I believe to a certain extent we must all be arbiters of our own destiny. As a Christian I believe those of faith should seek out God's will as to how we can be most useful on this earth.
There are so many layers of this idea of getting married, especially since I had actually already been planning and had prepared for long-term singleness and doing so in a positive way. My retraining for a new career path was going to open up new and wonderful pathways to replant myself anywhere in Australia or the world. That has all changed. Everyone seems genuinely delighted for Brad and I. I am looking forward to it, though I know I have a lot to learn before I can take on the attributes of the Proverbs 31 wife. Trust King Solomon to shove that one on the end of Proverbs after living with more than 100 wives and a couple of hundred concubines. The ideal wife according to him has:
- noble character
- full confidence of her husband as she brings him good not harm
- works with eager hands
- brings her food from afar
- gets up while it is still dark and provides food for her family
- considers property and buys it and out of her earnings produces wealth
- is a profitable trader
- opens her arms to the poor
- makes provision for her household for winter
- her husband is respected in the community
- she has strength and dignity
- she speaks with wisdom
- her husband and community praises her
- her children bless her
- she fears and respects the Lord
Singleness is a gift because of the unique freedom and opportunities it gives. I would not have said that 10 years ago and if Brad and I were not engaged I would still say it if I was looking into a future of singleness.
I say it now because I don't want my wedding to look like a finish line. I have been at weddings where there has been a hint of relief, a certain sense of flopping over some sort of imaginary finish line of romance of "Thank God, I'll never have to go on a bad date again/or die alone and be eaten by my pets".
Being single only sucks if you are really really bored, too lazy to do something else with your life such as find some friends to hang out with, too scared to try revolutionary modern techniques of dating (and potentially fail spectacularly at it). Equally, I think marriage cannot possibly meet anyone's full quota of happiness in life. I need God. I need my own family and friends, especially girlfiends. I don't expect Brad to go to the ballet with me. Firstly, he doesn't like it and they won't let him eat popcorn in the theatre. Imagine Swan Lake to the sound of crunching. I'll take Emma to the ballet and keep Brad for James Bond. Job done.
So, I don't plan to chuck the bouquet at my wedding. Because it's superstitious and I never ran for one myself at any of my friends' weddings. That's making a public statement that marriage is better for everyone. For me, it's spectacularly wonderful to find someone to share this life with. It's the best choice for me. However, I need both my married, divorced, widowed and single friends to support me now and I go on this journey and huge adjustment. I treasure you all.
Monday, December 3, 2012
An unexpected year
If someone had told me this time last year that I was going to be sniffing the spring roses and engaged to be married, I would have raised one bony hand and told them to get stuffed.
After the sudden and shocking deaths of my former (separated) partner Marc and my cousin Russell in late 2011 my contract in Melbourne was coming to an end. I had been working two jury trials and billing 120-130% of my budget for the past 7 months. I was so low that an egg was a whole meal and was fitting into size 7 jeans. It was time to come home.
After a summer of sleep and soul searching, I started at university to retrain. By April I gained enough of a sense of humour to realise that spending the next 18 months of Saturday nights watching BBC dramas with my Mum might not be the best way to spend my time. At least, not EVERY Saturday night. I do love the BBC. So, I logged on to see what my local area offered online. Truckers and farmers mostly. The photos offered a variety of options. Truckers with semi-trailers/utes/dogs. Blue singlets/chesty bonds optional. A lot of the farmers were the same but had hats and their latest fishing catch. Could I be a fishwife? This was a thought I had not considered since my 5 years of renting out a basement apartment of a middle-aged Greek orthodox couple in Canberra who taught me how to gut fish as an essential skill and despaired when I turned 30 of dying an old maid.
Most of the fellas seemed sincere though there were significant basic spelling problems in a lot of correspondence and differences of opinion over their love of heavy metal, bad fashion and sexist shows such as 2 and a Half men.
Then there was Brad. He stood out head and shoulders over the internet crowd. Not the least because he was tall, chose to wear a regular shirt and not a blue singlet in his photos, but his photos depicted him COOKING !! In an apron. Using a wok and looking capable and everything. And, most importantly, he had identified himself as an Anglican. And, he contacted me (his spelling was pretty good too). So, that's how it all started.
Nearly two weeks ago he asked me to marry him. I said yes.
After the sudden and shocking deaths of my former (separated) partner Marc and my cousin Russell in late 2011 my contract in Melbourne was coming to an end. I had been working two jury trials and billing 120-130% of my budget for the past 7 months. I was so low that an egg was a whole meal and was fitting into size 7 jeans. It was time to come home.
After a summer of sleep and soul searching, I started at university to retrain. By April I gained enough of a sense of humour to realise that spending the next 18 months of Saturday nights watching BBC dramas with my Mum might not be the best way to spend my time. At least, not EVERY Saturday night. I do love the BBC. So, I logged on to see what my local area offered online. Truckers and farmers mostly. The photos offered a variety of options. Truckers with semi-trailers/utes/dogs. Blue singlets/chesty bonds optional. A lot of the farmers were the same but had hats and their latest fishing catch. Could I be a fishwife? This was a thought I had not considered since my 5 years of renting out a basement apartment of a middle-aged Greek orthodox couple in Canberra who taught me how to gut fish as an essential skill and despaired when I turned 30 of dying an old maid.
Most of the fellas seemed sincere though there were significant basic spelling problems in a lot of correspondence and differences of opinion over their love of heavy metal, bad fashion and sexist shows such as 2 and a Half men.
Then there was Brad. He stood out head and shoulders over the internet crowd. Not the least because he was tall, chose to wear a regular shirt and not a blue singlet in his photos, but his photos depicted him COOKING !! In an apron. Using a wok and looking capable and everything. And, most importantly, he had identified himself as an Anglican. And, he contacted me (his spelling was pretty good too). So, that's how it all started.
Nearly two weeks ago he asked me to marry him. I said yes.
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