Blessings Of Unconventional Marriage
Stories
Contents
“Blessings Of Unconventional Marriage” by David O. Bales
“A Good Night’s Sleep” by David O. Bales
Blessings Of Unconventional Marriage
by David O. Bales
Ruth 3:1-5, 4:13-17
Melanie was on the sidewalk, approaching 429 Oak Ridge Drive. She’d spent an evening at the church discussing and role playing how to call upon new worshipers. This was now her first visit for the congregation. Prayer, she thought. I’m always supposed to pray before calling. I suppose I could pray no one’s home. She knew that was silly; the church secretary had phoned ahead and Joel and Kyla Rue had agreed to a call. The secretary told Melanie “they were the couple sitting by the senior high drama group. They seemed to enjoy the kids a lot.”
With a shapeless wave of prayer towards God, she repeated to herself: Prayer and listening, prayer and listening. She punched the doorbell and a couple of about retirement age greeted her with toothy smiles. Melanie noticed that Kyla showed more of her gums than Joel.
“You must be Melanie. We’ve been looking forward to your coming,” Kyla said. Joel was gesturing toward their couch, “Come and get comfy.”
As Melanie was being seated, she blurted out, “We’re really pleased you worshipped with us,” which she instantly regretted as seeming too forward. Also, she realized she hadn’t done any listening yet.
“We’re glad we visited your congregation on drama Sunday,” Joel said, “I used to teach drama. I thought your casting director did just right with the choice of actors. And the script allowed the freedom of the actors to flow through.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Melanie said. “Nothing like my high school drama teacher. At our rehearsals she pointed with a yard stick and hovered around us repeating lines and calling beats.”
“Here? You grew up here?” Joel asked.
“Not exactly, moved here in eighth grade and been here ever since. Sometimes it feels like all my life.”
“So you have long term friends here,” Kyla said.
“Plenty. Yeah. In lots of ways a bunch of us are still dealing with the sad things of high school.”
“Sad?” Kyla asked.
“Well, in high school an inordinate percentage of our parents died. In what I call my large circle of girlfriends a third of the parents died or were killed by the time we graduated high school and in my close group of three one of each of our parents was dead.”
“That must have been terrible,” Joel said. “Did you all stay here in town?”
“Our three group, eventually. We all attended the community college and two of us became dental hygenists. Our third member went on to dental school and we work for her.”
“That’s amazing,” Kyla said, with her gums at maximum smile.
The three chuckled as Melanie realized she’d talked instead of listened. Hadn’t asked a single question or reflected any statements.
She was just opening her mouth to ask, she knew-not-what, when Kyla said, “How about some coffee and cookies? I put a pot on 15 minutes ago, decaf, and the cookies are fresh from Safeway.”
“Sounds great,” Melanie said.
“She’s as good at making cookies as she is at making coffee,” Joel said as Kyla left for the kitchen.
“Oh,” Joel said. “You take cream or sugar or one of those fake sugar-things?”
“Cream’s fine if you’ve got some,” Melanie said.
“Ruth,” Joel spoke loudly over his shoulder, “bring some cream too.” He turned to Melanie, “You always been a member of this congregation?”
Melanie must have answered, though she didn’t remember doing so. Her mind hooked on Joel’s saying “Ruth.” She’d been sure that the church secretary had told her “Joel and Kyla.” That’s what Melanie had written on the note with their address. But she distinctly heard Joel say “Ruth.” She started breathing regularly again when she recalled that many people go by their middle names with relatives and friends.
When Kyla brought the coffee and cookies, Melanie was determined to ask some questions, hoping the answers could lead naturally to talking about faith and church. She sipped from the cup, “Mmm, that’s good. Now, you know, ah, I’d like to hear about you two, like where you from?”
“I’m mostly from Michigan,” Joel said, “A lot of moving around, but Kyla spent her life in Atlanta.”
Melanie looked from one to the other of their friendly faces, “You said ‘Kyla’; but, you called her ‘Ruth’ when she was in the kitchen.”
They smiled at one another with more gums than Melanie thought possible; Melanie waited as they giggled. Kyla continued chuckling and Joel let out a happy sigh, “I admit, I called her ‘Ruth,’ most always do, when I’m talking to her.”
“And I call him ‘Boaz,’” Kyla said. They grinned. Melanie looked at them with a question locked on her face.
“Book of Ruth,” Joel said.
“Okay, sure, yeah,” Melanie said, nodding in confusion.
“Goes back to when we got married,” Joel said.
“How we got married,” Kyla said.
They were just out of high school and wanted to marry, but their parents refused because they were too young. So they lied, said Kyla was pregnant, and that got the parents’ permission. The rest, Joel said, “was history.”
Melanie realized her mouth was open and maybe they could see her older, amalgam fillings. She closed her mouth with a thump.
“I know,” Joel said, “rather dramatic,” and they all laughed.
“So to me,” Kyla said, “Joel has always been ‘Boaz’ and I’ve always been ‘Ruth’ to him; because, we had a strange marriage to match their strange marriage in the old Hebrew world.”
Melanie was mute, so Joel said, “We shouldn’t have done it, but we’ve never regretted it. We think it’s part of the way God rewrites the usual script in order to bring something good into the world. We’ve certainly found that life doesn’t always turn out the way you plan or expect, but God can bring about wonderful things through, shall we say, unusual circumstances.”
Melanie still didn’t speak. For the rest of the evening she listened to Joel and Kyla (Boaz and Ruth) tell about their lives and faith, their jobs, the churches they attended, and their daughter, named, as they said, slightly out of order, Naomi.
Preaching Point: God blesses strange marriage situations.
* * *
A Good Night’s Sleep
David O. Bales
Psalm 127
Jack bent under his pack and panted deeply. “I calculate that was the day’s steepest climb.”
Hal stepped up to the small plateau beside him, “I suppose it’d be easier if we did this everyday.”
“Easier or we’d die,” Jack said. “But this is the best view yet.”
The two men in their early 40s ran their thumbs under their pack straps and gazed over hill after hill of Douglas Fir trees on the Pacific Crest Trail. Jack unfolded the map and gestured to the northwest. “Looks like the lake’s over one of these next turns.”
“Well,” Hal said, “let’s hope it turns out all right.”
“Oh, no. I’m going to suffer this for a week?”
“I guess some people just aren’t very punny.” Hal smiled wryly.
They were scouting for their church’s week long senior high backpack the next month. Their hike would choose each night’s campsite and note what precautions or special gear the students would need.
“One thing for sure,” Jack said, “I’m going to sleep tonight. Every time we rest I could roll onto my side and plunge into unconsciousness. You too?”
“Mmm,” Hal said as he stepped out to take the lead.
Two hours before dusk they arrived at their first camp. At the high altitude the air was starting to chill. Hal pulled off his pack and hurried to gather firewood. As he brought the first load of limbs and brush to the camp, he saw Jack erecting the tent. “That’s it? That tiny thing?”
“It works great,” Jack said. “Heidi and I’ve used it for years.”
Hal looked stricken.
“What is it?” Jack asked. “You claustrophobic?”
“Mmm,” Hal said, “better than weakly aerobic. Looks like a fabric sardine can.” He dumped the wood and set to kindling the fire.
Although they hugged the heat of the small fire, the two didn’t talk much while eating. With a tentative smile, Jack said, “We’ve got to abandon this little blaze and see if the sleeping bags can do their work.”
“Their smirk?”
Jack could tell something was wrong, but what was there to do but to crawl into the tent? It was a little late to change plans. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I just have trouble getting to sleep sometimes.”
“Oh boy. Now we find out.”
“From a lout.”
After they put out the fire, Jack shrugged, “I’ll climb in first.” He rustled and rolled for two minutes while Hal waited outside.
“I’m set,” Jack called out. “Time for sardine number two.”
“The bovine goes to slaughter with a moo.”
When Hal was finally in his bag and the two were settled in the least uncomfortable positions, Jack said, “How much trouble do you have getting to sleep?”
“It’s a usual thing,” Hal said. “Most of my adult life.”
For a while neither spoke. Finally Jack said, “I suppose you’ve tried medicine or sleep exercises or something.” Then he waited, and Hal knew Jack was waiting not just to know what relief he’d sought in getting to sleep but to understand him; because clearly Hal was suffering just to admit his problem. After a long silence he said, “Started in boot camp for Army National Guard.”
“I knew you were in the Guard.”
“So intense. Every minute you’re doing what you’re told, being yelled at, even when you think you’re doing something right. You’re in a group just like yourself. You’re all defined as knuckleheads—and worse. We’d finally get to bed and we’d be so tired we could hardly speak a couple sentences to commiserate with one another, get some perspective on what’s going on. I was so wound up, confused and ashamed at how poorly I was doing everything—I’d never been athletic—that at first I couldn’t get to sleep. Soon I began forcing myself to stay awake to have unhindered, I called it ‘unattacked,’ time to think. Didn’t expect it’d become a habit, kind of like an addiction that I couldn’t break. And, yes, I’ve taken those pills and I won’t do it again. Left me loopy. So,” he said with a sigh, “there you have it. You go ahead and sleep and I’ll do my best not to toss and turn much. At least you know.”
After a minute Jack said, “I too had an addiction that lost my sleep. Doc called it a ‘disorder.’” This surprised Hal as much as he’d surprised Jack. Another silence spread between them until Hal asked, “And?”
“As strange as yours, though not as long. I was addicted to study in grad school. All I thought of was my thesis. I was attempting to do in three years what others did in four. Along with the stipend I calculated it was all the savings I had. I couldn’t get a student loan. That’s another story. But I guess it isn’t another story. Yet like you, for different reasons, I almost never slept and then soon I couldn’t sleep. I was one mixed up person and not nice to be around. Argued with most everyone in the department. Only one person I didn’t alienate. A priest. He taught philosophy and I needed some touch with philosophy, a few quotes here and there to show I knew something about life beyond my field of study. This arthritic old man actually befriended me when I had no friends left. I found myself going to him with my problems, finally explaining to him what seemed like a trivial problem: I couldn’t sleep.
“For him, it was a matter of faith. First thing he said, ‘For he gives sleep to his beloved.’ He also realized I had things in my past that were causing me problems. That was a matter of faith for him too. So this one afternoon when I popped in his office, red-eyed and weighing slightly more than a skeleton, he set about to talk seriously with me and refer me to the Bible as the source of both, he said, ‘good advice as well as good news.’ He said he had a text that he first prayed whenever he couldn’t sleep: ‘For he gives sleep to his beloved.’ Basically it was about God’s loving him, God always surrounding him. It meant so much to him that it had become his habit to recite whenever he lay down to sleep. ‘For he gives sleep to his beloved.’ I borrowed it from him, and his direction and prayer for me and his Bible verse slowly broke my addiction to studying and allowed me to sleep. ‘For he gives sleep to his beloved.’ I’m convinced it’s helped me these years later finally to serve God instead of just myself. ‘For he gives sleep to his beloved.’ I cling to that verse. ‘For he gives sleep to his beloved.’ Kinds of like a spiritual pillow. Know what I mean?”
Hal began to snore.
Preaching Point: God’s love offers not just ultimate, but immediate calm and security.
*****************************************
StoryShare, November 11, 2018, issue.
Copyright 2018 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
“Blessings Of Unconventional Marriage” by David O. Bales
“A Good Night’s Sleep” by David O. Bales
Blessings Of Unconventional Marriage
by David O. Bales
Ruth 3:1-5, 4:13-17
Melanie was on the sidewalk, approaching 429 Oak Ridge Drive. She’d spent an evening at the church discussing and role playing how to call upon new worshipers. This was now her first visit for the congregation. Prayer, she thought. I’m always supposed to pray before calling. I suppose I could pray no one’s home. She knew that was silly; the church secretary had phoned ahead and Joel and Kyla Rue had agreed to a call. The secretary told Melanie “they were the couple sitting by the senior high drama group. They seemed to enjoy the kids a lot.”
With a shapeless wave of prayer towards God, she repeated to herself: Prayer and listening, prayer and listening. She punched the doorbell and a couple of about retirement age greeted her with toothy smiles. Melanie noticed that Kyla showed more of her gums than Joel.
“You must be Melanie. We’ve been looking forward to your coming,” Kyla said. Joel was gesturing toward their couch, “Come and get comfy.”
As Melanie was being seated, she blurted out, “We’re really pleased you worshipped with us,” which she instantly regretted as seeming too forward. Also, she realized she hadn’t done any listening yet.
“We’re glad we visited your congregation on drama Sunday,” Joel said, “I used to teach drama. I thought your casting director did just right with the choice of actors. And the script allowed the freedom of the actors to flow through.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Melanie said. “Nothing like my high school drama teacher. At our rehearsals she pointed with a yard stick and hovered around us repeating lines and calling beats.”
“Here? You grew up here?” Joel asked.
“Not exactly, moved here in eighth grade and been here ever since. Sometimes it feels like all my life.”
“So you have long term friends here,” Kyla said.
“Plenty. Yeah. In lots of ways a bunch of us are still dealing with the sad things of high school.”
“Sad?” Kyla asked.
“Well, in high school an inordinate percentage of our parents died. In what I call my large circle of girlfriends a third of the parents died or were killed by the time we graduated high school and in my close group of three one of each of our parents was dead.”
“That must have been terrible,” Joel said. “Did you all stay here in town?”
“Our three group, eventually. We all attended the community college and two of us became dental hygenists. Our third member went on to dental school and we work for her.”
“That’s amazing,” Kyla said, with her gums at maximum smile.
The three chuckled as Melanie realized she’d talked instead of listened. Hadn’t asked a single question or reflected any statements.
She was just opening her mouth to ask, she knew-not-what, when Kyla said, “How about some coffee and cookies? I put a pot on 15 minutes ago, decaf, and the cookies are fresh from Safeway.”
“Sounds great,” Melanie said.
“She’s as good at making cookies as she is at making coffee,” Joel said as Kyla left for the kitchen.
“Oh,” Joel said. “You take cream or sugar or one of those fake sugar-things?”
“Cream’s fine if you’ve got some,” Melanie said.
“Ruth,” Joel spoke loudly over his shoulder, “bring some cream too.” He turned to Melanie, “You always been a member of this congregation?”
Melanie must have answered, though she didn’t remember doing so. Her mind hooked on Joel’s saying “Ruth.” She’d been sure that the church secretary had told her “Joel and Kyla.” That’s what Melanie had written on the note with their address. But she distinctly heard Joel say “Ruth.” She started breathing regularly again when she recalled that many people go by their middle names with relatives and friends.
When Kyla brought the coffee and cookies, Melanie was determined to ask some questions, hoping the answers could lead naturally to talking about faith and church. She sipped from the cup, “Mmm, that’s good. Now, you know, ah, I’d like to hear about you two, like where you from?”
“I’m mostly from Michigan,” Joel said, “A lot of moving around, but Kyla spent her life in Atlanta.”
Melanie looked from one to the other of their friendly faces, “You said ‘Kyla’; but, you called her ‘Ruth’ when she was in the kitchen.”
They smiled at one another with more gums than Melanie thought possible; Melanie waited as they giggled. Kyla continued chuckling and Joel let out a happy sigh, “I admit, I called her ‘Ruth,’ most always do, when I’m talking to her.”
“And I call him ‘Boaz,’” Kyla said. They grinned. Melanie looked at them with a question locked on her face.
“Book of Ruth,” Joel said.
“Okay, sure, yeah,” Melanie said, nodding in confusion.
“Goes back to when we got married,” Joel said.
“How we got married,” Kyla said.
They were just out of high school and wanted to marry, but their parents refused because they were too young. So they lied, said Kyla was pregnant, and that got the parents’ permission. The rest, Joel said, “was history.”
Melanie realized her mouth was open and maybe they could see her older, amalgam fillings. She closed her mouth with a thump.
“I know,” Joel said, “rather dramatic,” and they all laughed.
“So to me,” Kyla said, “Joel has always been ‘Boaz’ and I’ve always been ‘Ruth’ to him; because, we had a strange marriage to match their strange marriage in the old Hebrew world.”
Melanie was mute, so Joel said, “We shouldn’t have done it, but we’ve never regretted it. We think it’s part of the way God rewrites the usual script in order to bring something good into the world. We’ve certainly found that life doesn’t always turn out the way you plan or expect, but God can bring about wonderful things through, shall we say, unusual circumstances.”
Melanie still didn’t speak. For the rest of the evening she listened to Joel and Kyla (Boaz and Ruth) tell about their lives and faith, their jobs, the churches they attended, and their daughter, named, as they said, slightly out of order, Naomi.
Preaching Point: God blesses strange marriage situations.
* * *
A Good Night’s Sleep
David O. Bales
Psalm 127
Jack bent under his pack and panted deeply. “I calculate that was the day’s steepest climb.”
Hal stepped up to the small plateau beside him, “I suppose it’d be easier if we did this everyday.”
“Easier or we’d die,” Jack said. “But this is the best view yet.”
The two men in their early 40s ran their thumbs under their pack straps and gazed over hill after hill of Douglas Fir trees on the Pacific Crest Trail. Jack unfolded the map and gestured to the northwest. “Looks like the lake’s over one of these next turns.”
“Well,” Hal said, “let’s hope it turns out all right.”
“Oh, no. I’m going to suffer this for a week?”
“I guess some people just aren’t very punny.” Hal smiled wryly.
They were scouting for their church’s week long senior high backpack the next month. Their hike would choose each night’s campsite and note what precautions or special gear the students would need.
“One thing for sure,” Jack said, “I’m going to sleep tonight. Every time we rest I could roll onto my side and plunge into unconsciousness. You too?”
“Mmm,” Hal said as he stepped out to take the lead.
Two hours before dusk they arrived at their first camp. At the high altitude the air was starting to chill. Hal pulled off his pack and hurried to gather firewood. As he brought the first load of limbs and brush to the camp, he saw Jack erecting the tent. “That’s it? That tiny thing?”
“It works great,” Jack said. “Heidi and I’ve used it for years.”
Hal looked stricken.
“What is it?” Jack asked. “You claustrophobic?”
“Mmm,” Hal said, “better than weakly aerobic. Looks like a fabric sardine can.” He dumped the wood and set to kindling the fire.
Although they hugged the heat of the small fire, the two didn’t talk much while eating. With a tentative smile, Jack said, “We’ve got to abandon this little blaze and see if the sleeping bags can do their work.”
“Their smirk?”
Jack could tell something was wrong, but what was there to do but to crawl into the tent? It was a little late to change plans. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I just have trouble getting to sleep sometimes.”
“Oh boy. Now we find out.”
“From a lout.”
After they put out the fire, Jack shrugged, “I’ll climb in first.” He rustled and rolled for two minutes while Hal waited outside.
“I’m set,” Jack called out. “Time for sardine number two.”
“The bovine goes to slaughter with a moo.”
When Hal was finally in his bag and the two were settled in the least uncomfortable positions, Jack said, “How much trouble do you have getting to sleep?”
“It’s a usual thing,” Hal said. “Most of my adult life.”
For a while neither spoke. Finally Jack said, “I suppose you’ve tried medicine or sleep exercises or something.” Then he waited, and Hal knew Jack was waiting not just to know what relief he’d sought in getting to sleep but to understand him; because clearly Hal was suffering just to admit his problem. After a long silence he said, “Started in boot camp for Army National Guard.”
“I knew you were in the Guard.”
“So intense. Every minute you’re doing what you’re told, being yelled at, even when you think you’re doing something right. You’re in a group just like yourself. You’re all defined as knuckleheads—and worse. We’d finally get to bed and we’d be so tired we could hardly speak a couple sentences to commiserate with one another, get some perspective on what’s going on. I was so wound up, confused and ashamed at how poorly I was doing everything—I’d never been athletic—that at first I couldn’t get to sleep. Soon I began forcing myself to stay awake to have unhindered, I called it ‘unattacked,’ time to think. Didn’t expect it’d become a habit, kind of like an addiction that I couldn’t break. And, yes, I’ve taken those pills and I won’t do it again. Left me loopy. So,” he said with a sigh, “there you have it. You go ahead and sleep and I’ll do my best not to toss and turn much. At least you know.”
After a minute Jack said, “I too had an addiction that lost my sleep. Doc called it a ‘disorder.’” This surprised Hal as much as he’d surprised Jack. Another silence spread between them until Hal asked, “And?”
“As strange as yours, though not as long. I was addicted to study in grad school. All I thought of was my thesis. I was attempting to do in three years what others did in four. Along with the stipend I calculated it was all the savings I had. I couldn’t get a student loan. That’s another story. But I guess it isn’t another story. Yet like you, for different reasons, I almost never slept and then soon I couldn’t sleep. I was one mixed up person and not nice to be around. Argued with most everyone in the department. Only one person I didn’t alienate. A priest. He taught philosophy and I needed some touch with philosophy, a few quotes here and there to show I knew something about life beyond my field of study. This arthritic old man actually befriended me when I had no friends left. I found myself going to him with my problems, finally explaining to him what seemed like a trivial problem: I couldn’t sleep.
“For him, it was a matter of faith. First thing he said, ‘For he gives sleep to his beloved.’ He also realized I had things in my past that were causing me problems. That was a matter of faith for him too. So this one afternoon when I popped in his office, red-eyed and weighing slightly more than a skeleton, he set about to talk seriously with me and refer me to the Bible as the source of both, he said, ‘good advice as well as good news.’ He said he had a text that he first prayed whenever he couldn’t sleep: ‘For he gives sleep to his beloved.’ Basically it was about God’s loving him, God always surrounding him. It meant so much to him that it had become his habit to recite whenever he lay down to sleep. ‘For he gives sleep to his beloved.’ I borrowed it from him, and his direction and prayer for me and his Bible verse slowly broke my addiction to studying and allowed me to sleep. ‘For he gives sleep to his beloved.’ I’m convinced it’s helped me these years later finally to serve God instead of just myself. ‘For he gives sleep to his beloved.’ I cling to that verse. ‘For he gives sleep to his beloved.’ Kinds of like a spiritual pillow. Know what I mean?”
Hal began to snore.
Preaching Point: God’s love offers not just ultimate, but immediate calm and security.
*****************************************
StoryShare, November 11, 2018, issue.
Copyright 2018 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
