Two female coworkers recently suggested I get “one of those mail-order brides.” I didn’t think such a thing existed, at least not legally. If that sort of thing did exist, it would probably fall under “sex trafficking,” right? I honestly hadn’t thought about it. This “option” was given to me as I walked into the office. I hadn’t even taken my coat off when the discussion began.
“It’s a legitimate business,” they insisted, listing a few men who had gotten one of these “brides” from other countries. As they listed some men, they slowed down, looked at one another, and admitted there were “some complications with a few of them.”
“It’s kind of a mixed bag,” one commented, then said with excitement, “but it could work out.”
“Are you …. joking?” I asked, genuinely not sure if this was a bad joke or just a bad idea. I was waiting for one of them to bust out laughing, but neither did. They were serious.
“You should see some of those women from Ecuador, they are soooo beautiful.”
“Yes, they are,” the other woman agreed. I noticed it was less to me and more between themselves.
“I don’t speak Ecuadorian,” I said, realizing I didn’t know what language people from that country spoke. “I don’t speak any other language than English.”
“She can learn English,” was the immediate suggestion.
Really? I thought to myself. I will choose a woman I don’t know and can’t speak to to spend the rest of my life with. Did anyone think this was a good idea?
“It’s like you’re helping some lady from an underdeveloped country live a better life in America,” was the suggestion.
“Kind of like one of those rescue dogs you get to keep them from being euthanized?” I asked. “I think they call them rescue dogs, right?”
“Well…” they didn’t answer the question. Instead, they emphasized how beautiful some of these women were. Once again, to each other, not to me.
“Especially from Ecuador,” I said with a fierce nod, as if I agreed with them, which I was not.
“Oh yeah Andy, some of these women from Ecuador are sooo beautiful. Have you seen them?” and then turned to one another to confirm that these unknown women were indeed beautiful. Of course, neither of these women had met one of “these women” or could name such a person, but that didn’t stop their enthusiasm that I should get one of “these women.” They seemed to be acting in my stead, without my consent. Or my approval. There is no way in the world I’d ever consider such an option. I’m not desperate; I’m widowed; those are two different things. And I don’t want to get married right now anyway.
I didn’t know what to say. I mean, what do you say to such an odd proposition?
Instead of realizing how insensitive these two were being, they continued with words like “really,” and “beautiful” as the idea was getting more and more exciting (to them).
I felt like I stepped into a reality show, one of those bad ones where the actors were trying too hard. It seemed to me that they both convinced themselves this was a great idea…and I wasn’t part of the conversation. Realizing they were speaking to one another; I quietly left the room. I’m unsure if they noticed because I could hear the conversation continue as the door closed behind me.
I was thinking…
The fact was, I was thinking about getting married and would occasionally consider some of the women I met. I’d think about this woman, then that woman, and spend time thinking about what it would be like to marry them (based solely on conjecture because I didn’t know these women). I would sometimes get so preoccupied with my options (as if they were actual options) that I’d get lost in my thoughts. Sort of like Ralphie did when he turned in his report on getting a Red Rider BB gun and how the teacher would give him an A +++++. This obsession is not healthy.
I had determined I would not jump into a relationship too soon. I liked the idea of waiting a year, although I was open to “bailing out” if I met the right woman. Waiting for a year seemed like a nice round number, although it seemed like a long time from today.
I will get married again, but not to someone I’ve never met. I will marry someone who loves the Lord and is over 50. I won’t marry a young 30-year-old woman because I don’t want to start a family again. I’ve done that once and don’t have the energy to do that again.
I’ve learned from my widower group that getting married too quickly is a big no-no. “You can’t run from grief; it will always find you,” they say. This comes from men who have lost wives (one lost two) and are all happily married now. So, I’m listening to these experts.
As of now, I am waiting. Grief washes over me, leaving me confused, overwhelmed, and hiding under the covers every once in a while, but hiding under the covers is much better than marrying a woman whom I’ve not met and who can’t speak English. Waiting is not in my nature, but I don’t think it’s in anyone’s nature.
King David talked a lot about “waiting on the Lord,” something I never paid much attention to in the first 58 years of my life. But it’s a central theme in the Psalms. Waiting is the uncomfortable process of hoping something good will happen while not having that thing. The worst part of waiting is that I’m not given a time frame. It could be weeks, months, decades, or never.
“Delayed Gratification”
In the mental health world, waiting is called “delayed gratification,” like it’s somehow more sophisticated than just “waiting.”
“I’m waiting on the Lord.”
“Not me, I’m practicing my delayed gratification skills while learning to trust in the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth.” (same thing)
“Britannica” defines “delayed gratification” as;
“The act of resisting an impulse to take an immediately available reward in the hope of obtaining a more-valued reward in the future. The ability to delay gratification is essential to self-regulation, or self-control.”
The science of delayed gratification is the ability to postpone your desires to get what you want. This is no small matter. I need to learn to “regulate” my emotions during this time. I need to learn “self-soothing” skills to calm myself down (or distract myself) so I don’t experience the full brunt of the pain of waiting. This way, I won’t freak out and throw myself into an alcohol frenzy.
Simply put, it is what a child must do before Christmas morning. He has to wait, but the anticipation of the gifts can cause the kid to be a little bit of an idiot. It’s an internal process that involves being OK as you wait.
Waiting is a part of life. How I wait defines my character.
We all wait for stop lights to change, for our vacation to come, and even a full 23 hours before Amazon delivers our purchase. The greater my desire to have something, the greater the integrity I need to wait. If the lady in the grocery line in front of me asks the clerk, “Can my son sign up for a rewards card? He doesn’t speak or write English,” how I handle the impromptu wait reveals my character. I may wait two to thirty minutes before the nice clerk completes the necessary paperwork. Do I whine and make everyone uncomfortable by mumbling, “Really? Do you have to do that now?” as if the present moment was the worst time to complete this paperwork? Do I express my frustration with loud non-verbals (as if they were less self-centered than verbals) and become a disgruntled 16-year-old? Or…. do I patiently say nothing and wait? No matter what option I choose, I still have to wait. It’s just that one of these options is more Christlike than the others.
When David talks about waiting, he’s talking about life and death. An army is after him, and he appears trapped. He doesn’t know if he will survive the next attack. He was praying for safety from the king, who happened to be the one trying to kill him. You need more “self-soothing skills” to keep your cool and a powerful God to protect you. Humanly speaking, David shouldn’t have survived Saul’s attack. But God kept his promise. Meanwhile, David had no idea how he would survive to the end of the day.
Waiting is very un-American discipline. When we have to wait more than a day for whatever we want, we are outraged, cry, “victim,” and start the Blame-Machine. If we compare our present-day culture to other cultures throughout history, we will find that we are “weak and wimpy.” Mail took 4 to 6 weeks to reach us. Meals took one to two hours to make. Fast food chains didn’t exist. Even TV dinners took 50 minutes to cook. Now, we can’t wait at a stop light without checking the scores.
This contagious “demanding posture” held by my fellow countrymen has impacted my razor-thin level of patience, revealing my propensity to melt into a “spoiled 10-year-old boy,” when I have to wait. Instead of firing up the blame machine, I need to wait. David waited fifteen years between the time he was anointed king and the time he became king. That’s what I need to do.
My Terrible Dream
A few nights after my “mail-order bride” incident, I had a terrible dream. In it, my coworkers decided to go ahead and get that mail-order bride for me. So when I came to work one day, I was surprised to see a woman from India there for me. “Here’s your new wife Andy,” my coworkers said with a big smile, like I should be happy about it.
The woman didn’t speak a lick of English and smelled pretty strongly of curry. I think the stuff comes from your pours when you eat enough. So, it came out of her sweat. And she wasn’t cute either. It was a lose/lose scenario. But there she was, ready to be my wife, dressed in her sari with lots of chiming jewelry.
I’ve had many Franz Kafka-like nightmare dreams. I don’t know about you but in many of my dreams I find myself in the middle of a mess and am not given an explanation of how this incident happened. I’ve had several dreams where I have killed someone (I don’t know who was killed, why I killed them, or how I did it), but now I’m on the run from the police. The entire dream I’m riddled with guilt (“Wow, I can’t believe I killed that guy, whose name I can’t recall”) and fear (“I’m gonna spend the rest of my life in prison. I wonder if I’ll meet any of the prisoners I know.”)
So, in my “mail-order” dream, I wanted to ask why I didn’t get one of those “beautiful Ecuadorian women,” but I didn’t want to offend this woman, whose name I couldn’t pronounce, standing in front of me, smiling weakly. But then again, this woman didn’t speak any English, so it probably wouldn’t matter.
My mind was racing. “How do I get out of this?” I wondered. Does this poor woman think I’m going to marry her?” And, “Can I return her? Did she come in a box or something?” I wondered how much it would cost to send her back.
So NOT Going to Happen
To be clear, I’m not getting a mail-order bride, even if she is a beauty from Ecuador. However, I do want to get married. More than likely, it will be a woman from my church, one who speaks English and doesn’t smell of curry.
But not now. Not yet. Dating right now would feel like cheating on Deb. I couldn’t touch another woman. And that’s a good thing. I’m not done with my grieving.
So, I’m learning to wait.
“Wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord.”
Psalm 27:14 (ESV)
I’m resting in God (or at least trying to). He’s holding me. I am letting him take care of me. I assume he is good, so I get a little excited about the future. If I question his intention for me, I’ll live a nervous and pessimistic life. If I assume good things, I can celebrate my days more. My perspective dictates my emotional response. But either way, I have to wait.
Fortunately, I have a good God.