Sticker Shock

By Rev. Mark Montgomery

Christmas morning, my four year old granddaughter and I were playing. She pulled out a box of stickers, carefully selecting a flower for herself, a kitten for her sister and a butterfly for me. Making it clear the butterfly had to be placed in just the right spot on my left shoulder, she took her time positioning it, stepped back and nodded in satisfaction.

Then she looked at her sticker and said, “I am a flower.”

So I pointed to my sticker and asked, “Does this mean that I am a butterfly now?”

She remained silent a long while. Looking at her flower, then me, then my butterfly, she finally answered, “No. You are not a butterfly. You are still old.”

A precious, humbling, honest moment.

This beautiful little girl saw absolutely no problem with the idea that she could be a flower. That comparison did not violate her concepts, definitions or the balance of the universe! Her sister could easily be a kitten. No problem there either. But some definitions can be pushed only so far. To my granddaughter, butterflies are never old. Butterflies are young, vibrant, captivating, and lively. They are colorful ballet stars dancing on the stage of summer breezes.

To my great and everlasting joy, some things my granddaughter believes I can be are quite wonderful, like a Christmas morning playmate. But for me to be a butterfly? Even the creative imagination of a four-year-old could not push the conceptual boundaries to that point.

With a bow to her wisdom, I surrender my butterfly sticker. Perhaps now, it is my turn to define a concept for her.

There is a word that means a great deal to me. It is easily defined. But so often when I hear people speak it, their descriptions have nothing to do with the concept my mind pictures. Maybe my concept needs to be re-worked. If so many folks laugh at what I “see”, then maybe I have gone too far.

The word is “married.”

For me, being married is like watching a butterfly dance, beautiful, vibrant, lively, and captivating. It is a ballet of the heart on the stage of life’s warm breezes. When I say, “I am married,” feelings erupt from the fiery, joyous, volcanic core of who I am.

The marriage concept I picture is graceful but strong, mature yet playful. In that vivid imagery I stand under the arching branches of a life spent together with a woman I love. The scene changes as we age. Once gray, we sit on Cupid’s bench, resting in the shade of the memories that forged us.

Because of the strength of the woman beside me, I am stronger. Because of her faith, I walk closer to the throne of God. Because of her love, I am a proud father and grandfather. Because of her wisdom, I am less susceptible to the barbs of dark days.

That’s my concept. That’s what I see.

I feel out of step in a world where others say the word “married” as if it is a burden, a curse or the first line of a comedy routine.

It does not matter that the world will laugh at this corny old coot - a coot who pays attention to a child’s analysis. Let them define marriage any way they like. As they snicker, I and my wife will be here, on a wrought iron love seat, in the shade of our family tree, watching our granddaughters, “Flower and Kitty,” sprout and grow.

And someday, just maybe, when those little girls are women and the word “married” comes up in conversation, the pen of their imagination will dip into an inkwell of memory and draw Rebecca and me upon the canvas of their mind’s eye.