PLACE ON YOUR ROOFTOP FOR ME?

So here I am, lying in bed with flu, blog deadline looming, poodle asleep next to me. It is amazing how the worst of times can become the best of times for someone else. In this case, my bed of infirmity has become a bed of deep enjoyment for my dog, who revels in long days of inactivity from me, her faithful servant. She has me trained. Pavlov had it wrong. THEY train US, or at least they do if they are poodles and their "owners" are me. So I have been trained to interpret a variety of facial or body signals. I am so good at this that Coco seldom has to prod me by a verbal instruction, though persistent whining when she wants something has a lot to do with it. Rather than being tortured by incessant whines, I give in fairly quickly and give her what she is demanding, which is, of course, the whole point of nagging. For those readers rolling their eyes at this juncture, and dreaming of swift and well-placed kicks to a poodle butt, may I smugly remind you of something! I would rather be nagged by a dog than a person any day of the week.

The bible has a few heartfelt suggestions to men who live with nagging wives, or, as Solomon more delicately phrased it, a contentious woman. This, coming from the wisest man on earth, whose wisdom deserted him when it came to women, can be taken to heart. Seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines later, the man could have written encyclopaedias about nagging wives, but he restricted himself to a few piteous comments. Rather, Solomon plaintively declared, live in the desert, or on a corner of the rooftop, than share a house with a contentious woman. He bemoaned the fact that a nagging wife was worse than a dripping tap! I find this very funny, and have sometimes amused myself by imagining Solomon's dilemma. He wanted them! He married them! Or placed them in his harem! Then he tried really hard to find a quiet, reflective spot in one of his palaces. Ha ha ha, and another ha ha. I can imagine him being tracked down relentlessly by a bevy of belligerent women, all intent on getting him alone, to complain about his other, ahem, PARTNERS. I should think that some of them had to share palaces, maids, kitchens, and bathrooms, regardless of their husband's vast wealth. And if not, if instead there were seven hundred palaces for the wives, and a few dozen harems for the concubines, then the competition over size, location, and interior design would have been fuel for several thousand arguments. Poor, poor, stupid Solomon.

Then we have nagging men. Admittedly the bible has very little to say on this subject, and I am the first to admit it. I somehow don't think that men are exempt from the nagging gene. If they are, then some men I know have serious identity issues. I think it could be that the bible says that he who FINDS a wife finds A GOOD THING. So, if men are given the task of treasure hunting, and they come back to the palace with a seriously stunning package on the outside, but haven't picked up the package, shaken it, and listened carefully to how it rattles, then they deserve to run for their lives when the noise starts.

We also have nagging children, nagging parents, nagging bosses (please God, don't let me be guilty!!!), nagging co-workers, and so on, ad infinitum. It is interesting, though, that wives are the ones the bible warns against. And I think I have fathomed something about the female psyche that bears scrutiny. Women LOVE to rearrange furniture, makeover rooms or entire houses, study and replicate the latest fashion, and organize their families. A side note here. I am an inveterate furniture re-arranger, to the extent that Christie takes one look at the glint in my eye, says, "NO MOM! The rearranging demon is here and I am LEAVING!" and out the door she flies. Let it be said, however, that she suffers from the same compulsion in her own house. She just doesn't want to be dragooned into the role of furniture mover for me. I have been frustrated for the past few years, ever since Coco's eyesight failed, and she moves through the house on memory alone. So my furniture has boringly remained in its allotted place for some time.

Back to women's need to rearrange. I am convinced that women, as a gender, can be prone to taking the need to rearrange into their marriages. They are found, as a good thing, by a perfectly nice man, they marry, and settle down to live happily ever after. (Ha ha!) Then, after a period of time, determined only by their tolerance levels for boredom, they take a long look at the nice man they married, and think how much nicer he would be if they rearranged him just a bit. When I was a student at CFNI, Dennis Lindsay taught a class on marriage and family, and gave us an illustration I have never forgotten, and have used myself. He said that if we go shopping for a car, and decide to buy a VW Beetle (and this was in the day when they were basic runabouts, not the sleek, trendy creatures they are in 2011), even though you would have preferred a Mercedes, you accept what you have. You don't take your Beetle home, strip it, try to elongate its chassis, panel beat it and put in some new features, and try to turn it into a Mercedes. You accept the fact that you drive a Beetle. Yet we marry a Beetle, take it home, and try to panel beat it and make it over into the type of Mercedes spouse we would have really liked. This is applicable to both genders. Sadly, some girls born chubby, diet themselves into a shape they can never sustain to fit into the wedding dress of their dreams, then when they revert to type, their husbands crusade (read NAG) them to get back to wedding day slenderness even after a litter of children. So it works both ways.

Women! Accept your man the way he is. Men! Accept your good thing the way she is. Parents! Accept your children for who they are, and don't try to make them over into your image of what you would like them to be. Let God do His makeovers in us His way and in His timing. And we can all share our homes without looking for a rooftop or a desert.

And having said that, I am so grateful that my dog is happy with me the way I am, and all I have to put up with is being whined at for snacks or playtime. So we can happily co-exist on a queen-sized bed, though she admittedly has the larger portion.

Till next month, God bless. And love you. Fiona