Tuesday, April 05, 2005
A Husband's Afterword
As we thought and prayed about this reprinting, it seemed right that we should include specific witness to the work of the Spirit of Jesus in our married life, and that I should write it.
However, a problem immediately arises: how, as we approach our thirtieth anniversary, to do to the subject justice without, in effect, adding a book to a book. The solution: "a picture is worth a thousand words," meaning the word-image of poetry. After all, the fullest and deepest expressions of human experience as well as divine truth have always been conveyed poetically, holy scripture being the ultimate example; and one biblical poetic work in particular, the Song of Solomon, is widely acknowledged as the paramount expression of both human love and the relationship of Christ and His Bride, the Church.
For that matter, I could stop right here and simply say to anyone interested in knowing about our married life, "Read the Song." (Not that we have fully attained all that it portrays; but we have tasted the fruit it describes and are pressing on to the heights and depths to which it calls.) Similarly, to all who are seeking the key to marital happiness, I could offer an equally simple instruction: "Live the Song."
However, in turning to poetry as a means of telling about our marriage, there was more in mind than merely pointing to the scriptural model. Over the years I have written songs and poems to Jean which speak of what God has given us and done in us. A selection of these follows, along with enough introduction to provide background and explain references which would otherwise be obscure.
We first met at Dartmouth College in New Hampshire, in October 1963. As a student there, having read and heard about the happenings at Yale, I had contacted the Blessed Trinity Society and requested that speaker come to Dartmouth to present the message of charismatic renewal. The speaker turned out to be Jean. The venue was the quintessential New England town gathering place, the local Congregational Church; in Hanover it was simply called "the White Church."
The only advertising was word of mouth and a few hand-lettered posters I had placed around the campus. However, something (or rather, Someone) was clearly at work in people's hearts, for by the appointed time the meeting room was filled with an admixture of townspeople and students (an unusual event in itself in view of the traditional tensions between "emmets" and "pinheads"). And an even greater sign of spiritual hunger was soon to be seen.
This speaking engagement was combined with a series of others Jean had in the New York area. She came by car, and her travelling party included John McCandlish Phillips, a writer with the New York Times, and the Rev Ed Barham, Harald Bredesen's assistant pastor, who shared the driving between them. Unfortunately, neither was very familiar with the route; and one drove extremely slowly due to the fact, he eventually revealed, that he did not have a driver's license and hadn't driven in years. They finally arrived at the meeting about two hours late, and yet no one there had given up and left.
Jean's presentation was a real revelation to me. I was familiar with Pentecostal preaching, in which "anointing" was practically equated with emotional demonstration, and altar calls which could be downright manipulative. She delivered her message in a matter-of-fact, low key manner, hands generally folded primly but occasionally gesturing naturally to emphasize a point; and yet everyone's attention was firmly fixed upon her, and the presence of the Holy Spirit was palpable.
Her invitation was simply that -- no attempts to induce emotion or response, just an offer to pray with anyone who wanted to receive Jesus and/or the fullness of His Spirit. The Lord confirmed His presence through a tongue and interpretation brought by someone in the audience (whom I didn't know); and a number remained for prayer after the meeting was dismissed. Some entered into a commitment to Jesus as Lord for the first time, and all were baptized in the Holy Spirit. It was not a large number, but this event really was, in the words of the old standard, "the start of something big," in more ways than one.
Long after I left Dartmouth, the message of the full gospel continued -- particularly through the faithful witness of a young Assemblies of God pastor named Larry Woods, who was at the White Church meeting -- eventually producing a vital charismatic fellowship called the Darmouth Christian Community. On a personal level, this meeting was also the beginning of a friendship which would grow, through the trials Jean has described in the Epilogue, into a love which I could not have even imagined on that autumn night in 1963.
The following untitled poem is a reflection, written after a number of years of marriage, on this "progressive revelation" of Jean which I experienced, perceiving her first as a distinctly anointed servant of God, then as a close firend, and finally as my beloved.
The one who softly burst upon my life
Like sunlight veiled behind an autumn cloud
Above a canopy of colored boughs,
Revealed by stages as the cloud passed on,
Its gaps and thinning edge allowing through
A modulating, ever growing flood
Of brightness, which in turn was gently screened
By shimmering lattice-work of redding leaves
Until, emerging to an open field,
I stood in warmth and brightness without shield.
So you began to shine upon my soul
That Hanoverian autumn long ago;
Though clouds and trees then hid you from my gaze,
The warm light of your love now fills my days --
My love
My one love,
My one true love.
Jean has mentioned our "surprise wedding." It's not that the event was unplanned, but the timing and circumstances were not quite what we had mapped out, not even in "plan B." As we were coming to the assurance, through prayer and scripture study, that we were intended by the Lord for each other, we were also planning a speaking mission to Mexico. We confided our intention to Jean Darnell, and she agreed to perform the ceremony in Mexico City. We would then honeymoon in Ensenada.
The licensing requirements in Mexico City were even more rigorous than in California; but we completed them all and obtained the license, only to be informed by cable that Jean Darnell was forced to cancel due to a serious illness in her family. So we decided to proceed to Ensenada after the speaking mission and investigate the possibility of a civil ceremony there.
In Ensenada we located the courthouse and went in to inquire and make an appointment. We would then return with Suzy and Gail (flower girl and maid of honor), all in the wedding outifts we had brought for teh occasion. We didn't speak Spanish and no one there spoke much English, but they seemed impressed with all the documentation we presented. We were directed into an office where a lady was sitting at a desk. She summoned an "interpreter," who appeared to have little more command of English than the others, and there began a rather difficult dialogue. The main point appeared to be that I would "comfort her [Jean] in her troubles," and she would do likewise. It was barely starting to dawn on us where this was going when the lady, who was in fact a judge, pronounced us man and wife, stated that I could kiss the bride, and requested her fee -- my best recollection is that is was 100 pesos.
We paid up and in a daze walked out into the street, our first rational thought being the question: "How are we going to explain this to Suzy and Gail?" Then Jean numbly noted that she was wearing black, and she began to cry -- not out of superstition, but simply overall shock. So did I, inwardly; but I immediately began to fulfill the promises just made by trying to comfort my bride in her distress. Suzy and Gail were almost as stunned as we were, but were very good about the whole thing; we all put on our wedding outifts and went out to dinner. A week later, we had a small, simple church ceremony performed by a Spirit-baptized Presbyterian minister.
I have long since come to delight, even glory, in the simplicity (not to say austerity) and human ineptitude (not to say bungling) of the beginning of our married life. They continue to provide a good laugh as well as perpetual testimony that a lasting, growing marriage in Christ is not determined by the aesthetics, size, elaborateness or cost of the opening ceremony. Rather, it is a work of grace built on a few simple promises made and kept between a man and woman before God, society and the church.
For us, this grace has truly been amazing and, as the song says, has brought us "through many dangers, toils and snares." One of the most dramatic instances involved a life-threatening danger, and occurred in November 1990. Jean had undergone major surgery, and afterward her small intestine simply would not start working again. As days turned into weeks and everything the doctors tried produced no change, Jean began to think that her time was coming up, and that she would die in the hospital.
I did not -- could not -- believe this, and neither could the members of our church. As Thanksgiving approached they decided to add fasting to their prayers; they then would meet Thanksgiving morning for concerted prayer, specifically for a miracle, and break fast together in the evening. The way God answered our prayers that very morning is a story in itself, and the telling of it will have to await Green Apples II; however, Jean was out of the hospital within a couple of days.
The next poem was written to fit the music of a move theme which Jean particularly liked (ironically, she hated the movie). The song recounts the three milestone events described above -- our first meeting, our wedding, and the miraculous recovery -- and I sang it to her as a surprise at our twenty-fifth anniversary party, accompanied by mariachis. After the surprise, Suzy (who with Hugh and kids was here for the occasion) and Allen Greaves (see Epilogue) followed with a much more professional rendition.
Suddenly, Jeanie
A crisp autumn night in Hanover, New Hampshire;
The White Church is packed and the speaker is late.
They've come to hear of the pow'r of the Spirit;
Nobody leaves -- we just sing songs and wait.
Suddenly, Jeanie is telling the story;
She plays no emotions, she does not pretend.
Suddenly Jeanie is showing God's glory,
Making disciples and making a friend.
We stroll to the courthouse in old Ensenada,
Just to check on procedure, so they show us inside.
A lady there questions us through a translator --
"That's 100 pesos -- you may now kiss the bride!"
Suddenly, Jeanie has such a strange feeling;
She didn't plan this day to become my wife!
Suddenly, Jeanie is now Mrs Willans;
My best friend, my soul-mate, the love of my life.
From the south coast of China to the foothills of LA,
Through a century's quarter we've had laughter and tears.
But our twenty-fifth year brings the mother of trials;
At the altar of God I cry out in my fear.
Suddenly, Jeanie's reviving and healing;
She's back in my bosom, delivered from death.
Suddenly, Jeanie, God's mercy revealing,
My sweet little Duckie, my very life's breath!
This last one is Jean's favorite, although it seems to me a somewhat weak attempt to describe the oneness of body, soul and spirit which we feel between us. However, it probably gives you the idea pretty clearly that I rather like being with her.
One Breath
When I'm awake in the morning dimness, and you're still asleep,
The life-sound of your breathing fills my consciousness,
And your deep, even breath becomes my own,
And thus being one with you I come to feel
That if you were to stop so would I.
When I bend down for a needed touch and nuzzle your head,
The joy-wisps on your temple bless my lips and nose,
And your soft, full cheek becomes my own.
Yet, on this ordered time-course for you, I know
That you must for a time leave my sight.
When I'm enmeshed in the city's folly and you're on the hill,
The mind-scene -- you 'midst bird friends -- calms my soul,
And your surprised, delighted smile becomes my own.
Thus, visions of you give me strength enough
That, until you're in reach, I survive.
When I break loose from the ropes and pulleys and escape to you,
The love-press of your hug dispels my weariness,
And your sweet, free laugh becomes my own.
And eventide with you so fills my heart
That with you I can touch agape.
When I lie still in the peaceful darkness and am touching you,
The life-sound of your breathing fills my consciousness,
And your deeps, even breath becomes my own.
And thus being one with you I come to feel
That if you were to stop so would I.
Rick and Jean Willans live in Altadena, California with their exotic bantams which they raise for fun and no profit.
Click here for the Table of Contents
However, a problem immediately arises: how, as we approach our thirtieth anniversary, to do to the subject justice without, in effect, adding a book to a book. The solution: "a picture is worth a thousand words," meaning the word-image of poetry. After all, the fullest and deepest expressions of human experience as well as divine truth have always been conveyed poetically, holy scripture being the ultimate example; and one biblical poetic work in particular, the Song of Solomon, is widely acknowledged as the paramount expression of both human love and the relationship of Christ and His Bride, the Church.
For that matter, I could stop right here and simply say to anyone interested in knowing about our married life, "Read the Song." (Not that we have fully attained all that it portrays; but we have tasted the fruit it describes and are pressing on to the heights and depths to which it calls.) Similarly, to all who are seeking the key to marital happiness, I could offer an equally simple instruction: "Live the Song."
However, in turning to poetry as a means of telling about our marriage, there was more in mind than merely pointing to the scriptural model. Over the years I have written songs and poems to Jean which speak of what God has given us and done in us. A selection of these follows, along with enough introduction to provide background and explain references which would otherwise be obscure.
We first met at Dartmouth College in New Hampshire, in October 1963. As a student there, having read and heard about the happenings at Yale, I had contacted the Blessed Trinity Society and requested that speaker come to Dartmouth to present the message of charismatic renewal. The speaker turned out to be Jean. The venue was the quintessential New England town gathering place, the local Congregational Church; in Hanover it was simply called "the White Church."
The only advertising was word of mouth and a few hand-lettered posters I had placed around the campus. However, something (or rather, Someone) was clearly at work in people's hearts, for by the appointed time the meeting room was filled with an admixture of townspeople and students (an unusual event in itself in view of the traditional tensions between "emmets" and "pinheads"). And an even greater sign of spiritual hunger was soon to be seen.
This speaking engagement was combined with a series of others Jean had in the New York area. She came by car, and her travelling party included John McCandlish Phillips, a writer with the New York Times, and the Rev Ed Barham, Harald Bredesen's assistant pastor, who shared the driving between them. Unfortunately, neither was very familiar with the route; and one drove extremely slowly due to the fact, he eventually revealed, that he did not have a driver's license and hadn't driven in years. They finally arrived at the meeting about two hours late, and yet no one there had given up and left.
Jean's presentation was a real revelation to me. I was familiar with Pentecostal preaching, in which "anointing" was practically equated with emotional demonstration, and altar calls which could be downright manipulative. She delivered her message in a matter-of-fact, low key manner, hands generally folded primly but occasionally gesturing naturally to emphasize a point; and yet everyone's attention was firmly fixed upon her, and the presence of the Holy Spirit was palpable.
Her invitation was simply that -- no attempts to induce emotion or response, just an offer to pray with anyone who wanted to receive Jesus and/or the fullness of His Spirit. The Lord confirmed His presence through a tongue and interpretation brought by someone in the audience (whom I didn't know); and a number remained for prayer after the meeting was dismissed. Some entered into a commitment to Jesus as Lord for the first time, and all were baptized in the Holy Spirit. It was not a large number, but this event really was, in the words of the old standard, "the start of something big," in more ways than one.
Long after I left Dartmouth, the message of the full gospel continued -- particularly through the faithful witness of a young Assemblies of God pastor named Larry Woods, who was at the White Church meeting -- eventually producing a vital charismatic fellowship called the Darmouth Christian Community. On a personal level, this meeting was also the beginning of a friendship which would grow, through the trials Jean has described in the Epilogue, into a love which I could not have even imagined on that autumn night in 1963.
The following untitled poem is a reflection, written after a number of years of marriage, on this "progressive revelation" of Jean which I experienced, perceiving her first as a distinctly anointed servant of God, then as a close firend, and finally as my beloved.
The one who softly burst upon my life
Like sunlight veiled behind an autumn cloud
Above a canopy of colored boughs,
Revealed by stages as the cloud passed on,
Its gaps and thinning edge allowing through
A modulating, ever growing flood
Of brightness, which in turn was gently screened
By shimmering lattice-work of redding leaves
Until, emerging to an open field,
I stood in warmth and brightness without shield.
So you began to shine upon my soul
That Hanoverian autumn long ago;
Though clouds and trees then hid you from my gaze,
The warm light of your love now fills my days --
My love
My one love,
My one true love.
Jean has mentioned our "surprise wedding." It's not that the event was unplanned, but the timing and circumstances were not quite what we had mapped out, not even in "plan B." As we were coming to the assurance, through prayer and scripture study, that we were intended by the Lord for each other, we were also planning a speaking mission to Mexico. We confided our intention to Jean Darnell, and she agreed to perform the ceremony in Mexico City. We would then honeymoon in Ensenada.
The licensing requirements in Mexico City were even more rigorous than in California; but we completed them all and obtained the license, only to be informed by cable that Jean Darnell was forced to cancel due to a serious illness in her family. So we decided to proceed to Ensenada after the speaking mission and investigate the possibility of a civil ceremony there.
In Ensenada we located the courthouse and went in to inquire and make an appointment. We would then return with Suzy and Gail (flower girl and maid of honor), all in the wedding outifts we had brought for teh occasion. We didn't speak Spanish and no one there spoke much English, but they seemed impressed with all the documentation we presented. We were directed into an office where a lady was sitting at a desk. She summoned an "interpreter," who appeared to have little more command of English than the others, and there began a rather difficult dialogue. The main point appeared to be that I would "comfort her [Jean] in her troubles," and she would do likewise. It was barely starting to dawn on us where this was going when the lady, who was in fact a judge, pronounced us man and wife, stated that I could kiss the bride, and requested her fee -- my best recollection is that is was 100 pesos.
We paid up and in a daze walked out into the street, our first rational thought being the question: "How are we going to explain this to Suzy and Gail?" Then Jean numbly noted that she was wearing black, and she began to cry -- not out of superstition, but simply overall shock. So did I, inwardly; but I immediately began to fulfill the promises just made by trying to comfort my bride in her distress. Suzy and Gail were almost as stunned as we were, but were very good about the whole thing; we all put on our wedding outifts and went out to dinner. A week later, we had a small, simple church ceremony performed by a Spirit-baptized Presbyterian minister.
I have long since come to delight, even glory, in the simplicity (not to say austerity) and human ineptitude (not to say bungling) of the beginning of our married life. They continue to provide a good laugh as well as perpetual testimony that a lasting, growing marriage in Christ is not determined by the aesthetics, size, elaborateness or cost of the opening ceremony. Rather, it is a work of grace built on a few simple promises made and kept between a man and woman before God, society and the church.
For us, this grace has truly been amazing and, as the song says, has brought us "through many dangers, toils and snares." One of the most dramatic instances involved a life-threatening danger, and occurred in November 1990. Jean had undergone major surgery, and afterward her small intestine simply would not start working again. As days turned into weeks and everything the doctors tried produced no change, Jean began to think that her time was coming up, and that she would die in the hospital.
I did not -- could not -- believe this, and neither could the members of our church. As Thanksgiving approached they decided to add fasting to their prayers; they then would meet Thanksgiving morning for concerted prayer, specifically for a miracle, and break fast together in the evening. The way God answered our prayers that very morning is a story in itself, and the telling of it will have to await Green Apples II; however, Jean was out of the hospital within a couple of days.
The next poem was written to fit the music of a move theme which Jean particularly liked (ironically, she hated the movie). The song recounts the three milestone events described above -- our first meeting, our wedding, and the miraculous recovery -- and I sang it to her as a surprise at our twenty-fifth anniversary party, accompanied by mariachis. After the surprise, Suzy (who with Hugh and kids was here for the occasion) and Allen Greaves (see Epilogue) followed with a much more professional rendition.
Suddenly, Jeanie
A crisp autumn night in Hanover, New Hampshire;
The White Church is packed and the speaker is late.
They've come to hear of the pow'r of the Spirit;
Nobody leaves -- we just sing songs and wait.
Suddenly, Jeanie is telling the story;
She plays no emotions, she does not pretend.
Suddenly Jeanie is showing God's glory,
Making disciples and making a friend.
We stroll to the courthouse in old Ensenada,
Just to check on procedure, so they show us inside.
A lady there questions us through a translator --
"That's 100 pesos -- you may now kiss the bride!"
Suddenly, Jeanie has such a strange feeling;
She didn't plan this day to become my wife!
Suddenly, Jeanie is now Mrs Willans;
My best friend, my soul-mate, the love of my life.
From the south coast of China to the foothills of LA,
Through a century's quarter we've had laughter and tears.
But our twenty-fifth year brings the mother of trials;
At the altar of God I cry out in my fear.
Suddenly, Jeanie's reviving and healing;
She's back in my bosom, delivered from death.
Suddenly, Jeanie, God's mercy revealing,
My sweet little Duckie, my very life's breath!
This last one is Jean's favorite, although it seems to me a somewhat weak attempt to describe the oneness of body, soul and spirit which we feel between us. However, it probably gives you the idea pretty clearly that I rather like being with her.
One Breath
When I'm awake in the morning dimness, and you're still asleep,
The life-sound of your breathing fills my consciousness,
And your deep, even breath becomes my own,
And thus being one with you I come to feel
That if you were to stop so would I.
When I bend down for a needed touch and nuzzle your head,
The joy-wisps on your temple bless my lips and nose,
And your soft, full cheek becomes my own.
Yet, on this ordered time-course for you, I know
That you must for a time leave my sight.
When I'm enmeshed in the city's folly and you're on the hill,
The mind-scene -- you 'midst bird friends -- calms my soul,
And your surprised, delighted smile becomes my own.
Thus, visions of you give me strength enough
That, until you're in reach, I survive.
When I break loose from the ropes and pulleys and escape to you,
The love-press of your hug dispels my weariness,
And your sweet, free laugh becomes my own.
And eventide with you so fills my heart
That with you I can touch agape.
When I lie still in the peaceful darkness and am touching you,
The life-sound of your breathing fills my consciousness,
And your deeps, even breath becomes my own.
And thus being one with you I come to feel
That if you were to stop so would I.
Rick and Jean Willans live in Altadena, California with their exotic bantams which they raise for fun and no profit.
Click here for the Table of Contents
# posted by LeeSun @ 1:43 pm 
