31 years ago today, on the day I got married, I was 21. There was a lot I didn’t know. A lot! I look back now and can see just how utterly clueless my 21-year-old self was about life, love, and marriage. I’ve heard it said that love is blind and that perhaps it’s good that it is for no one would ever marry.
Tag Archives: marriage
My husband and I have attended countless marriage conferences and retreats. We have participated in, led, and even preached a slew of marriage studies and sermons over the years. I am also well-versed in the 5 Love Languages and I do appreciate them for their practical application of showing love to one another. I tell you all of this not to boast but to explain that while those were all good things, they weren’t enough. But when the bottom dropped out of my 30-year marriage and everything was measured with distrust, my heart longed for a deeper understanding of how I might know my husband loves me. I was reaching for a handle that could help me distinguish between the expression of love and what love actually is.
COURAGE is a much-needed quality of spirit for all of us as we face the challenges along the way on our journeys.
The very first thing God asked me to do soon after I was saved that required GREAT COURAGE was for me to go to my alcoholic and abusive father and ask for forgiveness for my responses to his actions. Whoa…I had only been a Christian for a short time when the Holy Spirit encountered me, asking me to go and ask his forgiveness. Looking back I can see that I would have gone no further without this being taken care of. God knew. So I obeyed. It was NOT easy.
Dear friends and family,
You know how “they” say, “there’s always more to the story?” Well, if I didn’t believe that before (which I did), I certainly do now.
There’s no easy way to tell you this except to just spit it out.
Due to the recent discovery of my husband’s choices, he and I have entered into a season of therapeutic separation. Our marriage is very broken. I’m sure many of you are stunned but no one could be more stunned than I.
In the earlier years of our marriage, Valentine’s Day (aka Love Day) loomed in the horizon when the calendar flipped from January to February. We waited for the day clunking aimlessly around with our unspoken and residual unmet expectations. For years, we bought into the commercialization of the day. The 15th of February came with sadness, disappointment and hurt. Our “Love Day” wasn’t always a flop but I must say that chocolate was sometimes one of the few things that turned out right. Can you relate?
My husband and I have been married for nearly three decades. Over these years, we’ve learned a thing or two from the truest form of dumb luck, some things from wise counsel and even more from the school of hard knocks. Throughout the years and tears, one thing we have learned is that love is a verb, not a day.
Dear hurting wife, I see you.
I see you because I am you.
I see your despair behind those honest but cleverly crafted Facebook posts.
I see your questions because I, too, have questions.
I see your fears for I, too, battle the all-consuming flames.
I see your utter loneliness while standing in the midst of the crowd.
Dear old husband,
I’m aware that neither of us really think of ourselves as old. I wonder if we’ll be old when we’re 80. I’m not quite sure. I don’t know what “old” is but I think we’re there and if not, we must be close because the physical signs are flashing in neon at this point. There are times when I simply can’t believe all that we’ve made it through but then there are times when I’m reminded of every single adventure as they run deep throughout my slowing bones.
I’m going to be honest with you (as I always am). This picture wasn’t taken on Valentine’s Day. I don’t know the exact day but this picture was taken in the hardest season (not exaggerating) our marriage has ever endured. I look back at it with wonder.
As I watched the video I put together of our “life so far” eight years ago for our 20th anniversary, a flood of emotions made their way to my eyes and gently trickled down my cheeks. It wasn’t like other times, though. This time the 3 minutes and 26 second photo journal concluded with a deep inhale of relief rather than exhales of grief.