Prophesy to the Bones

Clean up your room. Pick up your toys. Lift the seat. Put the seat down. Don't forget . . . . The list could go on and on. We all do it. We may not mean to do it, but we do it anyway. We wake up thinking the day is going to be a new beginning. We quote the verse over and over: "For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry (lodge) for the night, but joy comes with the morning" (Psalm 30:5). We even experience victory for a while. Then, about five minutes into the day, we start reminding the kids to do or not do all of the things that we told them the day before - and the day before that - to infinity and beyond. We could begin to believe that they don't hear a word we are saying. We could begin to think like Ezekiel, that we are talking to a bunch of dead bones.

The scene from Ezekiel 37 must have been an interesting sight. God took Ezekiel to a battlefield in a valley. All Ezekiel saw was pile after pile of old, dry bones. God told him to prophesy to the bones. He told him that he would put the bones together and then bring life to them. I remember getting ready for church on Sunday morning and listening to the sounds of Tennessee Ernie Ford. Biscuits and ham fried in an iron skillet wafted down the hallway to the first bedroom on the left. That one belonged to me. I would come out from underneath my Star Wars protective covering and trudge to the breakfast table. All the while Tennessee Ernie Ford was singing from the record player/stereo, "Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones, now hear the word of the Lord. The toe bone connected to the heel bone. The heel bone connected to the foot bone." Okay, sorry. I got off track a little bit. Wait a minute. Is that Lacrae and Chris Tomlin singing Tennessee Ernie Ford? "As I was prophesying there was a noise, a rattling sound And the bones came together bone to bone . . . ." Nope, sorry. It wasn't them. Actually, it was them, but they weren't rapping to Ernie. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah - Ezekiel.

Ezekiel must have felt like we all feel from time to time when we feel like we are talking to dead bones. Maybe you are a teacher, a preacher, an employer, a parent, a deputy, or any other roles where you find yourself talking to the perpetual hand. The one thought about Ezekiel's experience is that he was getting his instruction straight from God. Sometimes we give instructions based on our own whims, our history, our traditions, or our downright selfishness. God was giving instructions based on the fact that he was about to do something brand new in the people of Israel.

God told Ezekiel to prophesy to the bones. He did so, and the bones came together. They were covered with skin, but they still were not alive. Then God told Ezekiel to prophesy to the breath. He did so, and the bones came to life as a mighty army. That's what I call results!!

Do you know how many times I have wondered if God will bring new life? New life in family situations, church struggles, community deadness, state trouble, national depression, and world lostness. When and how are two of the questions, but the biggest question may be "Will He bring the dead to life?" We are celebrating Easter this weekend, and we know from experience that God resurrected Jesus from the dead. As such, we have the privilege of following Him as disciples if we will lay down our lives and take up His cross. If God can bring the literal dead to life surely He can help in our families, churches, communities, state, country, and world. Right?? As surely as you just blinked your eyes, God can and will bring restoration where He chooses to do so. He will build an army where He finds people who will do life His way. I want to be part of the army of God!!

To usher the Easter weekend into our church community, we are reading the Word of God aloud in our chapel. We began on Wednesday night, and we will conclude on Sunday morning with our Sunrise service. What an amazing experience this one is turning out to be for our people. The power of the spoken word of God is unparalleled. When God worked in scripture He did so by speaking into situations. When we speak God's word into our environment and circumstances, He still does miracles. Maybe this weekend you will give this one a try. What situation seems like dry bones to you? Where do you feel hopeless? Try speaking God's word into the situation. Unsure of where to start? Give this one a try: "And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ" Philippians 1:6. He started, and He will finish. Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End.

"The foot bone connected to the leg bone, the leg bone connected to the knee bone . . . . now hear the word of the Lord."

Senator

How long was a long time ago? That question came to my mind several times recently when Karen mentioned that I had not posted a blog in a long time. Having taken an unplanned Sabbatical from the blog world, I am in a bit of a quandary trying to decide where to start. To say that I am quite a different person on March 18, 2013, than I was on March 18, 2012, would be an understatement. If assurances were in the cards, you could follow this blog for the next several years and perhaps find yourself reading an entry about some of the events that have caused this boy to move into another stage of life. Another step of faith. Another place of living that has not always felt like life. Since assurances are not always in the cards, we will simply have to suppose.

During the last year our family has had one constant. As a matter of fact, until about a month ago, we always knew we had one thing we count on. You might have begun to make a mental list of all of things that can and cannot be counted on in this life. No matter how extensive and creative your list might be I am certain that very few, if any, could come up with the one part of our lives that became a constant every single day of the year. His name was Senator.

Some of you may know that Senator was the name of the steer that Daniel raised for the Hardee County Fair. Being the rancher that I am not, this project was one that Daniel had to figure out on his own. We actually came upon the steer quite by accident. Before you get the wrong idea, I don't mean that we drove up on him in the middle of the road (although Hardee County is known for unusual creatures roaming the streets - unusual animals, I mean). We've had chickens, hogs, bobcats - just your everyday neighborhood animals. Senator wasn't a roadside casualty. He showed up at a friends house with instructions that he was Daniel's love interest for the year. Unfortunately that is where the instructions stopped. There was no manual attached to him. Have you ever wondered why God doesn't provide manuals for the young of the world? Babies don't come with a manual either, you know. And before you think I've made a stretch moving from a steer to babies, think again. This steer was bathed, clipped, groomed, manicured, wiped (I know it's hard to believe) and painted by the time it was all said and done.

Daniel is much better at making friends than his father is at making friends. Truthfully, I think there were more people in Hardee County excited about Daniel raising a steer than there were mosquitos at the last Blood Drive in town. People really wanted him to do well, and I am proud to say that he did. During the year, Daniel learned responsibility that he would not otherwise have learned. He saw the importance of taking on a project and seeing it all the way to the end. He learned the pain of having to give up something you love very much. He experienced the excitement of a five year old brother who was convinced that "bubby" was just taking care of Senator for him since he was too young to enter him in the fair. Even Caroline got in on the action from time to time.

You may wonder (or maybe you don't but you're going to have to find out anyway) why Daniel chose the name Senator. Not long before he got the steer, Daniel had the privilege of serving as a Page in the Florida House of Representatives with one of the most respected ladies in our state, Representative (now Senator) Denise Grimsley. He knew that she was running for the Senate, and so when he returned to Hardee County he named his steer with a statement of faith that Denise would win - and that he would too. The Lord has interesting ways of revealing Himself to His people. Both Senators won this year.

I can't list all of the ways Daniel (and our family) grew from this experience and all of the things he learned. A couple of those lessons are worth noting, however. First of all, we learned that when people invest in you and believe in you, you can accomplish a great deal. Too many times we go through life thinking that we have to do it all alone. Look out for number one because no one else will. In some cases, that statement is actually true, but not in this case. Even when we feel like we are alone, we can remember the words of Romans 8:31. "If God is for us, who can be against us?"

Second, we learned that success is determined by growth. From the first weigh in until the week before the fair, every steer had to increase a certain amount in weight. If the steer didn't make weight, the steer didn't make the show. No matter what you had done all year long, the growth was the determining factor. In our lives, God looks for the growth. He doesn't judge based on whether are not we are perfect every day. He doesn't look at all of the things we have done. Although He appreciates the journey, God is looking for growth. This growth is why He has given us His word. Second Timothy 3:16 and 17 says, "All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work." (ESV). Jason, Bubba, Greg, David, and Ronnie said that as long as Daniel did all of the right things, the steer would make weight. He did. God says that if we will put His word as a priority in our lives, we, too, will make weight. We will.

The mix of emotions came on the night of the sale. At the end of the fair, all of the steer are sold for charity. What a blessing and an encouragement to see Senator Grimsley show up to cheer Daniel on, to support his efforts, and even to buy his steer. Now that's commitment (and just one of many great things I could tell you about our friend, Denise).

The story of Senator. The constant of the last year. The one thing God used in more ways than people would ever know to grow our family in trusting Him. Rumor has it that another steer is not far behind, but I am pretty sure that no steer will be as meaningful as the first steer. Thanks, Senator.

A Beginning

He wasn't sure how long he had been there. He felt relief and rest. For the first time in a very long time he prayed. The words didn't come easily at first, but soon they began to flow. From somewhere deep inside his heart he began to call out to the One whose words were written in Jeremiah 33:3. He waited for an answer but nothing came. Nothing except that first touch that startled him into thinking that someone was in the room with him. He looked again. No one was there. He stood and walked to the windows where the sun shone in delicately. The stained glass prevented him from seeing outside. He started to step into the foyer to get a better look through clear glass, but something pulled him back inside. He wasn't ready yet to leave the room. Something was happening inside his soul, and he was afraid. Afraid to leave and afraid to stay. He chose to stay. 

This time he picked a seat in the back of the room. He remembered his grandmother calling these wooden benches by a name. What was it? He thought for some time but couldn't remember. Nevertheless he reached down in the rack that was in front of him and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. It was a program of some kind. At the top was a date - last Sunday. Under the date he found what must have been the order that the program would follow. Something called a Call to Worship, followed by a Pastoral Prayer. What in the world was he seeing? The word pastor took him back to the slick speaker who stood before the crowd in the place where his wife had asked him to go a few months ago. He was polished and seemed to have all of the answers for life. That day he talked about steps to a healthy marriage. They hadn't worked, by the way. His marriage was in more of a crisis now than it had ever been. He tried each one of the steps. For forty days he worked on being a better man, a better husband, a better father. The harder he worked the worse he got. Now here he was off in the middle of some country place far removed from any civilization that he could see - except for this building at the end of the winding road. Others obviously travelled the road. The ruts in the dirt gave that much away. There was landscaping, and the room was well taken care of, but it seemed very simple. Not at all like the structure back in the town where he had a house, a yard, a car, a job, and a family. 

As he looked at the program he noticed that there was singing, an offering, and preaching. That seemed familiar to him for a couple of reasons. Back in history he remembered a time when he visited his grandmother, and she took him - or brought him - to church. Was this the place? The meeting he had been to months before back in the city had music and speaking and some people passing chicken buckets around asking for money. They prayed too. He remembered because at the end they said "Amen", the universal sign for everyone to open his eyes and focus on the front again.

He struggled to remember. Why could he not remember? This place must have been the place where his grandmother brought him. Back then it was uncomfortable, and he couldn't wait to get out. Now he felt safe, and he didn't want to leave. What happened next left him frightened and in awe.

Give Me That Old Time Religion

The conversation was quiet and broken. Whenever anyone walked through the door everything grew quiet - almost too quiet - as if the ability to speak had somehow vanished. Or maybe it was the ability to hear. Whatever was happening was worthy of investigation. The trouble was that investigation was impossible because investigation required presence and presence brought the silence. Of course the only ones who knew about the strong silence in the middle of presence were the other elements of the small, wood-frame building that his grandmother called her sanctuary. The pews, the piano, the songbooks, and the pulpit sat ominously in the room, a shadow of what used to be with a hope of what was still to come. Was there no way to find out what conversation was being had between the pieces of hardwood in the floor and the splinters in the rails? 

As he walked to the front of heritage he noticed a bench worn with odd shaped ruts just a few inches apart. Someone - or something - spent a lot of time in those spots. An urging of some kind seemed to draw him down to the bench where his knees smoothly settled into the grooves. The words of his grandmother came back gently. "The strength of a daddy depends on the length of time he spends on his knees." Of course. Now it made sense. A kneeling bench. He had never seen one before today, but the feel of this one made it seem so real. 

The room was so quiet and still. He decided to stay a little longer. He slowly and reverently moved to the second row of the room split into two sections by an aisle. Someone once said that brides used to walk down the aisle as a sign of some covenant between God and His people. He wasn't sure about the symbolism because he had not seen a center aisle. Actually he had never seen a building quite like this one before. The pull wouldn't let him leave. Second row it was. He reached into a rack in front of him and pulled out a book. Was the cover faded green or a dull gray? He couldn't tell. The light through the stained glass windows didn't make it clear. The edges of the book were red, but when he opened the book the pages were a worn and tattered brown. Square notes and lines made up the page with words between two lines of music. Four sets on some pages and five on others. A Mighty Fortress Is Our God. Reality hit him like his grandmother's hand pinching his leg when he used to fidget too much in the church he grew up in - one very different from this one.

He needed a mighty fortress right about now. The days had been hard lately. The world around seemed to be an unsettled place. The stress of bills piled high and sinkholes of cash. The kids were sick. Home was heaven, but sometimes it wasn't. The pressure of the customers was suffocating, and the sales director was pressing for another marathon that requires deeper breathing than is humanly possible. Driving down the long country rode earlier in the day he prayed as the dust covered his windows that he could somehow escape for a while. A fortress would do. A bulwark never failing. The sales pitch failed. His friends' marriage failed. His efforts at forgiveness and his attempts to be a good dad and husband failed as well. God. Fortress. Bulwark. Would he really never fail?

There was another book in the rack. This one was black with gold pages. He replaced the book with all of the notes and words and picked up the other book. As he opened it he knew immediately what it was. He had seen one by his grandmother's bed on the day she died. The front said "Holy Bible." He knew better, though. Mamaw called it "Sword." He always thought that was a strange name for a book full of stories from a long time ago, but when he picked it up he felt a sense of power run through his spine. He sat a little straighter. He looked around and felt a little stronger. For the first time he heard a voice. The voice was quiet and seemed to come from within the walls. The voice spoke softly but clearly. He opened the book, and the page seemed to come to life. Jeremiah. Was he a man? Did he write this book or was it about him? These numbers seemed to give some order to the pages. As he looked more closely he saw something that would change his life forever. His name. Written right there in the margin of one of the pages was his name - in his grandmother's handwriting. He felt a warmth and a presence he had not felt since the week before as he stood beside her casket with tears in his heart  - and his eyes. Next to his name, which now became the prominent part of the page, was a number. 3. Just above it was another number. 33. He remembered his grandmother showing him about the "Sword." The word at the top of the page was the book. The larger number was a chapter, and the smaller number was a song. No that wasn't it. A verse. Yes. That was it. A name, a chapter, and a verse. Jeremiah 33:3. "Call unto me, and I will answer thee, and show thee great and mighty things, which thou knowest not." The voice again. Call to God - the Mighty Fortress that Never Faileth - and He will answer thee.

Why had he never felt this way before? There was a place where his wife asked him to go one Sunday. It didn't feel like this. There was no reverence. No quiet. No books. Instead there was activity, noise, and screens. The sign said church, but there was something about this place that was different. The sign outside said church, too, but somehow it seemed that the building was not the most important part of this experience. The presence. The silence. The Presence.

He moved back to the benches and steadily lowered himself to his knees. He tried it. He called out - quietly, but out still the same. He called to the Mighty Fortress and asked for a passing grade as a dad and a husband. He asked for Someone that Never Faileth. While there on his knees he decided to stay there as long as he could. He now understood that his wife was partly correct. He did need religion, but it wasn't the religion of the crowd and lights and well oiled machine. He needed Mamaw's religion. He decided to fight for what she had, and the fight would start with her "Sword." Her hand reached out and touched his shoulder. "He answered you," she said. He turned to look, but no one was there. Had the walls spoken for the first time where there was presence? Decided. He wasn't leaving this place until he found what he needed to make it for the next forty years. Mamaw had a God, and he would find Him, even if he died on the journey.

A Sad Day in the Neighborhood

Hibbler Street. That's the street I grew up on in West Point, Mississippi. I remember a time when everyone on the street knew everybody else. Those were the days when we could go outside and play together without being afraid. Neighborhoods meant something back then. Time moved slower when I was growing up on Hibbler Street. You could actually stand outside and talk in the street without worrying about practice or the million other things that seem to steal our time these days.

Those were also the days when door to door sales were very successful. People on our street loved the World's Finest Chocolate. They also liked calendars, pizza, and candles. The chocolate was the favorite though. For only one dollar you could get the World's Finest Chocolate with a one dollar coupon on the back for McDonald's. So basically the candy was free. The sales pitch worked every time. I never considered why people on Hibbler Street liked chocolate, calendars, candles, and pizza so much, but I am sure glad they did.

Over the years Hibbler Street has changed. Families have moved away for one reason or another. The natural progression of life and death has taken others. This past Sunday, the bell tolled once more. Mr. Norman died. Norman Armstrong was no ordinary neighbor. He was a friend, even when I was a kid. He never seemed to mind my hanging around. As a matter of fact we had several long - and I mean long - conversations standing around the kitchen with Mrs. Lucille when I was in high school. We solved every problem in the West Point School District and could have solved even more. The only bad problem was that no one ever paid attention to our solutions. Their loss, I suppose.

Creativity was one of his strongest traits. Mr. Norman was involved in community events, plays, Arts Council, and more. Every Christmas for the past few years every member of my family got a handmade Christmas card from him. He loved art, and he loved us. Makes for a great combination.

Mr. Norman also catered our wedding rehearsal dinner. Along with my parents, Mr. Norman and others worked to make that evening a very special one indeed. He liked doing things that made people feel special. I never remember him wanting much attention. He just found joy in creating meaningful experiences for people he loved.

Now I would be remiss if I didn't mention again that Mr. Norman had a better half. Her name was Mrs. Lucille. At least that was her name until I reached the 11th grade in high school. That was the year she developed a new identity. Mrs. Lucille transformed into Mrs. Armstrong, my 11th grade English teacher. American literature came alive in her class, so much so that I took enough literature courses in college to have a minor. If she reads this post she might wish that I would keep silent on this next piece of trivia. Mrs. Armstrong also taught me to write. I never have been one who was at a loss for words. Praise God that Mrs. Armstrong taught me the skills of organization and research. Those skills are still part of my toolbox today. As a matter of fact at this very moment I am involved in a pursuit for a Doctor of Ministry degree. To say that I have a few papers to write would be an understatement. I got my start from a teacher who was more than a teacher, right there on Hibbler Street. People say that when you know the rules of grammar, you can break the rules of grammar. Well I definitely learned the rules so let's just say that reason is my reason, too.

The year is 2012. Much has happened since 1968 when my family first moved to Hibbler Street. My parents still live in the same house I grew up in. Over 44 years living in the same house across the street from the same neighbor is not very common anymore. Some would say that type of life must be mundane. Where's the excitement in seeing the same people day after day pulling out of their driveway heading out for coffee, the beauty shop, the library, or the play? I don't have many answers for life, but I do have the answer for that one. The excitement is not in the activity. The excitement is in knowing that you live near someone who knows you and loves you anyway. Knowing that you have a lifetime friend means something. Lifetime friends are rare. Is there any way to get those days back?

Why does life get so busy? Another friend who grew up right next door on Hibbler Street recently had a tragic loss. We played together, went to school together, played opposite each other in the school play Oklahoma, and even went to a prom together. We were childhood friends. We've kept in touch some, mainly about graphic design, t-shirts, and logos. Now she has experienced a tremendous pain in her life, and we have talked a couple of times. Why does it take tragedy to make us do what lifetime friends should do all along?

You know the neighborhood connection must be a strong one when the sadness reaches to the middle of Florida. It is not about me at all, but I do feel the loss. I've cried for Mrs. Lucille and for me too, I suppose. I should be stronger when I call people to express my sympathy. That sounds so much like a preacher. What I mean to say is that I shouldn't cry when I call to encourage my friends after they have lost their husbands. I should be strong, but I'm not. I'm sad. Life keeps getting shorter and smaller and closer. We've only got a little time left.

The Lord tells me that in the little time I have left I should seize every moment to become so much like him that the world changes. I don't live on a Hibbler Street, but if I did I would want the neighborhood kids to think the world was different because I had been in it. Jesus wants our world to be different. I have a new urgency not to waste today because today quickly becomes tomorrow, and tomorrow soon fades into yesterday, creating a cycle that can never be captured, not even for a moment. Time only stands still when we are grieving and wishing it would move on or when that dream has become a nightmare that seems never to end. What if we could live our lives in Christ so that time became our capsule to change the world. Mr. Norman changed his little piece of the world. I pray that God will use me to change my little piece of the world.

I Should Have Been A Cowboy

I think I was born in the wrong era.  Too many parts of this era seem out of place to me. Thoughts of how things used to be before I even knew what used to be give me cause to stop and ponder.

What would it have been like to be a circuit riding preacher? Riding a beautiful horse from town to town ready to bring the powerful message of the Lord to a church eager to hear the word must have been a thrilling experience. Today I got a little taste of how things used to be. First I had a visit with an inspiring man who has been dramatically transformed by the gospel of Christ. For two and a half hours we shared together and celebrated what God was doing in his life and what God has in store for Hardee County. A little after 5:00 p.m. I picked up my family, and we went riding - horseback riding.

I don't know when the dream started, but I know when it became real. Today around 6:00 p.m. I've always wanted to ride a horse - really ride a horse. I'm not talking about the "go stay at Fort Wilderness and ride around the trail that the horses have been on a million times" kind of riding a horse. I'm talking about really riding a horse. Today was the day. A real live cowgirl showed a preacher boy the basics, and the rest is history. To add to the fun I got to ride with my princess on a horse by my side. Seeing Caroline on that horse made me smile. David rode some. Maybe he will become more accustomed to it as years go by. I'm wondering if it would seem odd to ride a horse to work everyday in 2012. I think I would like that better than a truck any day. Like I said, I think I was born in the wrong era.

It's not just horses. I also think peanuts in your coke is the cool way to drink. Girls with high collars and long dresses are still the most attractive. Guys need to pull up their pants. Back seats are made for letting the kids sleep while traveling on a long vacation. Mayberry would be a great place to live. J.R. probably deserved to get shot. Matt Dillon should have married Miss Kitty. The Bible is still the Best Book of all time. Marriage matters. Children should respect their parents, and parents should be the boss of the home. Afghans and coffee make great partners to a good book and a recliner. Circuit riding preachers are real men.

I was called to be a preacher. Maybe just in the wrong era. I suppose the Lord knows best, though, so I will just keep on moving ahead - one gallup at a time.

Nineteen Years

August 7, 1993 was the beginning of the rest of my life.  Other than my decision to follow Christ, this day marked the solidifying of the biggest choice I had ever made or would ever make.  Nineteen years later I am amazed that God has brought us this far.  Today is our wedding anniversary.

The last nineteen years have provided us many opportunities to press in hard to the heart of God.  Karen and I have grown together and learned together. I could never have written the story of our lives in such a Masterful way.  I call the story Masterful because our marriage has been one that has been protected by the Master.  Moves from ministry to business and back to ministry have allowed us to find each other's strengths and weaknesses over and over again.

Karen is the fun part of our marriage.  When she walks into a room the entire atmosphere changes.  She has been working with the children at our church on Wednesday nights, but this summer she has joined the adults in our Mid-Week Prayer Meeting and Bible Study.  The first night she came in was just one example of what happens when she enters the room.  The room was subdued, and a few people were talking quietly.  I was waiting for a few more to arrive, and that's when it happened.  Karen came in and saw one of our senior adults who lives in an Assisted Living Facility coming in for Prayer Meeting.  When Karen saw her she immediately called her name and sprinted (that's my girl) to see her.  I cannot explain the joy and excitement that filled the room.  Somehow I think that's how the midweek service is supposed to be.  A breath of fresh air when the Spirit of God fills the room.

Three of the biggest joys in our marriage are gifts we have received over the last nineteen years.  On February 11, 1998, the Lord gave us a son.  Daniel has been a blessing in our lives and continues to teach us about what it means to pursue life with reckless abandon.  Then, on May 29, 2002, God gave us a daughter.  Caroline has the independent spirit that many of us long to have.  She loves to dance - a reminder to us that life is a dance meant to be enjoyed and savored with every passing day.  Our third gift arrived on September 19, 2007.  His name is David.  With curly hair and a personality that never stops he keeps us busy trying to stifle laughs and to be firm all at the same time.  Now that's a tough assignment.

These three gifts are an important part of our marriage, but they are not the most important part of our marriage.  We have been talking a lot lately about the necessity for Jesus to be the most important part of our marriage.  We have always known that Jesus is the most important part of any relationship, yet with the busy days and challenges of parenthood we have also been guilty of spending so much time raising children that we might have occasionally forgotten to fertilize the relationship that we have with each other in Christ.  Paul reminds us in Ephesians 5:22-33 that marriage is a symbol of God's relationship with the church.  He talks a lot about God's relationship with His bride.  Scripture teaches us that raising children is what we do together.  Our marriage is who we are together.

Over the next year, as we anticipate 20 years of marriage, I pray for an even stronger bond in Christ.  I pray that Karen will continue to grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord.  I pray for our children. I especially pray that the three of them will see a marriage that honors the Lord so that one day they can find a mate who is committed to the journey, no matter where the journey may lead.