The Real Truth About 'Boring' Men -- and the Women Who Live With Them

So not every guy proposes with lip syncing, rolling cameras, and a choreographed entourage.

Yeah -- so what if your dad didn't?

He just pulled that beat-up Volkswagon Rabbit of his over in front of Murray Reesor's hundred acre farm right there where Grey Township meets Elma Township, pulled out a little red velvet box, and whispered it in the snowy dark: "Marry me?"

"He didn't even get down on one knee or anything?"

You boys ask it incredulously, like there's some kind of manual for this kind of holy.

And I've got no qualms in telling you no. No, he didn't even get down on one knee -- it was just a box, a glint of gold in the dark, two hallowed words and a question mark.

"Boring."

I know. When you've watched a few dozen mastermind proposals on youtube, shared them with their rolling credits on Facebook, marveling at how real romance has an imagination like that.

Can I tell you something, sons?

Romance isn't measured by how viral your proposal goes. The Internet age may try to sell you something different, but don't ever forget that viral is closely associated with sickness -- so don't ever make being viral your goal.

Your goal is always to make your Christ-focus contagious -- to just one person.

It's more than just imagining some romantic proposal.

It's a man who imagines washing puked-on sheets at 2:30 a.m., plunging out a full and plugged toilet for the third time this week, and then scraping out the crud in the bottom screen of the dishwasher -- every single night for the next 37 years without any cameras rolling or soundtrack playing -- that's imagining true romance.

The man who imagines slipping his arm around his wife's soft, thickening middle age waistline and whispering that he couldn't love her more.... who imagines the manliness of standing bold and unashamed in the express checkout line with only maxi pads and tampons because someone he loves is having an unexpected Saturday morning emergency.

The man who imagines the coming decades of a fluid life -- her leaking milky circles through a dress at Aunt Ruth's birthday party, her wearing thick diaper-like Depends for soggy weeks after pushing a whole human being out through her inch-wide cervix, her bleeding through sheets and gushing amniotic oceans across the bathroom floor and the unexpected beauty of her crossing her legs every time she jumps on the trampoline with the kids.

The real romantics imagine greying and sagging and wrinkling as the deepening of something sacred.

Because get this, kids -- how a man proposes isn't what makes him romantic. It's how a man purposes to lay down his life that makes him romantic.

And a man begins being romantic years before any ring -- romance begins with only having eyes for one woman now -- so you don't go giving your eyes away to cheap porn. Your dad will say it sometimes to me, a leaning over -- "I am glad that there's always only been you." Not some bare, plastic-surgeon-scalpel-enhanced pixels ballooning on a screen, not some tempting flesh clicked on in the dark, not some photo-shopped figment of cultural beauty that's basically a lie.

The real romantics know that stretch marks are beauty marks and that differently shaped women fit into the different shapes of men's souls and that real romance is really sacrifice.

I know -- you're thinking, "Boring."

Can you see it again -- how your grandfather stood over your grandmother's grave and brushed away his heart leaking without a sound down his cheeks?

Fifty boring years. Fifty unfilmed years of milking 70 cows, raising six boys and three girls, getting ready for sermon every Sunday morning, him helping her with her zipper. Fifty boring years of arguing in Dutch and making up in touching in the dark, 50 boring years of planting potatoes and weeding rows on humid July afternoons, 50 boring years of washing the white Corel dishes and turning out the light on the mess -- till he finally carried her in and out of the tub and helped her pull up her Depends.

Don't ever forget it:

The real romantics are the boring ones -- they let another heart bore a hole deep into theirs.

Be one of the boring ones. Pray to be one who get 50 boring years of marriage -- 50 years to let her heart bore a hole deep into yours.

Let everyone do their talking about 50 shades of grey, but don't let anyone talk you out of it: commitment is pretty much black and white. Because the truth is, real love will always make you suffer. Simply commit: Who am I willing to suffer for?

Who am I willing to take the reeking garbage out for and clean out the gross muck ponding at the bottom of the fridge? Who am I willing to listen to instead of talk at? Who am I willing to hold as they grow older and realer? Who am I willing to die a bit more for every day? Who am I willing to make heart-boring years with? Who am I willing to let bore a hole into my heart?

Get it: Life -- and marriage proposals -- isn't not about one-upmanship -- it's about one-downmanship. It's about the heart-boring years of sacrifice and going lower and serving. It's not about how well you perform your proposal. It's about how well you let Christ perform your life.

Sure, go ahead, have fun, make a ridiculously good memory and we'll cheer loud: propose creatively -- but never forget that what wows a woman and woos her is you how you purpose to live your life.

I'm praying, boys -- be Men. Be one of the 'boring" men -- and let your heart be bore into. And know there are women who love that kind of man.

The kind of man whose romance isn't flashy -- because love is gritty.
The kind of man whose romance isn't about cameras -- because it's about Christ.
The kind of man whose romance doesn't have to go viral -- because it's going eternal.

No, your dad did not get down on one knee when he proposed -- because the romantic men know it's about living your whole life on your knees.

There are Fridays. And the quiet romantics who will take out the garbage without fanfare. There will be the unimaginative calendar by the fridge, with all it's scribbled squares of two lives being made one. The toilet seat will be left predictably up. The sink will be resigned to its load of last night's dishes.

And there is now and the beautiful boring, the way two lives touch and go deeper into time with each other.

The clock ticking passionately into decades.

Ann Voskamp

Adopted from the Huff Post

Collateral damage

Collateral damage

Uganda wants to develop; construct roads, construct posh buildings. We have even cut taxes for our potential investors in order to make sure the place is turned into the United States. The only problem is, we are copying it all wrong and not preparing for the collateral damage. Think about 10-15 years ago where you used to stay, there was land, pitches to play with the neighbours, that is where talent was developed and friends were made. Today, we find the rich are building seven feet fences and buying PlayStations (well done you worked hard). The poor are in total misery because they are being packed into the worst of places, pollution, drugs, and yet again over taxed to develop the nation. Development means chasing hawkers, chapatti men, commuter taxis, where will one put all this idleness and unemployment. Clearly there is need to send people back to their actual homes; those from the South fly away, the westerns go and rare those cows. Am no prophet but if we don’t sit down and analyze development, country is going………………

Muhindi Jude

TEARDROP RAIN!!

TEARDROP RAIN!!

He won't dine with me any more, he's dining next to the Master!

Tell me how can I smile without my inspiration for laughter?

Haven't cried this much in a while, and yet more tears will come after.

I've lost a great friend, so far my life's biggest disaster.

He won't dine with me no more, he's dining next to the Master.

It's like a terrible dream, just want to get up and scream,

But that won't change anything, it wont bring back what I need.

My heart is in pain, real physical pain!

My eyes are clouding again, my cries are thunder to this teardrop rain.

If I could turn back the hands of time,

Like that R. Kelly line,

I'd bring back this friend of mine.

All these memories of back then,

got words flowing out my pen.

I'm hurting once again,

Sometimes I just wish I could pretend.

My heart is in pain, real physical pain!

My eyes are clouding again, my cries are thunder to this teardrop rain.

"I know how you feel," no, you do not know the half,

This feeling's surreal, you can't calculate it like maths.

My emotions are everywhere, they on the wall like a poster.

I'm taking a ride on this emotional roller coaster.

There's no amusement in this park,

my thoughts are lost in the dark.

You were a true friend to me, on my life, you left a Mark.

My heart is in pain, real physical pain!

My eyes are clouding again, my cries are thunder to this teardrop rain.

I could go on and on, have these words flow out like a song.

But no text, however long, can help me right this wrong.

I can't re-write history, or solve this mystery.

Life's full of inequities, it cant always be victory.

My heart is in pain, real physical pain!

My eyes are clouding again, my cries are thunder to this teardrop rain.

#1Month

By M.M

"Selfmade..." (To be or not to be)

Keeping in mind the many different brands
Purposes, designs and sizes
Destiny is a shoe...

Go ahead and wear it if it fits
And if it doesn't don't just keep it.
At least stuff it and wear it till it fits...

While God would rather prepare and teach
The devil opts to tempt, trick and lure
I guess the  blessings  of  the rich
Must be the lessons 2 the poor...

The search is fate. And such is life
That if you dare to root for all you can reach
Keeping ur intentions pure. Then success will be certain
And your destiny will not only be assured. But also selfmade...


By
Th' Suspe©t™

Kidron Nabende Googo

Wildly successful at work and family

A family is a group of parents and children living together in a household. In a typical African family, the man used to go to work while the woman stayed at home and took care of the home. In modern African times. The proverbial male bread winner is no more. Time after time, women have slowly crept into the world of work. There are so many women at work that you may think the male is an endangered species.

Women are not just turning up for work do the hours. Women are excelling at work too. In Uganda there is an ever growing list of women running and steering successful businesses and organizations. Allen Kagina, the current Commissioner General of Uganda Revenue Authority and Jennifer Musisi, the current Executive Director of Kampala Capital City Authority are a few examples that come to my mind.

How do these women play their God given family roles and still become wildly successful people? Success at work requires that you invest your time, your energy and in other circumstances your money at the work place. Success at work means that you will not leave office until that late submission is handed in. Success at work means that you will keep working until the solution has been found. Success at work means that you will further invest time and money in your studies to learn more and keep afloat in the job market.  Success at work does not come handed to you on a silver plate.

One way women have excelled at both family and work frontlines is by working smart. Women are natural jugglers but it takes extra smartness to juggle work and family. It is not uncommon for women to engage in businesses that are cultivated around the homestead. Businesses like selling foods, cakes, snacks, handmade crafts and clothes and cards are business that will not necessarily keep a woman away from the home.

In Uganda business like Dis n’ Dat (U) Ltd and the Mama Tendo Foundation were founded because a woman dared to juggle. They dared to juggle between family and business.

Alex Agaba

Where does this inferiority complex come from?

Again this morning, my neighbour is seated on her veranda applying cream to her face. She is becoming lighter and lighter by the day - from chocolate brown (call it black) to some sort of yellowish brown. Once again, the question occurs to me: Where does this dissatisfaction with our identity come from? Hating our colour, our hair, our cultural names, our languages, traditional wisdom, and so on!

It is partly a colonial and neo-colonial construct! For our colonial masters (missionaries too!) demonised everything about the African, and this was socialised into the conscience of the subjects so deeply that many had to hate themselves. We thus crafted an education system that produced and reproduced self-hate, self-devaluation, and a passion for migration to Bulaaya (overseas) - where civilisation and humanisation come from.

In early school we sung about London Bridge, even those of us that had neither seen nor found a bridge of relevance to our realities! We sang about men who went to America. We sang about missionaries who found us in darkness and saved us. But we never sang in appreciation of who we are and the wealth of our country and continent!

In the end, a people was produced who desired to run away from their country at any opportunity. A people with an urge to become whiter than the whites. A people that will wear full suit and necktie and fan themselves in the heat of the tropical sun - in the name of looking official. A people that will migrate with all their education to clean toilets in the West. A people that will look at anyone coming from the West as a god of sorts. A breed of shameless beggers. A people that will laugh at any of their own speaking broken English or broken French but not at those who speak broken mother tongue! Yes, this is the system that has produced my neighbour who has just finished scrubbing her face now.

Goodmorning my neighbour... I hope you don't hear what I think about you.

Ssentongo Jimmy Spire

Long Long Long under-arm hairs

Shaving body hairs is a culturally diverse practice. I was raised with the belief that other than the hair on the head, all other hairs were bad and dirty. And so shaving sticks, razor blades, shaving cream and waxing kits have been a firm part of my life.

I used to get really shocked when people in sleeveless shirts or blouses would raise their arms and reveal unkempt forests of hair, especially in a crowded bus or at the gymn. I would cringe my face at them and think many rude thoughts. Sometimes I stared pointedly at the said forests of hair. If the hair was blonde or brunette and straight it was really unslightly. If it was black and kinky with bushes of knotted curly kaweke it was really disgusting.

Having travelled and seen it all, I no longer get troubled about long bodily hairs. If someone wants long long long under-arm hairs or elsewhere, it is their life - their prerogative. However when I see long unkempt armpit hairs I still wonder about the length and tidiness of the other bodily hairs tacked further away from the public eye. And I wonder about how much money they budget for deodourants. This is important trivia...

Stella Nyanzi

Marriage Isn’t For You

Having been married only a year and a half, I’ve recently come to the conclusion that marriage isn’t for me.

Now before you start making assumptions, keep reading.

I met my wife in high school when we were 15 years old. We were friends for ten years until…until we decided no longer wanted to be just friends. :) I strongly recommend that best friends fall in love. Good times will be had by all.

Nevertheless, falling in love with my best friend did not prevent me from having certain fears and anxieties about getting married. The nearer Kim and I approached the decision to marry, the more I was filled with a paralyzing fear. Was I ready? Was I making the right choice? Was Kim the right person to marry? Would she make me happy?

Then, one fateful night, I shared these thoughts and concerns with my dad.

Perhaps each of us have moments in our lives when it feels like time slows down or the air becomes still and everything around us seems to draw in, marking that moment as one we will never forget.

My dad giving his response to my concerns was such a moment for me. With a knowing smile he said, “Seth, you’re being totally selfish. So I’m going to make this really simple: marriage isn’t for you. You don’t marry to make yourself happy, you marry to make someone else happy. More than that, your marriage isn’t for yourself, you’re marrying for a family. Not just for the in-laws and all of that nonsense, but for your future children. Who do you want to help you raise them? Who do you want to influence them? Marriage isn’t for you. It’s not about you. Marriage is about the person you married.”

It was in that very moment that I knew that Kim was the right person to marry. I realized that I wanted to make her happy; to see her smile every day, to make her laugh every day. I wanted to be a part of her family, and my family wanted her to be a part of ours. And thinking back on all the times I had seen her play with my nieces, I knew that she was the one with whom I wanted to build our own family.

My father’s advice was both shocking and revelatory. It went against the grain of today’s “Walmart philosophy”, which is if it doesn’t make you happy, you can take it back and get a new one.

No, a true marriage (and true love) is never about you. It’s about the person you love—their wants, their needs, their hopes, and their dreams. Selfishness demands, “What’s in it for me?”, while Love asks, “What can I give?”

Some time ago, my wife showed me what it means to love selflessly. For many months, my heart had been hardening with a mixture of fear and resentment. Then, after the pressure had built up to where neither of us could stand it, emotions erupted. I was callous. I was selfish.

But instead of matching my selfishness, Kim did something beyond wonderful—she showed an outpouring of love. Laying aside all of the pain and aguish I had caused her, she lovingly took me in her arms and soothed my soul.

I realized that I had forgotten my dad’s advice. While Kim’s side of the marriage had been to love me, my side of the marriage had become all about me. This awful realization brought me to tears, and I promised my wife that I would try to be better.

To all who are reading this article—married, almost married, single, or even the sworn bachelor or bachelorette—I want you to know that marriage isn’t for you. No true relationship of love is for you. Love is about the person you love.

And, paradoxically, the more you truly love that person, the more love you receive. And not just from your significant other, but from their friends and their family and thousands of others you never would have met had your love remained self-centered.

Truly, love and marriage isn’t for you. It’s for others.

Seth Adam Smith

This article has been adapted from http://sethadamsmith.com