by Bill and Lynne Hybels
Romance was never my strong suit. I proposed to Lynne in her parents’ garage;
I took my Harley‐Davidson on our honeymoon; I thought our best anniversary was
the one we spent watching a video of Rocky III. I had to learn the gentle art of
romance. For starters, I figured it meant flowers. Beyond that, I didn’t have a
clue, but I knew I could get the flower job done. As confirmation from God that
I was moving in the right direction, who do you think set up shop right out of
the trunk of his ’58 DeSoto at the corner opposite our church? The flower man!
So, quite regularly, on my way home from work or meetings, I would pull over to
the side of the road, buy a bunch of roses or carnations from the flower man,
and take them home to Lynne. What a husband! I thought as I handed over my three
bucks.
Yet when I proudly presented the flowers to Lynne, fully expecting her to
hire the Marine Corps Band to play “Hail to the Chief,” her response was
lukewarm.
“Gee, thanks,” she said. “Where’d you get these?”
“Where else? My buddy, the flower man—you know, the guy with the ’58 DeSoto
at Barrington and Algonquin. I’m a volume buyer now. I stop there so often that
he gives me a buck off, and if they’re a little wilted, he gives me two bucks
off. I figure they’ll perk up when you put them in water.”
“Of course,” she said.
I kept it up consistently for quite a while—until Lynne’s lack of enthusiasm
for the gift drained my enthusiasm.
Some time later, on our regularly scheduled date night, Lynne and I decided
to clear the air of anything that might be bothering either of us. We do that
now and then. We sat down in a cheap restaurant (not only am I unromantic, I’m
also Dutch) and asked, “What’s going on? Is there anything we need to talk
about? Is there anything amiss in our relationship?”
On that particular evening, Lynne took out her list and started checking off
the items.
“Ooooh, you’re right on that one. Eeeh, that one, too. Yep. Guilty as
charged. Guilty. Guilty. You’re right again.”
She ended her list, and I was in a pile. “I really am sorry,” I said, “but
trust me. I’m going to do better.” “Now, what about you?” she asked. I really
didn’t have any complaints, but after hearing her list, I thought I should say
something. I scrambled. “Well, I do have one little problem. Have you noticed
the absence of the flowers lately?” “No,” she said. “I haven’t really paid
attention.” How could she say that? “We have a problem,” I said. “I can’t figure
it out. Hundreds of thousands of husbands pass by that corner. Do they stop for
flowers? No. Do I stop? Yes! What gives? What is your problem?”
Her answer made my head spin. She looked me straight in the eyes and said
quietly, “The truth is, Bill, I’m not impressed when you give me half‐dead
flowers that come out of the trunk of a ’58 DeSoto that you were lucky enough to
run across on your way home from work. The flowers are cheap, and the effort is
minimal. The way I see it, you’re not investing enough time or energy to warrant
a wholehearted response from me. You’re not thinking about what would make me
happy; you’re just doing what’s convenient for you.”
“Okay, let’s get this straight,” I said. “You would be happier if I got up
from my desk in the middle of my busy day, threw my study schedule to the wind,
walked all the way across the parking lot, got in my car, and made a special
trip to Barrington, where I’d have to pay quadruple the price just because it
said Barrington on the bag? And you wouldn’t mind if the extra time it took
crimped my workout schedule at the Y…. And you wouldn’t mind if I came home late
because of all the extra running around I would have to do to get you expensive
flowers? Is that what you’re telling me? That would make you happy?”
Without batting an eyelash, Lynne said, “Yes, that would make me happy.” I
couldn’t believe it! “What are you talking about? What you’re asking for is impractical, uneconomical, and an inefficient use of time.”
“That’s a great definition of romance, Bill. You’re learning!”
Looking ahead…
Whether we’ve been with our partner for one year or forty, we’re all still
trying to master the definition—and execution—of romance in our marriages. As
Bill Hybels learned, there’s far more to romantic love than meets the eye. What
his wife needed was a heart‐to‐heart and soul‐to‐soul relationship. This kind of
relationship seems natural to women, but sometimes men have a hard time figuring
it out.
So just what is romance? We’ll talk about that in the week ahead. For
tonight, spend a few minutes telling each other what romance means to you. You
might hear something important that you’ve missed before.
- James C Dobson
From Night Light For Couples, by Dr. James
& Shirley Dobson
Copyright © 2000 by James Dobson, Inc. All rights
reserved.
“Romance” by Bill and Lynne Hybels. Taken from Fit to Be Tied by Bill and
Lynne Hybels. © 1991 by Bill and Lynne Hybels. Used by permission of Zondervan
Publishing House.
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