A Weekend to Remember

It already felt like trudging through invisible mud, just to get there.

Last fall I’d sat with a long-time friend, and was surprised when she mentioned it: A Weekend to Remember? It sounded like more mushy marriage motivational mumbo jumbo. Was she really recommending a canned commercialized Christian couples’ retreat? Why yes, she was. Quite enthusiastically, in fact.

And, she added, it’s free for pastors. (She knows the secret word to pique my interest!)

I made a note to self. I even checked our calendar to see about the next available conference, but alas–I had a retreat already scheduled that weekend. Oh well.

But a few months later, that retreat was mysteriously cancelled. Hmm… I now had one free weekend between January and Memorial Day and it happened to be the weekend of the conference.

Jeff signed us up. Nana was more than willing to do kid duty, and our dear church fam covered all the bases to free us up to go.

Now, to GET there. 

I got sick the week before. Sweet. Nothing like a sneezy-snotty-sleepless start to our special weekend away. Hey baby, wanna come blow my nose?

*sigh*

And on the drive over, JUST as I’m reflecting on how hard marriage is and how it’s the hardest thing in the world just to get away to even WORK on your marriage (let alone how hard you have to work once you get there), and I’m gazing out at the mountains, looking for hope in the grandeur of God’s creation, this lovely billboard blocks my view:

And I just want to cry. Really? When love is already so hard, do we need BILLBOARDS coaxing us to quit? Really? When was the last time you saw a sign that read: “Quit working out! Quit exercising! Just quit! Quit dreaming! Quit trying! Don’t go after your dreams! Don’t work hard! Just quit!” Of course not.

We’re never encouraged to give up on ourselves, only on each other. 

Finally we got the kids settled at Nana’s and I realized I’d forgotten a swimsuit. (The place we were staying had a pool/spa.) No problem, Jeff says, we’ll just go get you one. Now, we’d left early in the morn so I figured I’d just wear sweats for the long drive to Bend and then shower and get cute when we arrived (Read: I’m a greasy-haired, sweats-wearing, no-makeup, nose-blowing mess).

I figure Old Navy was the cheapest option so we swing by.

Now, what could be BETTER than trying on a dozen teeny-bopper bikinis apparently made for MANNEQUINS, in the middle of WINTER under the most horrific fluorescent lights?? Each one is worse than the last.  It’s like a bad joke. There must be cameras hidden somewhere.

I’m a hot mess by the end and I want to take all the blasted bundle of lycra and shake it in the face of the fitting room attendant, “Who WEARS this stuff?! Certainly not WOMEN, who have GIVEN BIRTH to children, who have LIVED more than 15 years of life?”  I come out spitting mad and swear to Jeff that the gravitational pull on our planet must be WAY stronger now than it was ten years ago. There’s no other explanation for how far south everything has drifted.

ANYWAY.

You can see I was in rare form by the time we arrived at the conference. Weekend to Remember? That’s for sure! I sent a venting text to my best friend and she managed to help me laugh my way back to sanity and I was even smiling by the time we sat down for the first session. We made it!

The first session topic? There are thousands of threats to our marriages. Constantly. There are forces at work against us that we have no idea about. We looked at the 5 main threats and it was eye-opening to say the least. I saw threats at work from the inside and from the outside. It was just scary enough to be fabulous. Nothing has impacted our marriage, for good, as much as this weekend away. And while I won’t give away all the fabulous content of Family Life’s Weekend to Remember, I would say RUN, don’t walk, and sign up for whatever one they offer next. [NOV 20-22 in Portland, OR here!]  It’s life-changing, marriage-changing. Your marriage is worth every cent, every effort, every ridiculous obstacle you meet along the way.

But save yourself some grief: don’t forget to pack your swimsuit.

Thanks for reading.