5 Things My Married Friends Have Taught Me (Part 1: The F-Word)

This week, I'm attempting to do a series, so there's a 90% chance I won't finish this. This week I'm writing about what my married friends have taught me. Before reading these next 5 posts (if I actually do them) read the following:

• I am not married. Therefore, I know nothing about marriage. Don't be surprised if something I say doesn't gel.
• The names of anybody in these columns have been changed to protect my friends. Plus I figure being married in its self brings more than enough shame to fill a lifetime.
• If you believe something I say is erroneous and wish to talk to me about it, you can call me at 867-5309 (ask for Jenny).
• If I find that you think something I wrote is heartfelt or cute, and you turn my post into an email forward, I will laugh at you. Then I will vandalize your home.

Part 1: If you are married, you are finite.

I'm a selfish person. Kind of like Gordon Gekko. But whereas Gekko was a smooth operator in life, I'm more like epileptic disco dancer. Gekko moved through life like his buttery, slicked back locks and I move through life like Vlad Divac after his fourth bottle of pre-game Pepto Bismol.

When I was a kid, my brother and I would play with action figures all of the time. We would set up my fold out Wayne Manor/Bat Cave combo playset. It would be team Ben versus team Jake. Being the oldest, I would divide the action figures among Jake and I for maximum fairness. I was always willing to make sure Jake and I split the cool action figures. So I usually set the rosters like this:

Team Ben -- Batman, Robin, Wolverine, Hulk Hogan, Ultimate Warrior, Snake Eyes, the four Ninja Turtles, and the gorilla Alien from the film Aliens.

Team Jake -- Supergirl, Marty Jannetty, Cyclops, Ted BiBiase's man-valet Virgil, battle-damage Connie Chung, and a can of Campbell's condensed Tomato Soup.

Now Jake complained a couple times that I hadn't divided the action figures fairly, but I always reassured him that I loved him very much and that I was OK with taking some of the lesser-action figures so Jake could have more fun.

Fast forward about 15 years (forgetting a few moments during summer breaks when Jake and I would bust out the toys for nostalgia's sake) and I'm sitting at a friend's house with the table's slightly turned on me.

Fifteen years later, I don't have little plastic action figures anymore, but larger flesh and blood action figures that think on their own, move on their own, and if I try to throw them at a wall, they will throw me right back. This time, I'm sitting in a living room with a friend and his wife trying to talk the friend into coming out to hang out and to do something adventurous. His wife is trying to talk this six-foot toy into staying home, watching a movie, or having a conversation.

Note: Women are always worse at playing than men. Men want to blow stuff up. Women want a tea party. Women want to play dress up. Men want to punch each other in the nuts.

As bad as I don't like to share my toys, I'm worse at sharing my friends. When I was in college, it wasn't as big of a deal, because there wasn't any competition. I didn't have to worry about Tom or Tim or Todd getting clearance from a spouse first before going out to eat late at night or taking a road trip or even just hanging out and having a beer.

And it's different sharing a friend with other guys versus sharing a friend with a wife. A wife is equal to 10 male friends from what I've seen. Now this isn't wrong, it's just how I've seen it. It does create tension though.

We are finite people. We aren't omnipresent like God is. I imagine it's hard for a man who is used to being able to do whatever he wants and go wherever he wants, whenever he wants, to find him self leaving his old ways behind to cleave to a woman. Beforehand, the man only had to see if what he was feeling at the time was compatible to the opportunities in front of him.

"I'm hungry. I can do mexican, chinese, or pizza." Choose.

"I'm bored. I can play video games, go to the bar, or hit the driving range with the guys." Choose.

But it changes when you marry a woman. Suddenly you aren't just looking at your feelings and the opportunities in front of you, but you are looking at your feelings, the opportunities in front of you AND the impact it will have on the woman you love.

"I'm hungry. I can do mexican, chinese, or pizza. I wonder if my wife would like to go out or cook together?" Discuss.

"I'm bored. I can play video games, go to the bar, or hit the driving range with the guys. What would my wife say?" Discuss.

I'm standing in a mall and I'm wondering where I'm at. I go to the mall directory and I see a big red dot. The sign says that I am the dot and I am here. I look down at my feet. I don't see a dot, but I am here nonetheless. I find that I am in a sea of married, reproducing men and women.

From the dot that I'm standing on I can go three possible ways:

1. Blend in -- get married. Sounds tempting, but I like doing my own laundry and a woman would just f--k it up.
2. Flee -- find single friends. Again, sounds tempting. But it took me a quarter century to find quality friends like these and I'm fairly lame, so I'm not sure if I would want any friends who would want me.
3. Adapt -- Learn to share. Forgive your friends and yourself for being finite and be there when you are needed.

I'm selfish. I hate to share. But I also hate to see my friends in pain. I hate to see my friends stagnant. I hate to see my friends not moving closer to Christ.

If I want to see my friends thrive...If I want to see my friends flourish...If I want to see my friends move full-steam ahead towards Christ I have to realize that those things may start inside of their marriage. Whereas at one time I was the best friend, I must now be demoted. I must be willing to step down and let my friend become a husband. I must let my friend become a father.

Friends are for seasons. A wife is for life. Ultimately, I can be around to challenge and to encourage, but my role becomes less the coach and more the grizzled quarterback with the bad hip who stands on the sidelines and tells his friend, "You run like a sissy. You can do better." The wife doesn't become the coach. God is the coach. The wife is like a cheerleader, but not a trampy cheerleader. More like a classy, soccer-mom cheerleader. But less annoying. Actually, a soccer-mom would have nothing to do in a football game except for sit in the stands and gossip or plan out booster club meetings --

-- I'm not sure where that metaphor was going.

To sum up, we are finite. We are limited. We only ever get 24 hours in a day and when you take out work, sleep, meals, bathroom breaks...well, that doesn't leave you with very long left. So what should you use it for? Spend some time with your wife. Love her. Encourage her. Challenge her. If you have kids, your time becomes even more difficult.

All that we ask -- we, the second-string friends waiting to get into the game--all we ask is that you don't forget about us. That you give some time; maybe a couple hangouts a month where we can be immature and dumb and just have fun.

Oh, and we also want you to see if your wife has any hot friends with low-standards.