Venturing into Advent

I know the three most often repeated words in a marriage should be, “I love you,” but I’m afraid I’ve displaced those with “Where’s the clicker?”

Perhaps even worse, once the clicker is in my hands, I frequently follow that question with a plea to my wife: “Can you get this thing to work?”

Now, before you judge me as the stereotypical couch potato, that neglectful slob who bellows to “the wife” from the “man cave,” “Hey, babe, bring me another beer,” let me explain myself.

Somewhere along life’s way, I had a technological bypass. I’m the first to admit I’m lame when it comes to house repairs or fixing or updating any technological device.

So, when our clicker began to malfunction, I ignored it. I’m not sure what caused the mishap: I did catch one of our Schnauzers (I promised I wouldn’t mention his name) chewing on it. Then our grandson, Eli, ran over it on his tricycle some months ago.

But Lori says it’s simply because it’s old; we’ve had it a long time.

So, she gave me the order: “Get another one.”

I put it off.

That’s because I had this vision of standing in line at the cable company, wasting half the afternoon waiting for the receptionist to say in a monotone voice, “Next,” and then having to let her her grill me: “What’s the exact date you purchased the remote? And what was the date it first began malfunctioning? Why did you let your Schnauzer chew on it? What is the combined weight of your grandson and the tricycle, and did he drive over the clicker more than once? Wouldn’t you say you’re negligent in clicker care?”

By the time she’s done, she’s morphed into The Clicker Nazi: “No clicker for you,” comes the verdict.

As I retreat, crawling out the door in humiliation, I can imagine her diabolical laugh as she roars: “Good luck explaining to your wife why she can no longer record her favorite programs, hahaha.”

 

So, I avoided going.

I found that if I took the batteries out, then tenderly placed them back in, put duct tape around the clicker to tighten it, vigorously patted it in the palm of my hand several times, stepped within a few feet of the TV, pointed the remote directly at the receiver, pushed hard on the buttons, and prayed, “Lord, please let the clicker work,” it would eventually connect.

Then one evening, just before Lori was ready to sit down and enjoy her recording of “TODAY Kathie Lee and Hoda,” the clicker froze. It was dead. Dead dead.

Lori wasn’t sympathetic when I said, “At least this didn’t happen during an OU football game.”

Afraid to look in her direction, I obsequiously placed the clicker in my car, for I knew The Day was at hand.

I dreaded the worst as I stepped into the cable office.

Much to my surprise, there were only two people in line, and the man directly in front of me gave me his place. “I’m in no hurry, go ahead.”

I wondered if he sensed my nervousness; it didn’t matter, there I was, before the judge of remotes, ready to state my case.

Thinking my best strategy was to start with the part about the disobedient Schnauzer, I began to present my plight.

She ignored me when she saw the clicker, dressed in its worn out duct tape.

“Oh my,” she gasped. “You need a new remote. Let me get you one.”

“You mean I can have one?” I asked, unable to suppress my shock.

“Absolutely,” she smiled, handing me a new remote, complete with instructions on programming it to the receiver.

In a matter of moments, it was over, and I was clutching my brand new clicker.

Driving away, I wondered how often we miss the good things (Christians call them “blessings”) because we fear judgment instead of approval, rejection instead of acceptance, failure instead of success. How many times do we let relationships remain broken, healing words unspoken, and possibilities ignored?

All because of negative, false expectations.

It’s Advent. Why not venture in and ask? He’s waiting for you. The baby in the manger is the King of Kings who loves freely. Instead of judging you in his court room, he wants to embrace you, welcoming you home this Christmas season.

“Wow,” a new clicker, Lori exclaimed when I handed it to her. “How did you manage that?”

I sheepishly shrugged my shoulders.

And then, handing her the instructions, I had to ask, “Can you get this thing to work?”