I Still Do, Too.

Let’s see how quickly I can get these thoughts to “paper” while Jeff is making my favorite…pizza.


How many words flood my mind when I hear the word?

Oh so so so many.

What words flood yours?

My husband married a difficult woman. I’m no walk in the park. I’m more of a scramble with a 3,000 ft. elevation gain and I definitely had a ten-second head start.

But at least I keep his heart in shape.

Really though, I married the best of the best, and together we get to lay the foundations for the husbands we hope our sons to be some day.

Someone asked me recently how we weather marriage. I thought it an interesting question because most of the time I feel like the weather is constantly changing and I can’t keep up with whether to grab an umbrella or lay out my lawn chair to catch the sun rays of an easy season.

Our children definitely help us weather it. They are so gosh darn in tune to what is happening, what is being said, what’s being left unsaid, our body language, whether we’ve danced in the kitchen that day or laughed at one another’s dry jokes…they pick up on everything we put down and it does catch up to us — both the good and glorifying, and the hard and humbling.

Marriage is everything holy-becoming or holy-denying and we’ve learned through four and a half years that its everything non-apathetic. You can’t be apathetic and be alive in your marriage, it just doesn’t compute.

I think one thing that has stuck out to me lately is that even in the really, really hard of marriage, I feel the most alive.

When Jeff pushes my buttons it reminds me that I’m my own person, with my own brain, and my own way of thinking.

When I push Jeff’s buttons it shows me that I’m imperfect and kind of selfish and definitely full of sass and I need to (sometimes) tone it down.

And in the deeper conflicts of our marriage journey, it shows me just how alive I am, because all of the living are slowly dying, which points me to my greater need and longing for my Savior. Can you resonate with that at all?

It might sound a little depressing, but I think it’s actually quite liberating.

To be alive enough to feel and experience anger and sadness, disappointment and frustration, short tempers and bitterness, selfishness and tension… enables you to more fully know the wonder in joy and peace, intimacy and connection, being known and adventure, high on friendship and pride in your person.

And while I might appreciate the mundane of day to day things, I never want to live mundane in the most holy covenant I’ve made this side of heaven. I’m thankful I chose a man who promises the same.

And who prays, out loud with me, every day.

Friends, if you don’t have a praying man/woman in your spouse, have a chat. That is how we fight for our marriage, how we fight for others, how we first go to war for our children, how we hunker down in the trenches for the world and lace up our bootstraps.

Pray, pray, pray.

So Jeff, if you’re reading this (which you always do), thank you.

Thank you for telling me I’m beautiful even when I feel frumpy and unbecoming.

Thank you for your silly jingles that aren’t passive aggressive but actually quite blunt and brilliant.

Thank you for choosing me over and over again even when my actions and words and stubbornness don’t make you feel chosen.

Thank you for saying sorry, most of the time always first.

Thank you for providing a safe, stable and steady home-life for our babies. Gosh, they have a calm in you.

Thank you for telling me no, drawing boundaries and thinking with reason.

Thank you for never uttering divorce.

But also, still dreaming with me for the big things we believe for.

Thank you for kissing me to bed every night even when I roll over in defiance.

Thank you for never ever letting the sun set on your anger and choosing God over me every, stinkin’ day.

Thank you for being you.

You are more than enough for me.

Even if you aren’t that enthusiastic, a lot of routine, are going partially deaf before you even turn thirty, and still leave the toilet seat up.

Heh, I love you my bearded man.

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