Authors: Star Jones Reynolds
You need a filing system. Probably some sleek filing cabinets, also.
There are many books on the market, to help you organize this filing system. I happen to like
The Wall Street Journal Guide to Understanding Personal Finance,
which is sold in almost every bookstore.
An Ordered Financial House—
If You Are Married or Planning Marriage
This is me, Star, talking now: thank you, Al.
It filled me with a great sense of security to know that my man cared passionately about our family finances and the financial future of our family.
Approaching the money discussion can be a scary prospect, but
not
discussing it prior to marriage will lead to doing
nothing but
discussing it during marriage. Our plan is in place, all we have to do now is follow it…and I have to remember to check with my husband the next time I want a new fur coat.
Be humble for you are made of earth.
Be noble for you are made of stars.
SERBIAN PROVERB
S
o, this is how I met a man made of earth and stars—when I was finally ready.
We had a contest on
The View,
and one of the viewers won the “Star Treatment,” which was to get treated like a star while spending the day with me. She got her first-ever massage, facial, manicure, and pedicure, and I took her to her first red carpet event—a fabulous party to celebrate the launch of Alicia Keys’s new album. On November 13, 2003, at a New York studio, during the glitzy launch with my guest, Stephanie Guillen, from Denver, Colorado, right by my side, I saw my friend Anthony (my lawyer’s husband) across the room and went over to hug him hello. After a few words, distracted, I started to leave when a man standing near Anthony reached out, took my arm, and said, “You’re not just going to pass me by.”
I looked up—and was floored. This handsome man with skin the color of
cooked butter, this man with the most beautiful lips I’d ever seen, a Clark Gable jawline, and the deepest brown eyes on the planet softly continued what he’d started to say, which was, “I saw you once at a party five years ago and was too hesitant to approach you, but this time, I’m braver.”
I was charmed out of my wits. I stopped, looked into those chocolate eyes, and I literally heard a bell ring—just like my mother said it would. This time it was a bell of exultation, not warning. Not to be corny…but I
exhaled.
When I walked into that room the day I met Al Scales Reynolds, I didn’t walk in with the intention of meeting someone. I walked in with my mind on feeling good about me. I was prepared. I’d started on getting ready. My relationship with God was strong, my health was getting better by the day, and my weight-loss program had been moving along for months. When that tall, smart, wonderful man took my arm, I was emotionally, physically, and spiritually ready to accept him. I deserved him. And you know what? I wasn’t looking for him—
he
was looking for me.
Not Looking for Temporary
From then on, everything about our relationship has been steeped in romance. On date one, Al presented me with a CD of songs each with the word
star
in them.
But more important was date two.
Picture it.
We’d gone to church together at eight in the morning and had come back to my apartment for a home-cooked meal. Al was sitting on the floor in my living room, having changed into his fraternity sweatpants, the
New York Times
was strewn all over, and football was blaring on the television. I came out of my room, having changed into my own sweats, stood in the doorway looking at the scene, and saw my life as I’d always dreamed it would be.
“This is what it feels like to be ready,” I thought. “Sunday after church, something good-smelling in the kitchen, football on TV, and Al lounging on the floor.” I felt myself grinning at him from the doorway.
He smiled back, stood up, took my hands, and said the words I’ll never forget as long as I may live.
“I’m not looking for temporary,” he said. “And I don’t want short-term. What are you trying to do?”
“What do you mean?” I asked. I was trembling.
“I mean,” he said, “I’m no longer interested in playing around. I want
her
in my life, and if you’re not
her,
we can be friends, but I’m no longer interested in silly relationships that lead nowhere.”
I thought I’d heard myself coming back on myself. Whooooaaaa.
“Well, you have to know I’m also not interested in sport dating,” I answered. From that moment on, we started thinking of ourselves as two parts of a penny—heads and tails—total simpatico. My girlfriend Vanessa said to me, “I know why you moved forward with Al so quickly; it was because you’d been in the game long enough to know what isn’t right.”
She was right-on. When what was good came along and I was ready, it was so obvious—it was like night and day compared to the other relationships I’d had.
And—that romance. We’d talk on the phone till four o’clock in the morning. He asked about my hopes and dreams, and I’d ask about his plans for the future. He said I love you for the first time when he sent flowers to
The View
for me.
I sent flowers to his Wall Street office. He sent me daily love notes by fax. I left singing messages on his voice mail. He covered the floor of my living room with a trail of roses. You want to know why I was giddy with love? It was all his fault.
Within a month of our meeting, we headed to each other’s hometowns, where we met with both families. We needed to see each other’s roots, observe each other’s witnesses. In December, we seriously began discussing marriage and commitment. We told our families about our feelings, and we told my pastor, A. R. Bernard from the Christian Cultural Center in Brooklyn, New York. He began talking to us about love and commitment and fidelity. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t frightened about what was happening.
And it was happening fast. We planned to spend Valentine’s Day at the NBA All-Star Game in Los Angeles. Al picked me up at the TV studio, and we headed, I thought, to the airport, but no—it appeared the car was heading back toward my house. He’d forgotten something he needed. The whole way home, I was “flapping those jaws,” as Al likes to say.
Coming into my apartment, I stopped short. The dining room was set with
champagne, hors d’oeuvres, and flowers. I continued talking and fussing as I walked into the living room, and there they were, my whole family—parents, sister, and nephews. Al had brought them all to New York so they could be present at this vital moment in my life. I couldn’t believe it.
He dropped to one knee and promised to love me the rest of my life.
You gotta love a guy like that.
Then, he gave me a promise ring.
What? That didn’t thrill me. The engagement ring was going to come in LA, he said, when he “formally” asked me to marry him. I wanted to know when. He told me I’d have to wait and see.
At the Staples Center in Los Angeles, the buzzer rang out, starting the fourth quarter of the game, and Al again dropped to one knee in front of TV viewers and twenty thousand screaming fans and asked me to be his wife.
I said yes. Actually, I said it six times—“Yesyesyesyesyesyes!”
By the way—you know that day I told you about when Al arranged to have my family in New York when he asked for my hand in marriage? I found out later (from my mother, not from Al) that Al took my parents to breakfast that morning and laid out our future for them. He told them about his finances, his hopes, his dreams, and his plans for us as a couple. He had of course discussed these subjects with me, but to know that he had the strength of character to have the discussion with my parents prior to asking me to be his wife filled me with a wonderful sense of security and love. He’s the real thing—I know it like I know my name.
How Do You Really Know if He’s the One?
I used to date a guy who was wonderful, but he despised sports. He could not sit down and watch a basketball game with me for anything. I could never have married him any more than I could have married a guy with no spirituality in his heart. After Al and I were married, there came one Sunday afternoon during the NBA finals. Al had been traveling; I was coming back from the Hamptons. We met at the door, undressed, and got into our bed and turned on the Pistons and the Spurs and sat there and yelled at the TV. “Baby, what is wrong with him?
What is that kind of shot?” That was Al. And I’m going back at him, “Oh, please, they’re not playing team ball. That’s the problem!” And we’re going back and forth, back and forth, and back and forth. I could not have lived without that back and forth.
Bishop T. D. Jakes of the Potter’s House, a nondenominational church in Dallas, Texas, once gave a sermon in which he was trying to explain to a group of young women how you could pick and choose the man in your life. “How do you know that he’s
the one?”
asked Bishop Jakes.
And then, that great spiritual leader answered his own question.
“I’ll tell you how you know if he’s the one. I want you to close your eyes and think of the very worst day of your life, the day you lower one of your parents into the ground. Doesn’t get any worse than that, does it? Doesn’t get any worse. Your mama, the person who’s always there for you, put into the ground. Now, the guy you’re seeing? Is he the guy who’s standing there next to you with his arm around you? If you can’t see him there on that bad day, he ain’t the one.”
I can honestly tell you from the moment I met Al, I knew that on that bad day when I could not hold myself up, he’d be the one who would hold me up. I could not imagine another person holding me up.
Here are four other ways you can tell if he’s the one:
Personal Stuff
The things I’m about to tell you next are really quite intimate and personal, but I’ve decided to do it because they go to the heart of my heart. Ordinarily, I’m pretty close mouthed about my private life, but I want to be totally candid here. I also want to say that although I’m convinced that the way we came to deal with sexuality and morality before our marriage is the most wonderful way, still, it is our way and it may not be yours. That’s fine—we each find our own path. But, oh, how it’s worked for us.
Most of my girlfriends are Christian, and even those who aren’t have a certain spirituality that sustains them through everything. We often talked about the dynamic of dating as adult women and having physical and emotional needs met during this time, but still wanting—and usually failing—to be obedient to God’s word to have sex only within the context of marriage. Back and forth, and back and forth we’ve debated this point. It is true that at many given times, some of us had taken on short periods of celibacy. Maybe we were between boyfriends. Maybe we felt we’d just gotten out of a crappy relationship and needed to take a break. Then, there are some women who just can’t be without a man—I don’t know if it’s physical or emotional. There are a whole lot of reasons.
One of our best reasons, we thought, for
not
being celibate was that most of us were not kids, and we’d arrived at that stage in life where sexuality seemed too easy and too natural to ration it out.
We were wrong. If you really think about it, there should be defined stages to any relationship that’s going to last beyond the “running toward each other in slow motion” phase. The “wham, bam, let’s fall into bed” mentality was easy, but it wasn’t working for most of us. Our relationships were shallow, and the sex wasn’t all that great. One night in Bible study, Pastor Bernard shared a heavy concept with the bible study group that Al and I attended, and a lightbulb went off in my head. Sexual intimacy ought to be earned, we learned; a relationship is better primed to last when friends, not strangers, fall into bed.
The stages Pastor Bernard talked about are described below: when you skip any one stage to jump ahead in the relationship, I think you’re setting yourself up for failure.
Stages of a Lasting Relationship