When the storm comes, you want someone to hold on to, not someone who’ll flake out and walk away.  When you’ve weathered the storm, you’ll be tighter.  Storms come, because they’re part of life.  Temptation is so common, everyone faces it.  You can choose what to do about that temptation.  But steadfastness?  Faithfulness?  Love?  Patience?  Kindness?  That spiritual connection?  You’re worth it.  So is the one God sends you.  Wait for “the one.”  You’ll thank me in the long run.

I want to learn how to mind-read too.  But she hasn’t taught me how she does it yet.  Feminine mystique?  A Woman’s Intuition?  I hate that those expressions are so common.  Where’s masculine foreknowledge?  A Man’s logic?  No one ever talks about those.  Maybe I should just pray harder about it and see what God does to help me grow to understand her more.  It’s only been around 20 years and I’m still working on figuring out what makes her tick.  I’ll let you know.

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