Serving My Marriage

                                                                                                                          *Photo by the amazing Kara Stewart

I do not want to be a part of the disintegration of my marriage.

I want to build what I could easily destroy.  Love what I could hate.  Serve when my expectations would want to be served.  Be present when I want to avoid. 

This man I married, may I always love him, encourage, protect, speak well of, give wholeheartedly, demand less, thank more, and always delight and arouse him.

This is my heart as a wife. 

They say it takes two to break a marriage.  I don't want any part in it.  I don't want a list of reasons or excuses.  When he fails me, may I remember his destiny.  Let my words always see ten steps ahead.  I don't want to be a woman pointing at what is before me, but one who reminds him of where he is going.  I don't want a list of reasons or excuses, why I deserve different.  There is no better than what I have.  I promised my life to this union and each day I want to live fully committed to this man.

So when we lie in bed and I remember we haven't taken the kids to the bathroom, I jump up and take them, without pushing the equally exhausted man out to do it for me.  His joy that it's taken care of, is more than reward enough.  Even when it's a close cuddle, kiss in the hair, and half asleep whispered thank you.  He is important and every way I can, I want to show him.

When our children are bickering, let me be the first to put my book or email away and stand to parent.  Despite how easy it feels in a moment to call from the other room.  Even when it feels like what I am doing is more important.  Let me not live fully dependent on him to fix every broken thing, but enjoy that when he is there he is quick to rush to fill any need.

When he acts in a way I don't agree, may I be found silent.  When I need to speak let it be privately with gentleness, love, and encouragement.  Remembering that 'a soft word turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger'.

May I always believe the best.  When I start to worry or doubt, let my heart trust what I cannot prove.  May I push my fear aside, knowing that he is all he claims to be and let my heart rest, believing he is even better.

I want to see the man he is called to be and let him work out his journey while I stand beside cheering him on.  May I never point out his flaws or weaknesses.  Simply call out his strengths, reminding him of his great destiny. 

When he is tired, may I be a place of rest.

When he is hungry, let the work of my hands nourish him.

When he needs me, may I satisfy him.

I have found that the more I pour into our marriage, the more I am blessed with in return.  He is quick to surround and encourage me.  As we strive for the other’s best we each reap so great a reward.  It is not in the desperation of personal need that achieves gain, but the delight in serving what is not asked or expected.  We each are the others best defense and greatest support.

It takes two, but you won't find my hands pulling this apart.  I want to give my life to be the best choice he has ever made.  He is the best decision of my life.  So, when you see me building and strengthening, it is because I'm shoring us up for all the storms that life brings.  That when they come we are safe in a house built on a solid foundation.

Let grace sustain, faith lead, hope direct, and trust surround this tender journey of two becoming one.

Spring Has Come Early.

Here, now I stand.  I look and survey this life.  It's ups and downs, mountains and valleys.  All of the trials and joys that break and sustain us.  They come in waves.

The last few months have been beyond difficult, they have pulled me to my knees and broken me apart.  It was the grand finale to years of being displaced, waiting and hoping to settle, to find a home.

And home is coming.

I am excited, beyond terrified, blessed, and hopeful to announce that we are finally moving to Redding.  This week.

God has opened huge doors and rained blessing over us.

We are coming home with joy and celebration.

The long season of emptying and loneliness has ended.

Spring has indeed sprung.

I am amazed at God's goodness, his provision.  To credit this new transition to anything other than God's hand is to miss his opulent love, his unwavering faithfulness.

I have walked through the last few years, staring at God's face.  Eye to eye, ear to ear, desperate, hungry, and constantly unsatisfied.

I have grown in my ability to trust.  To rest, when hope has evaded me.  I have learned to let Jesus come close and breathe when my breath has gone out.

The last few weeks, as I have doubted and grown discouraged, I have been faced with a choice; wallow or choose joy.  As I delight in the goodness of God when nothing in life has changed, there is a mighty strength that sustains.  Grace has met me when I was most undeserving.

I am so excited to settle.  To stretch out our roots.  To give my children the joy of stability, the delight of family and friends.

I am terrified to relearn my place here, to find myself, after wandering in the wilderness.

Yet, in all of this, I have learned to walk, hopeful and trusting.  To rest when life comes, to laugh in chaos, and delight in the ache of waiting.

Looking forward to getting some consistency in our lives and sharing with you some of the lessons I've learned over the last four years of hardship and transition.

I may rest for a while.

Blessings to you in whatever season you find yourself.

In The Night.

There has been a lot of holding on.

A lot of breathing deep.

The last few weeks, stretching into months have been an unending seam of hope and waiting.  It is said when hope is deferred the heart becomes sick.

I have felt that sickness, felt the sinking into my bones of nothingness.  When life becomes motion and joy a memory.

How do you fight what weighs you down and hides the sun?

Each night as we lie shoved on mattresses pushed together, hot bodies of our children cuddled close, and suffocate a bit in the room piled with what we've deemed necessity - our hands find each other.

They say when you get married you will wed this person in richer or poorer in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad times.  You build a life that seems blissful, yet everything they do or say is wrong and you chip and chip at each other.

Then hard things come and all those chips either tear down or mend.

It never comes when it's expected, this thing called life, that shows up at the most inconvenient times and throws you in the sand.

When you're struck with a battle you hope you've learned the skills to fight successfully or the wiles to survive unscathed.

In this season, I have neither been successful nor unscathed.  I have weathered and feared.  I have hoped, lost hope, and chosen to rest, to trust when my eyes can't see.

I have shattered.

And this man, this person I married, so many years ago, has stood ever faithful by my side.  He has endured, he has believed, he has not broken or despaired, he has strengthened me and encouraged me, he has loved me and held me, he has ministered and supported, all the way through this.  There is no greater hero to me than this man I call my husband.

He is a dream I have never deserved.

I hear often, women talk of their husbands and how they are not like their fathers.  I remember even thinking similar thoughts when I first married.  But, I have learned that great men are not born, they are made through the chiseling of life.  They are created by choice and perseverance.

The man you marry on your wedding day will fail you, disappoint you, anger you, and irritate you.  And if you stand there long enough - he will amaze you, sustain you, honor you, defend you, and love you deeper than you have ever hoped.

I used to tell this man, when we would fight, 'well at least we're getting stronger'.

Now, here we find ourselves, in a storm of life, the crashing and the breaking, and I have to share, I am more in love with this man now, than I have ever been.

As I watch his strength, his character, his tenacity, I am honored to be his bride.

And when we sleep in what is not our home, when all of life hangs in the balance, and we wonder if an end is near, he pulls me close and whispers I love you.

I kiss his sleeping lips in the dark night and listen to the rhythm of his heart, for a moment I breathe his breath, then I close my eyes and rest.  Here I am safe and here, I am found.

Loving every day.

Falling in love.

Before I met my husband I would daydream of the wonderful things we would do together, what our life would look like.  Sipping mojitos at the beach, staring into one another's eyes over a candle light dinner, someone to tie the Christmas tree to the top of the car, holding hands down the street, making a mad dash in the rain and laughing hysterically when we're soaking wet.

Love doesn't really happen like that, and yet it does.  In bits and pieces throughout a lifetime together.  We have had momentary blips of movie perfect romance.  Yet our life is made up of the day to day.  The frustrations of a broken dishwasher, bills to pay, jobs to work, kids to care for.  Our conversations are not unending.  They are not amazing.  There are moments that we could talk for hours, lost in our own little world of togetherness, and others with nothing more than a small recant of the day before returning to our own devices.

At this point in our marriage, every story has been told one thousand times, our kisses are common, our love is quiet.  

We are coexisting.  We don't have a lot of magical, knock your socks off moments.

Our love is steadfast.

We laugh and we talk.  We make dinner and go on walks.  We play frisbee.  We cuddle on the couch and work near one another.  

I remember when I watched other's marriages in this stage and I wondered if they loved each other.  

When the sparks and fire are gone, what's left?  I have found it is a slow and steady burning.  The coals are hot, but the flames are dormant.  

It may seem as if I am making our marriage sound old and worn out.  Yet it is so far from that.  It simply isn't the exciting, heady arousal of new love.    

We have fallen into a rhythm of love.  We know each other, like a favorite sweater that fits perfectly.  We drink our marriage like a well aged wine, slow, lingering, tasting each sip, and savoring the complexities of merging flavors. 

I tend to be the one in the relationship that needs more reassurance.  I want things to be picture perfect, always.  We fight and I wonder if we've lost the love.  We don't talk beyond good morning and good night and I worry we are falling out of sync.  

I get in my head.  And that is the worst place you can go.  You see, your mind will lie to you and play tricks on your heart and emotions.  We could go days with nothing more than a quick kiss on the way out the door and my husband will be perfectly happy.  He never frets about our marriage.  He is in it hook, line, and sinker.  I'm the one wondering when it's going to end.  A heart stretched tense by watching others walk out the door, keeps me from getting too comfortable in any relationship setting.  

It has taken me too long to realize I am the one putting pressure on this to be perfect.  To be movie scene awesome at every turn.  And when it's not, I'm cueing the departure music in my head.  

Because my head is a dangerous place to go.  It turns tricks and breaks apart what I love most.  

Marriage is a beautiful and mighty union.  It holds and teaches, strengthens and grows.  It is also a choice.  Each day you choose to prefer, to love, to give, to nurture, to sacrifice, to enjoy this life side by side.  It will take chunks out of your dreams, the illusion of a life together.  Until you realize that in its imperfection, its boring day to day, there is astounding beauty.  There is strength like iron, gut wrenching joy, peace, mercy, a grace you didn't realize you deserved or were capable of giving.

Don't let go, if you wake up and look at your spouse, remembering the person you fell in love with and wondering where they went.  Don't feel discouraged when the weight of life crushes and grows you.  Each day you choose to walk hand in hand, to not falter when the other falls, to not give up when they look away, to not judge when they lose hope, to love fully without worry of return.

Love.

It is the beautiful irony of time, holding two together, while everything desperately tries to tear them apart.

                                                                                                 

An imperfect life.

I am a wannabe perfectionist.  I like the idea of doing everything perfectly.  I like order.  I like things to be exactly correct all of the time.

I find that I am often obsessing about how to pull myself more completely together.  How I should be better.  How I should actually stick to those lists I love to make.

In reality, I am shamefully imperfect.  I try.  And try.  And try.  And fail.

Then I feel discouraged and sad.

I really ought to be better.  But, I'm not.

I should admit here that I find the post "Messy house, but we have love, laughter, life" - thoroughly annoying.  I know that's' not exactly how it goes, but you get the drift.   I like a clean house with love, laughter, life.

I have two children.  I am a stay at home mom.  This is very feasible.  Yet, I've found that very often I am pushing my children away so I can clean.  I'm working so tirelessly at something that really doesn't matter that much.

I know it's not perfect, but I've let my house go.  My husband is amazing, he simply smiles and tells me it looks like a lot of life has been lived in our home.  And it has.

We live.  Sometimes it's perfectly clean, but usually there is a line of toys from one room to another.  There is a stack of books that need to be mended and there is always laundry.

I am not perfect.

I'm not even a perfect mom.  Sometimes I get frustrated.  I have found it's easier to react than teach.  I try very hard to teach.  Sometimes I react.

When I go out, I look like a mom.  There are moments I look like a woman, but mostly it's just this mom look that hangs like a shroud.

I probably would have been mortified when I was 14 or even 21 to know that this is what I would grow in to.

I should probably be mortified to admit to you that I like me.

I like my imperfection and my messy house.  I like my kids with watermelon dripping down their chins and running to give me hugs when they're dripping wet and I'm not.

I want to be perfect.  I'm not.

I guess I'm embracing my imperfections.  Enjoying the moments of my life that grab and shake and rattle me, until I can't breathe, then collapse in the aftermath.

This is not a giving up.  Rather it's the freedom to fully enjoy this masterpiece of a life.

I don't like failures.  I would rather be imperfect than worry about failing.

My perfect little ship has sailed.  It was never really mine to begin with, just the illusion others used to whisper in my ear.  But, they are long gone and now it's the dawning of a life lived with handprints on the window.

Cause really.   Who got time for that?!

Life happens.

Photo by the amazing Heather Armstrong.

I try very hard to be a good mom.  It's important that you realize this, because I didn't plan to be a mom when I became one.  It just happened, like these things do and bam, I was pregnant.

Weird.

I feel like a teenager.

I was so young and I didn't realize.  All of my life I had tried to be older.  This annoyed my friend, because she was very mature and enjoyed every stage of her life.  She was so good at that.  I, on the other hand, lived fully in my future, shunning the rites of passage, because I decided to jump ahead and just live how I wanted, as an adult.  When you are 16 and your parents are not fully aware of you, this is possible, it is not however, a good idea.

When I was 24, I married the most amazing man.  Then all of a sudden, as I was just beginning to grow up, I got pregnant.

Then I grew up really, really fast.  Because if you're having a hard time understanding what it really means to be an adult, nothing will get you there faster than having to work for a demanding infant.  

I was always shocked at the amount of care necessary, it really was a round the clock, full time job.  There were no breaks and less gratitude.  Then because I was in it, we said, hey let's add another to this mix.  Just as it started to get easier, it got harder again.

So I grew.  I grew and I grew and I grew.  

Not in the way that many others are able to.  

Not with my stellar talents and amazing good looks.

Not with my mark left shining through the city.

Not with my degrees.

That was not my path.  I learned, as many do, in my own way.

Through broken hopes and dreams.  

Through setting myself aside.

Through pouring out every bit of me to the lives that needed it.  Then finding more and giving that too.

Through loving my husband, my children more than all I wanted to accomplish.

I let it go.  

I opened my hands and gave them to cleaning bathrooms, making dinner, washing clothes, holding babies when they cried, welcoming my husband after a long days work.  

All that I thought I was and thought would bring me value, flowed like water down the drain.

I think in moments like this, I could say I lost it all.  It's only here, I realize how much I have gained.  I didn't follow the traditional routes and am now working my way back through.  I am growing next to my children as I teach and train them.  

Life doesn't always follow a well charted path.  It dips and curves and bends.  

If you only pursue the end, you'll miss the amazing journey you've had in the process.

I have become a wife and a mother.  I've learned to let go of what I thought was the most important.

I've learned to live in the day and in the moment.  

I've learned to love more deeply and passionately than could be described.  

Here, I can say, I am living my dreams.  It is not in the tomorrows, but in each day.  The holding of my child's hand as we cross the street.  Juggling screaming children through the grocery store.  Learning to ignore the stares and sneers.  Laughing at the judgments oozing from others, because I used to judge.  

My life is not perfect.  I don't have everything I want.  

I do have everything I love.  And that is truly what counts, so you could say, I have it all.

Photo by the amazing Lacy Fontaine. 

So blessed by all of the incredible photographers I know!!  They're talent is extraordinary.  

My husband.

I took my children to the park yesterday.  We raced down slides, accosted every person with a dog, climbed too high on the monkey bars, and laughed in the brilliance of a carefree day.  As I pushed them higher and higher on the tire swing, singing happy birthday brilliantly off key, my husband came and slid his arm around me.  Soft and sweet, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me gently.  He'd been out of town for the past two days and finally caught up with us at the park.  I said hi, brushed him off, and refocused my attention on the kids.  Off and on through the night, he'd come close and I would push him away.  I knew I was being distant and I found myself frustrated with him, frustrated with myself and not really understanding why I had a wall built between us.

I could easily remember five years ago when we were living in Madison WI.  Running from the rain into old bookstores, reading on the same pier on which we would later promise forever.  Living, abandoned to our lives, joy, and passions, fully consumed with the other.  Our tiny apartment, where we would talk late into the night and wake too early to watch the people walking through the snow below, on their way to lives and jobs.  Fully catering to the other, eager to please, fascinated with the glee we found in our existence together.  

Fast forward to now, when dishes stack up, the weight of life, children, work, and constant giving out leave us empty and unable to stir up a wisp of desire for the other.  I went to bed last night, after pulling out of my funk.  Apologizing for my weirdness, we slept, our feet curled around each other and two children in between.  I felt heavy and sad.  It's easy to understand where the passion has gone, it's buried somewhere between familiarity and never enough time (alone).  It's easy to justify my pushing away when I feel constantly pressed upon to care for all the corners of our world and I've just finished doing it alone.  And it is easy to realize that if I allow this chasm between us to settle, uncrossed, unfilled, it will simply grow until the other side no longer becomes recognizable and we've buried ourselves in our separate islands of solitude.  Each caring for the family from their own retreat and the others sacrifice and effort becomes unrecognizable in the light of our own.

I could sigh and tell myself this is life.  It's what it's like with kids.  It's understandable, everyone goes through it.  Don't worry, don't press myself to change.  Eventually the kids will grow.  The season will shift and we'll find ourselves again.  But then, I have to think, that is when people look at their spouse and say 'who are you?  I don't know you anymore.'  And they turn and go their separate ways.
  

We are coming up on 5 years of marriage.  5 years, and for 4 1/2 of them we've been filled with the weight of pregnancy and kids.  We've moved 6 times and we have explored and journeyed through the far corners of this country.  We have crashed through waves.  Tag teamed in the middle of the night when colic and the flu kept us up through streaks of dawn.  We have chased through soaring redwoods.  Driven down endless stretches of winding highway.  We have climbed highest peaks.  We have shared each dream, each direction, each passion, each ambition.  We have lived fully, together.

I can say there is no one else I would rather spend my days.  There is no one else who causes my heart to drop when I see their face.  There is no one else who I love more completely, more desperately with all of my being.  And I never want there to be another.  This is it.  All of it.  This is my life and it is irrevocably connected to this man.  I would never change that. 

So, in this place I must shift.  I must transform.  I am challenging myself these 90 days to strengthen my health, to increase our finances, to promote awareness and I am going to add, to focus wholeheartedly on my marriage.  To not allow it to pass unnoticed, but to pour my affection, and attention into it.  To give of myself, without looking for repercussion.   To not allow the frustration of yesterdays, the why did you's or why nots or how comes, keep me from being free in the moment.  

Isn't that what new love is?  The dramatic fascination of another without the weight of broken promises, lack, or frustration hindering its rampant desire.  A blank slate.  The ability to love completely, without thought of the past.

Surprisingly enough I feel a curling of excitement.  Knowing that I am choosing to rewrite my thought process.  To do something new and not settle for the every day.  To live not out of reaction, but action.  

To each of you, may your days be filled with joy.