It was a cool, crisp, darkened September morning, and Bobby came upstairs to fill up his cup of coffee like usual. Occasionally we like to have brief snippeted conversations about our morning in the Bible, and this seemed to be no different.
“I think I’ve got it?” Announced my husband as dark steaming beverage swirled in his mug.
“Okay great. What?” I replied looking up from my Bible and notepads.
“Ummmm. You’re a feminist?” (It’s kind of a joke right now in our house.)
“You are a heretic?”
“Uhhhh… you are going to quit your job and become a barista?”
“Okay, just tell me.”
He looks at me. Pauses a bit, really making sure it’s the right time. I start to get a little worried, maybe it’s something serious. Maybe he really is going off his rocker. He says something delaying his new revelation from me. “I give up, are you going to tell me?”
That’s it?! Phew. That was a relief.
“And I don’t want to do it online…”
Oh snap. Okay.
So he shares more. Shares about his ephimany-like-moment in the basement, almost like seminary is unavoidable, and he’s been suppressing it all these years. Talks about how if he is really “Bible Bobby,” seminary makes sense. He says it all in a gloomy sulky way that surprises me. This seems like an idea he would normally be giddy about, why is he so docile about it? He tells me through another sigh, that he always said that if I died, he would go to seminary. He even asked John Piper when he met him “who is seminary for?” Apparently seminary has been on this guys mind since the beginning of his Bible passion, and letting it out to his wife was just about as hard as letting your imaginary monster out of the closet.
“Okay, well if we go to seminary, I want to go to a different country. I’m sick of western culture!” I say as I take an extra long gulp of coffee.
“We could go to N.T. Wright’s seminary. In England.” Bobby says with a gleam of hope.
“Yeaaaaah! Let’s go! They speak English. We could live in a castle. Okay. Sign me up!”
The funny thing is, is that it seemed a lot more epic coming out of his mouth, then going into my ears. Maybe that’s a sign. Maybe that’s good. Maybe it’s more confirmation, that it’s his “calling,” (he doesn’t like the word “calling,” sounds too cheese-ball). Maybe the fact that this idea was so intense, so life-changing, so bizarre, and so slow to come out of his mouth, shows that it really is what his life has been climbing towards. And all he had to do was submit to the idea for it to be real.
And me, well, when I hear the word seminary, I hear “marriage-destroyer.” Seminary cemetery is what I like to say (actually I just made that up). So basically, if it doesn’t destroy our marriage, then I don’t see why it would be so bad!