Lemuel Speaks
People tell me I have the perfect family. My wife’s net worth is currently equivalent to several gemstones. She is adept at fabrics, textiles, international trade, community management and snow emergency preparations. My wife rises early to start the day confidently, laughing in the face of any challenge that might dare to rear its head. Although she works from home, her stellar reputation is a frequent Twitter buzz, as are her capable arm strength.
My children are sharp, straight, tall and true—like missiles in an armory. They honor and respect their parents, responding to my discipline with humility and gratitude. The children publicly praise their mother, and I am the envy of men I encounter at the lobby elevator.
I should be happy, and for the most part, I am; but it’s not all roses and sunshine. It’s great that my wife is a morning person, getting up at the crack of dawn, throwing open the windows and singing her “happy morning” song—except that I’m a night owl. I’m most productive after Conan. My kids somehow inherited their mother’s “gift,” too. By the time they have all finished their “Let’s wake the dawn!” chant, all I can manage is a dead-walk to the bathroom.
I don’t wish to sound ungrateful, but I wouldn’t mind if we just had a meal of PB&Js instead of the “foods for afar” nights that my wife insists on having every other night. I suspect it’s really just her way adding more fiber and brown rice to my diet.
Similarly, the multitude of wide-ranging projects she tackles are all begun with the best of intentions, whether they’re sewing enterprises, home-grown food co-ops, or feed the homeless programs. But guess who has to clean up and pick up the pieces when they don’t quite turn out right? Le-moi, that’s who.
My children, God bless them, are like missiles in my armory—if one explodes, the whole place is laid to waste. My wife and I are essentially living under a constant threat level Orange.
If all that weren't enough, I have a mother who daily gives me the same advice she’s given me since I was nine years old. For goodness sakes, I did manage to become a king after all. You would think she’d cut me a little slack. Heaven help me when my mother and wife agree on something I need to be reminded of. They resonate together like a synchronized microwave and multiply the effect exponentially.
People tell me I have the perfect family. I know this is far from the truth. The possibility that any family can be perfectly united, outside of the Trinity, is remote. Four or five very different and complex things in constant and perfect sync and union happen only in machines.
Despite how the above may sound, I am not complaining—I know how blessed I am to be given the people in my life. I guess I just wanted you to know that the nearest my family comes to perfect unity is not when we act or look most alike, but when we can gather at the end of the day—however joyous or challenging it was—and thank God for each other.
King Lemuel
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Pastor D. David Kim is the English Ministry Pastor of the Washington-Spencerville Korean Seventh-day Adventist Church and a regular contributor for the English Compass.