Why I celebrate marriage

Today is my parents’ wedding anniversary.

35 years. And I forgot to send a card.

Good thing I’m a writer and I can blog instead.

Also, I’m really picky about cards (see previous statement about being a writer) and I’m not sure I could find one to say what I want to say.

My parents being married for 35 years is a big deal. The kind of big deal I haven’t fully appreciated until being married myself.

Not only did they defy some serious odds. They were teenagers and expecting a baby (details I share with you only because in a few months when I turn 35, you’d put the pieces together) and THEY ARE STILL MARRIED.

I celebrate this every. single. day. Because I believe they are an exception to an all-too-common rule. (Tell me about other exceptions you know because I love a good love story.)

I don’t know all the ways they’ve struggled, but I know marriage is a struggle.

And they’ve stuck it out.

I don’t know all the ways they’ve changed, but I know marriage changes people.

And they’re still together.

I don’t know all the highlights of their married life, but I know marriage produces great joy.

And their marriage inspires me.

In world where love stories are often reduced to songs.

(I’m not hating, Taylor Swift, but you’ve got to admit, we have a point.)

Or feelings, or fairy tales, real marriages with all their pain and trials and commitment and sacrifice give me hope.

This gem from Pinterest says it well.

Source: Uploaded by user via Lisa on Pinterest

 

My parents have been married for 35 years, and that is worth celebrating.

But so is EVERY marriage that makes it another year, another month, another day.

Because marriage is hard. And two people living life together day in, day out, is a recipe for disappointment and discouragement and disillusionment.

But it’s also a recipe for redemption and grace and selflessness.

I am not the same person I was 6 years ago before I married my husband. And I won’t be the same person in 6 years that I am now.

All that to wish my parents a happy anniversary.

And to say to all my married readers, “Congratulations!”

Marriage is worth celebrating.

Every. Single. Day.

 

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5 on Friday: Love songs that reflect the reality of marriage

5 on Friday is a new weekly feature on the blog where I’ll share five things I’m reading, watching, listening to, enjoying, thinking about … you get the idea. Read the first one here.

photo courtesy of Stock Xchange (www.sxc.hu)

Valentine’s Day is next week, and while I have nothing against sappy love songs (hello, I was like Bryan Adams’ biggest fan in the ’90s), I’ve found myself drawn to love songs that show the beauty of marriage and love in spite of difficulties and hard work.

So, here are five love songs that reflect the reality of marriage.

1. “A Page is Turned” by Bebo Norman. This was our “first dance” song at our wedding.
2. “Dancing in the Minefields” by Andrew Peterson. I cry every time I hear this one on the radio.
3. “Hold Up My Arms” by Andrew Peterson. It won’t be perfect, but we need each other.
4. “The Garden” by Jason Gray. Marriage=hard work. But the fruit is worth it. (Note: This is from one of his older albums.)
5. “Fly” by Sara Groves. Remind me why you married me. Because sometimes I forget.

What would you add?

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Freaky Friday

Note: I won’t have a Saturday Smiles post this week due to a book review scheduled for tomorrow as part of a blog tour. (Be sure to check it out, though. It’s a good one!) Saturday Smiles will resume next week, as long as I don’t have another day like today.

I should have suspected the kind of day it was going to be when our son came charging into our room in the middle of the night, scared of thunder, and our daughter followed a few hours later having wet her bed. I’m protective of sleep because I seem to have had so little of it since becoming a parent five years ago and especially when entering a weekend of solo parenting. I wanted to start the weekend fresh, ready to take on the world, not already feeling like my regular coffee consumption just wasn’t going to cut it.

Pair the less-than-restful sleep with a mostly cloudy day of intermittent rain and I was ready to curl up with said coffee and a novel and ignore the rest of the world for a little while.

But today my husband had a second interview for a job he’d interviewed for earlier in the week. So, he set out early to make his third drive to Lancaster this week. And because it was raining and we only have one car (I know, this is a “First World Problems” kind of sob story, isn’t it?), we skipped morning storytime, intending to attend afternoon storytime at the library after my husband got back.

The kids and I ate lunch and checked the weather to see if we might have to walk to the library anyway. Then I got a text from my husband that he was headed home with a job offer. Good news! At least, that was my first reaction. And I wondered if maybe we’d skip the library visit so we could talk about the offer and whether or not he was going to take it.

Less than 20 minutes after the text, a couple from church stopped by with an envelope of cash for us. Just to help us out. Overwhelming. We were already planning to eat dinner out tonight so my husband could meet his ride for the weekend retreat, and I wasn’t sure we’d really be able to afford it, or for him to chip in for gas. Problem solved. Praise the Lord. The gift also gave us a little breathing room for buying some food staples.

I’ve been such a whiner lately about whether God knows what we’re facing and whether He hears our prayers and whether He even cares what we’re going through right now. Oh, He cares. I pondered this verse today: “You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast because they trust in you.”

My mind was anything but peaceful as I job searched for me while my husband was at his interview. And it became unsettled again when he got home. We spoke briefly before I hauled the kids to the library, and he told me some of the terms of the offer.

I got the kids signed in and settled in. Within minutes, Corban was asleep on my lap, the first sign that the change in routine had us all out of sorts. Minutes after falling asleep, he peed his pants, and consequently my pants, too. So, there I was sitting with a large almost-three-year-old on my soaking wet lap with a 4-and-a-half-year old on the other side of the room quietly listening to stories. And the diaper bag was in the van. So I texted my husband and asked him to come even though he’d been home only a few minutes and had barely had time to eat lunch. He showed up about 15 minutes later and I carted the boy child to the car to change his pants. I left my purse and license inside, so we couldn’t go home for me to change.  I debated whether I should go back in with wet urine spots on my pants or just wait outside in the car with Corban. I chose the Billy Madison method and went back in, pee pants and all.

We managed to make our craft and escape the library without further incident. We made it home, where we talked more about the job and I learned I had about an hour to ask questions and decide if I was on board with this next step. Here are some of the points I had to ponder:

• This is an entry-level job at Chick-Fil-A, but the owner is willing to pay my husband the highest hourly rate she can pay for that level. So, it’s not a quick financial fix for us by any means, but even with commuting for a little while, he’ll still be making more than double what he makes now. (Which if you do the math is practically nothing.)
• Holidays are their busiest times, so he can’t take vacation when most people would have vacation, like between Christmas and New Year’s Day.
• On Tuesday, my husband was not so excited about this possibility. Today, he was all for it.
• We’re not sure whether we can actually afford to move to Lancaster on what he’ll be making.
• Just before I texted him to come rescue me at the library, another place called to offer him an interview. Seriously, after months of hearing nothing from anyone, we get two in one day???
• We’ve been waiting so long on God that now it seems like we’re rushing into something.
• We only have one car, and when he works days, if we haven’t moved, the kids and I will be without wheels for most of a day.
• He won’t have to work Sundays or evenings, which was one of our main criteria for a job.

While we were talking all this out and Phil was packing for his weekend getaway, our doorbell rang. Standing on our front porch was another person from church with a box FULL of leftover food from a funeral dinner today. Like tons of food. Soup. Lunch meat. Rolls. Cheese. Stuff that hasn’t been in our fridge for a few months because we’re working with a lean budget. After he left, I lost it and started crying in the kitchen while putting food away.

God is so crazy, unbelievably, faithfully, hysterically good to us. And I am a colossal whiner.

So we decided. Phil will take this job. It is a step in the right direction, even if it feels more like a stepping stone in the midst of a raging river than a bridge across torrential waters carrying us to safety. So, yes, my graduate-degree-holding husband is going to work at Chick-Fil-A. Yes, we are Christians. Yes, we like their food. Yes, we’re glad they’re not open on Sundays. No, we don’t hate gay people.

We had already planned to eat at another Chick-Fil-A tonight because it was a convenient meeting place for Phil’s ride to the Poconos. While waiting for our food there, Phil’s future employer called to confirm. So, I thought that was funny. We ate chicken. The kids played and made friends. We met up with the rest of the guys going to the retreat. I drove the kids home in the rain and the dark.

And because the day couldn’t get any calmer, I noticed when we were just a few feet out of the parking lot that a bug of biblical proportions (you know, about two inches or so) had attached itself to the passenger window, which was down. Because it was icky looking and I didn’t want it flying around in the car, I put the window up, thinking I would trap it or kill it. I think maybe I maimed it. At the next stoplight, I put the window down a crack to see if it would fly away and instead it dropped into the car. Talk about distracted driving! I pulled over in a grocery story lot, having kept one eye on the bug and one eye on the road. I had to shake the floor mat a little to get it to fly away, but we got that problem solved.

The kids and I ended up at the grocery store at 7 o’clock on a Friday night. They were all confused because it was dark. We needed milk, mostly, and a few other things and by this time, my nerves were so fried that I snapped at the bagger when he made what he thought was a funny comment about WIC checks. “Hey, they’re no picnic for us either!” I said. I might have smiled as I said it, but at that point, I was just ready to be home.

After a minor thunderstorm, at least one child is now snuggled all tight in bed and the other one is quiet. Me? I’m headed for that novel, finally, and maybe a cup of chamomile tea.

Tomorrow is another day.

 

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For the man in my life

It’s my husband’s birthday today. To celebrate, he had knee surgery on Friday. So, his birthday weekend has been part celebration, part recuperation, total exhaustion.

So, even though he’s been taking narcotic painkillers and resting on the couch most of the weekend, I enticed him out of the house for a birthday date night: matinée showing of The Dark Knight Rises and never-ending pasta bowls at The Olive Garden.

While birthdays usually give me reason to reflect on the people I love (see this post about my mom for her birthday, which is also today) the surgery and recovery have made me extra-reflective. Words are my gift, and often that feels cheap. I won’t offer excuses for chances to brag on the people I love, though.

I used to think I was independent. Sometimes I still am. But I’ve learned that it’s okay to be dependent. And I’m definitely dependent on my husband. I had to take out the garbage this weekend, which was no big deal really, just something he usually does. (I don’t care how liberated or equal women are; garbage will always be a man’s job in my world.) And he’s my emotional — and sometimes physical — backup when the kids are getting out of hand. This weekend, I had to handle much of the discipline and control myself. Even if Phil was physically present, he couldn’t always assist. I’m thankful for the partnership in this.

I’ve highlighted this before, but my husband is amazingly creative at repurposing leftovers and making something out of the random contents of our cupboards. This weekend, he thought to take leftover beef  tongue (yes, you read that right) and turn it into a Philly cheese steak type of sandwich. It was better than the first go at beef tongue (which really wasn’t that bad, either).

He loves to read, almost as much as I do, and we share snippets of what we’re reading with each other. (And he watches Downton Abbey with me. I don’t even have to twist his arm.)

He doesn’t give up even when the chips are down, as they say. He has diligently, faithfully searched for jobs and sent out resumes for months. We might finally have a lead. And he’s comfortable enough with our relationship and trusts in God’s provision to let me work when I have opportunity. We are equal partners, and I love him for that.  We’re a team. And he’s sometimes more passionate about me following my dreams than I am. He believes in me and in the gifts God has given me.

He is firm and loving with his kids. He cares enough about his daughter’s modesty and manners to instruct her to keep her dress down and close the bathroom door when she’s going potty. He steps in to correct our son when he’s playing too rough with the ladies in his life. And he wrestles the ornery out of him before bedtime.

He dreams big and has visions for life and ministry. He keeps me going when I can’t see through the fog of uncertainty.

He’s got better fashion sense than I do. He wouldn’t necessarily give Clinton Kelly a run for his money on What Not to Wear, but he also probably would never end up on that show in the first place.

He feeds my spirit of adventure. Watching the Olympics pained us both because we’d love to travel to Europe together. (We’ve both been there before we knew each other.) We want to see the world and experience culture. And do that together.

He loves Jesus enough to turn down a job interview to sell life insurance. Not that there’s anything wrong with selling life insurance, but the presentation he heard focused so much on temporal security that he felt he couldn’t offer that without talking about eternal life. (There were more reasons than that to turn down the job interview, but this is the one that impressed me.)

He appreciates my extended family like family. He loves his extended family. He cares about keeping people connected. He’s a loyal friend and a confidante.

He’s not perfect, by any means, and we have our ups and downs like everyone.

He is, however, perfect for me, and I’m glad as ever that God intertwined our lives to make one life to live for Him. (Okay, it’s late and I’m giggling over the idea of a Christian soap opera titled One Life to Live for God.)

Happy birthday, Phil. You’re still the one for me.

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Wait! Everything’s wrong! A review of A Sweethaven Homecoming by Courtney Walsh

A week ago, the long-awaited, much-anticipated sequel to A Sweethaven Summer released. (I wasn’t the only waiting for this, right?) And I could not wait to dive in to A Sweethaven Homecoming, return to the Michigan town of Sweethaven and find out what the gang had been up to.

Earlier this year, author Courtney Walsh introduced us to Campbell, who after her mom’s death, journeys to Sweethaven to meet her mom’s core group of childhood friends and help reconnect their lives. I don’t want to spoil anything from that book, so I’ll keep the plot recap to a minimum. Let’s just say the first book left a bit of a cliffhanger, with much to be resolved.

I eagerly dug into the sequel, which focuses more on country music star Meghan Rhodes’ battle for her kids in a not-so-sweet homecoming to Sweethaven. I trudged through the first chapters, not because they were poorly written but because no one was happy. This book is FULL of hard situations. Broken relationships. Insecurity. Feelings of helplessness, bitterness and unforgiveness. At one point in the story, a character says, “God, what is going on? Everyone I love is hurting right now.”

I. Am. So. There.

When I read, I often want to escape the reality of life. As the characters struggled and struggled and struggled some more, I just wanted to put the book down and walk away because I didn’t want to hurt anymore. (I know, it’s just a story, but man, do I love these characters.)

Isn’t that how life is sometimes?

What’s great about this story is that the characters make hard decisions. They do unexpected things: like forgive the unforgivable. They reconcile. They choose to fight for what’s important. They love, even when they aren’t loved in return. They take risks. I was especially impressed with the love and commitment the men in this book demonstrate. They don’t give up on their women who have issues. (There are men like this out there. Don’t give up on the male of the species, ladies.)

And they learn that some things are worth the pain.

So, lest you think I didn’t like this book, let me leave no doubt: TOTALLY WORTH IT.

In fact, I find myself a little sad right now because I finished the book so quickly and had to leave the town of Sweethaven for a couple of more months until the finale, A Sweethaven Christmas, releases.

I’ve heard said that great authors create a world readers don’t want to leave. Walsh has created a charming, inviting, homesick-inducing world with Sweethaven. I want to hug the ladies featured in the book and learn from them. (Am I weird?) I want to eat Adele’s food (she’s kinda like Paula Deen) and see Campbell’s photography and attend Jane’s Bible study and hear Meghan’s songs and drink Luke’s coffee. (Okay, so he’s not a lady, but he does figure into the plot.)

A hearty “well done, friend” to the author.

And to fellow readers, this is a series you don’t want to miss.

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For the detours of life: Review of Heart Echoes by Sally John

I’m a day late with my book review this week. Our son was sick and spent most of the day sweating and sleeping on my lap. Which means I had time to finish a book while watching The Olympics. (Talented, I know.)

The book was this one:

I’ve never read Sally John’s books before. And although this is the third in her Side Roads series, it would seem that you’re not “out of the loop” having not read the first two. Looks like the other two have different characters but contain similar themes about marriage. (A side note: I learned that Sally John grew up in Moline, Illinois, just a hop, skip and a jump from my hometown of Dixon, Illinois. Though she lives in California now, I will forever claim kinship with her for her midwestern roots.)

Heart Echoes starts with an earthquake and never lets up in intensity. Teal Morgan is trapped in traffic when the quake hits. Her husband, River, is home, trapped under a stack of bins in their garage. Daughter Maiya is nowhere to be found. They all physically survive the quake; it’s the aftershocks that almost destroy them.

Teal has been hiding the identity of Maiya’s father for all of her daughter’s 16 years. River, her stepdad, is the father Maiya never had, but she’s at an age where she starts questioning and seeking. River lost his first wife and unborn son in an accident a decade earlier and the quake stirs in him feelings of loss and the risks of love. Their lives were headed in a predictable direction before the quake. Now, they find themselves on a detour none of them asked for.

Their journey to truth, wholeness, joy and a beautiful life is intense and heartbreaking at times. This story reaches deep inside to our darkest parts and brings them into the light of love. It’s not always pretty, but it is beautiful.

Like life, itself.

Bravo, Sally John. You have drawn a picture of marriage that is gritty and untidy and insecure yet flourishes with patience, commitment and love.

I’m a new fan.

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Wait for it

Sometimes, I wonder what God is up to. And why I can’t see it.

Last month, Phil and I took a few days apart from the world, in the woods of Cowans Gap State Park, to celebrate a bunch of  milestones for our family. We drove up to this overlook, expecting a scenic view. Instead, we got fog.

Lots of fog. And the view we had hoped for was hidden from us.

We sat for a bit because we really had nowhere else to be. And as we waited, something happened.

Gradually, we could see green. The rolling mountains I’ve come to love in our region of the world.

We caught a glimpse of what the fog was hiding.

The longer we waited, the more we could see. We pointed to hills as they peeked through the clouds. We identified farms and roads and houses. And although we never saw the whole view clearly, without the cloud covering, we could imagine what we were missing. We saw evidence of what we could not fully see.

So it is when we live by faith. Phil and I are still clueless about where this journey is taking us. We climbed this metaphorical mountain hoping to see something extraordinary only to find the view cloudier than ever. Having an obstructed view of the future can be frustrating. Maddening, really. I have found myself mad at all sorts of people and institutions and God, Himself, for the current state of things in our life. Like Naomi, in the Bible’s book of Ruth, who returns to her homeland a widow and childless with little hope for the future, I want my name to be “bitter” not “pleasant.”

I want to see the view I was promised!

And God, ever gentle, ever patient, says, “Wait.”

“Don’t give up.”

“Don’t trust in only what you can see.”

“Wait for it. It’s coming.”

So, we’re waiting. Waiting for the clouds to clear. To give us a glimpse of what lies ahead.

Waiting so often feels like inaction to me. I want to DO something. I want to act. To fix. To restore. To rebuild. To forge ahead. (And sometimes run over anyone who stands in my way.) And when that doesn’t work I want to retreat. To withdraw. To escape. To close my eyes and hope that whatever trouble we’re facing will go away on its own without me.

And all the time, God is telling me to “wait.”

Waiting. Can you think of anyone who waits well? I’ve imagined what that looks like. I wrote a poem about it, and our local library picked it as one of the winners in its annual contest. Here it is.

Waiting

I showed up on time,

so I thought.

He’s late.

Or is he?

Have a seat.

Get comfortable.

I’m told I’ll have to wait.

How long?

No answer.

I watch the door.

When will it open?

Time passes slowly

as I watch the clock,

tap my foot,

sigh loudly.

How much longer?

Again, no answer.

Someone else comes along.

She’s waiting, too.

She doesn’t watch the clock.

She crochets.

How long do you think it will be?

It doesn’t matter.

Why?

I’ve got crocheting to do.

I’m making a blanket.

And if he doesn’t come?

She shrugs her shoulders.

I’ll have made a blanket.

Waiting might be sitting on a rock until the sun comes out and the clouds clear. Or it might be doing what you’re doing now until you’re led in a different direction.

 

Wait for it, friends.

 

I’m waiting, too.

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Love & Marriage: Reflections on five years of both

Saturday marked our five-year anniversary. Not a major milestone as far as milestones are concerned but certainly something to celebrate.

I won’t tell you it’s been easy or perfect or blissful. It’s had its moments of those. It has also been hard, imperfect and disappointing.

And worth it.

It’s a huge act of grace that no one tells you the WHOLE truth about marriage before you get married. I fear no one ever would take the vow if they knew the truth. (Similarly, I’m thankful I never saw a birth video before I was pregnant and enrolled in childbirth classes.) Had I known how ugly, exhausting and challenging marriage could be, maybe I wouldn’t have wanted to walk down the aisle. Or maybe I would have been too naive and lovestruck to believe it. (Note to self: I was too naive and lovestruck to believe it.)

Three days after Phil and I wed, we hiked a mountain.

Here we are on day 4 of married life, ready for a hearty breakfast before the descent.

When Phil first suggested this part of the trip — a daylong hike up a mountain to spend the night in a primitive cabin at the top — I didn’t hesitate to say, “Let’s do it.” Bear in mind that we are not now, nor were we then, in peak physical condition. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Looking back, our honeymoon prepared us for the next years of marriage in ways I would have never imagined.

We hiked a physical mountain …

… unaware of the mountains we would face in our marriage in the years to come.

 

We pledged to love each other, whether poor …

(our primitive cabin on the mountaintop)

… or rich

(we visited the Biltmore two days after we’d slept in the woods).

A lesson in contrast not easily forgotten.

We’ve had days when marriage feels like this …

And ones where it feels more like this …

We’ve learned that marriage requires sacrifice …

… sometimes even death (of self, of dreams, of expectations).

And it definitely takes patience, acceptance and love. I mean, those sound like no-brainers. They are easy to agree to. Much harder to live out day to day. Especially with a husband like this.

Truly, he makes the journey fun. (When I let him. I’m way more serious than I need to be.)

Five years of marriage feels a little like the morning we woke up on a mountain.

We were tired and achy from the previous day, but we’d seen some amazing views, breathtaking, really. We’d made some new friends. And it was time to move on. To head back down the mountain, continue our honeymoon and get on with our married life.

After five years of marriage, we know tired. And exhausted. And weary. We know beauty. And take-your-breath-away moments. We’re beat from the battles of two individual lives coming together to make one life yet we’re somehow stronger than we were when we started. We’ve reached a peak. And it’s time to move on.

To celebrate, Phil took me back to the woods for a combined anniversary/birthday/graduation/Mother’s Day present. (Wood is the traditional five-year anniversary gift. Isn’t he clever?)

We hiked again. 

Because we’re gluttons for punishment. And because we can’t help ourselves. I connect best with God in nature and solitude. My husband granted me both as a gift.

We found another mountain, different from the one from our honeymoon but not without its challenges.

The sign told us what to expect. “Very steep” is an accurate description.

We went ahead with it anyway. We could have backtracked and taken an easier path. “We’re not in a backtracking phase of life,” my husband reminded me, and up the mountain we went.

I sense another metaphor for our life and marriage.

I’d like to think that in the last five years, we’ve had all the trouble we’re going to have as a couple and a family. That we packed a lifetime’s worth of trials and tears into a short period so we could enjoy the rest of our married days without the hard stuff.

I’m not as naive as I once was. And I hope that doesn’t sound cynical.

We have a steep road ahead. More than one I’d imagine.

We’re going to sweat. And suffer bruises. (I got one on my hand on our latest hike. I have others on my heart.)

We will ache and hurt and moan and complain. (And NOT take anymore pictures of ourselves while hiking. Egad!)

And we will smile at the memories, even the times of not knowing how or when the hard time would end.

Because in the end, we will have seen something beautiful.

The pain will fade. The hurts will heal, if we let them.

And we will sigh in satisfaction, knowing we did something hard and survived.

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Saturday smiles: short and sweet edition

This week’s highlights:

Phil and I spent two nights in this rustic cabin in Cowan’s Gap State Park. It was a birthday/Mother’s Day/graduation/anniversary getaway trip. And it was perfect.

We hiked.

You might be able to smell the sweat. In this picture we had just climbed a trail marked “very steep.” Note to self: “very steep” in Illinois is not the same as “very steep” in Pennsylvania.

We encountered nature.

Cute, right? It might be poisonous, but the first one of these I saw, I thought it was a toy a kid had left on the trail. Then it moved.

Yep, I need to  be in nature  more often.

The snakes, however, I had no problem believing were real. I love seeing my husband watch creatures we don’t usually see. He thought the snakes were cool and wanted to observe. I wanted to tiptoe around and keep making progress on the trail.

None of this back-to-nature experience would have been possible without grandparents to watch the grandkids, so that is a MAJOR smile-maker this week.

And mountain views. Oh man, did we have mountain views.

I can live the rest of the week — maybe even the month — on this.

What are you smiling about this week?

 

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Anthem Thursday: God Gave Me You

I can’t get this song out of my head this week. Phil and I are approaching our fifth wedding anniversary — five years full of ups and downs with more of each to come, I’m sure.

I know a guy sings this song (both versions) but I feel the words are true from either partner in the marriage.

Enjoy.

And for the country version …

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