Chan.
I fully blame him.
It all started with a pretty red book with a catchy title.
Guessed it?
Yup, Crazy Love.
Sheesh.
If you haven't read it, don't.
That is unless you want to stay awake at night asking yourself the big questions.
Well, I don't know if they're big or not, but it sounded right.
Stay up at night looking around you and wondering why, where and what.
Why do you have so much? Where to begin? And what do you need?
And then more...how on earth do we truly show love for our Savior, the One who shows us a seriously CRAZY LOVE?
So yeah, Francis Chan, this is all on you.
After I read that book, I really started to feel God convicting me about my lifestyle and whether it is a reflection of a loving God and my relationship with Him. I know that it was conviction and not condemnation because the thought of making changes in my life was like a weight lifted. I didn't feel depressed or guilty, although I did kick myself for taking so long to start to see these things.
But it really gave me new eyes, seeing people and the world a tiny bit more the way Jesus must see people. To Him all of my success, wealth, prosperity, it means nothing. In fact, it is rarely ever more than a distraction. How much time have I spent wrapped up in those things when I could have been hanging out with Jesus, showing others His love? Ugh...hopeless I tell you. truly I am hopeless.
So I was on a roll for all of two weeks and then I realized it was just too hard. So I distracted myself with other things. I started getting really into Bible theology and studying different denominations and beliefs, learning the differences and scouring the scriptures for the "Right" answer. I found answers to some things and others remained a mystery. And man oh man, the "right fighter" in me just couldn't stand it. I was pestering pastors and elders with my questions, my arguments, my confusion....something just wasn't fitting. There was still some little piece missing. As many questions as I had answered, I was still not content. I thought I needed to know more. I downloaded about three billion theology books, stayed up reading websites from various seminaries, devoured creeds and confessions. I was learning a lot. My knowledge bank was getting fuller and fuller.
But somehow, I still felt called to more. SOMETHING was missing.
And then by some crazy turn of events, my husband and I moved our family to Colorado to take advantage of a great job opportunity. Even though we were moving for a job, I kept telling myself and friends that God had some big plans for us and I just didn't know what they were yet. I kept having this sneaking feeling that God was taking me there for a very particular reason, other than my husband's job and the gloriously fresh air.
And in just over a month, we were off on our adventure. The first thing I noticed about Colorado was the beauty of it. Everything was just breathtaking. The Rocky Mountains on one side and the Great Plains on the other. The incredible blue skies and giant white clouds. Snow here and there. It was just gorgeous. Then, once we entered the city limits of Colorado Springs, I started to see signs of poor and homeless communities. I've talked a little bit about the demographics here so I won't bore you with that, but within the first week or two of being here I was completely overcome with this burden for the marginalized here in Colorado Springs. It was just so close, impossible to ignore. And I knew, clear as day I heard God tell me, this is why I was brought here. To learn how to live my life serving the least, loving the least as God does, sacrificing my own ridiculous luxuries and giving of myself. I started to see that God may have meant what He said literally, to serve the poor. Hmmm...what an idea.
I shared this tug on my heart with some close friends and they all suggested different books and directions, reaching out to churches, toys for tots, etc. One of the books suggested, I had waiting on my Kindle. Downloaded two years earlier. Literally. Sad, huh? Shane Claiborne's Irresistible Revolution.
Yeah. Thanks a lot Shane. I know you get this a lot, but you seriously messed up my mojo here in my little bubble. I thought that I just needed to learn more, really dissect the Bible and tear up theology. Maybe go to seminary. True story, I really looked into it. But I think I've realized that what has been missing is not knowledge, but actually living Christ's love. Living the Christian life that He showed us in His word. Wha??!!
I know. Tough stuff.
So there it is, there's the beginning. This journey is gonna get crazy, I'm pretty sure. Bear with me, or don't. It's okay.
Here goes nothing....wait, no, that's not right.
Here goes EVERYTHING!
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Friday, June 14
Monday, May 20
Rejection and Redemption
My heart is just aching...aching so much. I am crying out for the hurt and pain. Everywhere. Oh Lord, come quickly Lord. We are so broken.
When I was younger, maybe around seven, someone at school asked me what my earliest memory was. What the furthest point in my mind was...what was the very first thing I remember experiencing. I pushed hard and I thought long and a particular memory came to mind. It had played in my mind countless times for reasons unbeknownst to myself. I could remember being little and driving with my mom. I was three, almost four. I remember peering out the window and pulling up to the curb of a single story home. We walked up to the door and knocked. We went inside. I remember looking around and thinking the decor was odd...very masculine. Pictures of hunters and dogs and lots of brown furniture. Then I remember my dad coming to me, crouching down and handing me an old hot wheels van. It was orange with a black hood and a circle window on the back end. I remember the wheels were a little wobbly but it drove well and I loved toy cars.
That is my earliest memory. My first memory. The oldest story in my autobiography.
When I told the other child at school they thought it was a strange first memory. Drab and dull. Why was THAT my first memory? I had no answer. It was a boring story, but I remembered it so vividly. Which side the couch was on when I walked in. How many hallways there were. We only stayed but five minutes in that house and I don't remember every visiting that house again. So I came home from school and told my mom "I have this memory....we went to a house..." And I asked her why? Why do I remember that? What were we doing and whose house were we at? She said we were visiting one of my dad's friends.
I have replayed that memory thousands of times. Always enchanted by it and always stretching to remember a tiny bit more...but always the same exact story plays out. I still have the van. Tucked in my keepsake tote.
When I was in high school, when I was sixteen, my parents took me to lunch one day. Just me. I think they took me out of school early. We ate at Oscar's on the Pond. After we ate they suggested we walk around the pond. We never made it to the pond. We walked on the grass and my mom told me she wanted to tell me something. She asked me to sit down.
"You're pregnant, aren't you?!" I guessed.
They laughed and answered that they were not. Then they proceeded to tell me that my dad was not really my dad. My mom had made a mistake years ago and my biological father had chosen not to be a part of our lives. My mom met my dad when I was three and they were married a year later. He adopted me when I was five.
At first I laughed. I laughed a lot. I'm sure my parents were concerned...how on earth could I be laughing?! Then I started to ask questions. My parents answered some and were uncomfortable discussing others. My father's name is Bill. They didn't tell me his last name. There was no need they said.
Then when I realized my questions were making my dad feel hurt, I started to think about that van. My first memory...that was the first time I met the man that would become my daddy. Not dull or drab...life changing. Altering. The first time that little girl that was me ever received a gift from a dad, her dad.
I am so thankful that God gave me the dad that He did. He isn't perfect, but he was a wonderful dad and he stepped up and chose to be my dad when he really didn't have to. He wanted to.
But the strange feeling inside....the feeling that half of me is still a mystery, that part never goes away. The questions still sneak up, asking why didn't he want me? Why didn't he return when he said he would? Does he think about me? Do I have any other brothers or sisters? Do I look like him? Do my kids look like him? Would we get along? The nagging feeling of rejection is still there...haunting almost. And then there is guilt...because no matter what, I still had a wonderful dad and never have I wished he were someone else. This nagging feeling has nothing to do with him. There is nothing he could have done differently or that he did not do. It is just an odd thing to not know about a whole part of you. To grow up thinking you are an odd looking half Italian and realize that you are really half Australian. To always wonder. Has he changed? Is he a dad? Did he have any medical issues? Does he have asthma? Does he love to read and is he good at spelling?
It is so silly...but it's real nonetheless. And my heart hurts when I hear stories similar to and exponentially more hurtful than mine. Stories of children who don't know their fathers or mothers, whose parents have abandoned them or lived lives too selfish to afford to keep their children. Stories of children who grew up thinking one thing only to learn another. Stories of children alone in the system. I cannot relate to most of these children, but I can relate a tiny bit to the feeling of emptiness and rejection. Just a tiny bit. Because I didn't actively live out being rejected, I don't remember watching my father walk out the door and waiting for him to never return. I don't remember my mother's tears. I only know the feeling that I had when my parents told me the truth at sixteen. And the rippling feelings since then. And those still hurt. i cannot imagine the pain that other children feel. But I can also relate a tiny bit to the joy and gratitude a child can feel when chosen by someone who does not have to choose you. A feeling of redemption. Ahhh...so sweet, isn't it?
When I was younger, maybe around seven, someone at school asked me what my earliest memory was. What the furthest point in my mind was...what was the very first thing I remember experiencing. I pushed hard and I thought long and a particular memory came to mind. It had played in my mind countless times for reasons unbeknownst to myself. I could remember being little and driving with my mom. I was three, almost four. I remember peering out the window and pulling up to the curb of a single story home. We walked up to the door and knocked. We went inside. I remember looking around and thinking the decor was odd...very masculine. Pictures of hunters and dogs and lots of brown furniture. Then I remember my dad coming to me, crouching down and handing me an old hot wheels van. It was orange with a black hood and a circle window on the back end. I remember the wheels were a little wobbly but it drove well and I loved toy cars.
That is my earliest memory. My first memory. The oldest story in my autobiography.
When I told the other child at school they thought it was a strange first memory. Drab and dull. Why was THAT my first memory? I had no answer. It was a boring story, but I remembered it so vividly. Which side the couch was on when I walked in. How many hallways there were. We only stayed but five minutes in that house and I don't remember every visiting that house again. So I came home from school and told my mom "I have this memory....we went to a house..." And I asked her why? Why do I remember that? What were we doing and whose house were we at? She said we were visiting one of my dad's friends.
I have replayed that memory thousands of times. Always enchanted by it and always stretching to remember a tiny bit more...but always the same exact story plays out. I still have the van. Tucked in my keepsake tote.
When I was in high school, when I was sixteen, my parents took me to lunch one day. Just me. I think they took me out of school early. We ate at Oscar's on the Pond. After we ate they suggested we walk around the pond. We never made it to the pond. We walked on the grass and my mom told me she wanted to tell me something. She asked me to sit down.
"You're pregnant, aren't you?!" I guessed.
They laughed and answered that they were not. Then they proceeded to tell me that my dad was not really my dad. My mom had made a mistake years ago and my biological father had chosen not to be a part of our lives. My mom met my dad when I was three and they were married a year later. He adopted me when I was five.
At first I laughed. I laughed a lot. I'm sure my parents were concerned...how on earth could I be laughing?! Then I started to ask questions. My parents answered some and were uncomfortable discussing others. My father's name is Bill. They didn't tell me his last name. There was no need they said.
Then when I realized my questions were making my dad feel hurt, I started to think about that van. My first memory...that was the first time I met the man that would become my daddy. Not dull or drab...life changing. Altering. The first time that little girl that was me ever received a gift from a dad, her dad.
I am so thankful that God gave me the dad that He did. He isn't perfect, but he was a wonderful dad and he stepped up and chose to be my dad when he really didn't have to. He wanted to.
But the strange feeling inside....the feeling that half of me is still a mystery, that part never goes away. The questions still sneak up, asking why didn't he want me? Why didn't he return when he said he would? Does he think about me? Do I have any other brothers or sisters? Do I look like him? Do my kids look like him? Would we get along? The nagging feeling of rejection is still there...haunting almost. And then there is guilt...because no matter what, I still had a wonderful dad and never have I wished he were someone else. This nagging feeling has nothing to do with him. There is nothing he could have done differently or that he did not do. It is just an odd thing to not know about a whole part of you. To grow up thinking you are an odd looking half Italian and realize that you are really half Australian. To always wonder. Has he changed? Is he a dad? Did he have any medical issues? Does he have asthma? Does he love to read and is he good at spelling?
It is so silly...but it's real nonetheless. And my heart hurts when I hear stories similar to and exponentially more hurtful than mine. Stories of children who don't know their fathers or mothers, whose parents have abandoned them or lived lives too selfish to afford to keep their children. Stories of children who grew up thinking one thing only to learn another. Stories of children alone in the system. I cannot relate to most of these children, but I can relate a tiny bit to the feeling of emptiness and rejection. Just a tiny bit. Because I didn't actively live out being rejected, I don't remember watching my father walk out the door and waiting for him to never return. I don't remember my mother's tears. I only know the feeling that I had when my parents told me the truth at sixteen. And the rippling feelings since then. And those still hurt. i cannot imagine the pain that other children feel. But I can also relate a tiny bit to the joy and gratitude a child can feel when chosen by someone who does not have to choose you. A feeling of redemption. Ahhh...so sweet, isn't it?
Thursday, May 16
Jesus loved sinners
So here it is, here's the skinny, just for the sake of writing it down.
We are now in Colorado! Eek! Hubby found a great job here and off we went. Things are going well, as well as expected. I am loving so much of Colorado and burdened by the other part. We found a home in a wonderful area, though it is very old and barely a hop skip and a jump away from other areas where the homeless will find shelter in an unlocked car.
The whole city is really like that. Incredible, lovely and amazing areas and then a couple houses down the street tiny houses with windows and doors barely hanging on. There are so many men and women lining certain streets, obviously in dire need of a clean jacket and a new pair of shoes.
When skies open with rain or snow, you can see them scurry to and huddle under various freeway overpasses. I was at a laundromat the other day and a woman was telling her daughter in law how she had left her car unlocked overnight and came out in the morning to find an old man sleeping inside. Nothing was disturbed or missing, he was simply trying to find a warm, dry place to rest his head. She said he thanked her for the place to sleep when she woke him up.
Later, at the natural food store next door to the laundromat, I found myself rubbing elbows with some of the more upper class of the Springs.
I find it curious, yet extraordinary to watch how closely these economic polar opposites coexist.
It has always been such a distant issue where I have lived. There were wealthy, middle class and sort of struggling and one or two bums at a street corner here and there. It is different here. It is grabbing me.
We have been living in an exquisite resort. A one hundred year old hotel whose history is as rich as the flooring and furniture. There are endless hallways to explore and countless employees eager to share a story or two. We have truly enjoyed living the "suite life." Late nights by the over sized outdoor fireplaces, hot chocolate every night, dining on the patio for breakfast, lunch and dinner, feeding birds, watching deer, swimming, walking around the lake, playing checkers, bowling, video games and going to the movie theatre...all without ever leaving the property. And of course, I don't need to mention room service, housekeeping and valet services...it has been grand, a luxury, an experience that we would never have had on our own. And I am so very thankful for this grand time that I have been able to sit back and just be with my children. We have been busy still, of course, moving to a new state comes with a long list of to-do's. But without the distractions of regular housework and chores in between, I have spent many hours playing board games with my children, reading to them, exploring and just being together. For that, I am filled with gratitude.
However, my heart has also been so torn! Here I am among some of the most elite of society in Colorado, if not some of the most elite in the world. You think I am exaggerating? Oh no friends, Prince Harry was a guest here this past weekend. My husband prepared his dinner one night. I am not telling a tale. And I dare to tread on this topic that involves wealth and upper class society...I hope that my heart's musings are not misconstrued and not used in a hurtful way, but rather just an examination of self. As I have watched so many people come and go, tossing money around so easily, and then spent the next afternoon playing with the poorer children at the laundromat, I just can't help but wonder how it is so unevenly split? Now, I am not at all saying that wealth should or should not be evenly distributed...I am definitely not trying to get into that argument. I believe in hard work and that you sow what you reap.
No...not my point in the slightest.
I am merely explaining some of my own heart's concerns. I couldn't help but think of the times that Jesus reached out to the poor, the sick, the weak. About the times He warned the rich. Jesus loved the lowest members in society. He dined with them. He called them to Him. He washed their feet. Jesus loved sinners. Harlots. Liars. Adulterers. These were the type of people that made up our Biblical heroes. These are the "greats" that God chose to serve Him. And then He commanded us to love. To love our neighbors. Not just the hardworking, bill paying neighbors with their lawns mowed and their children's hair cut neat....no, there is no exclusionary statement in His commandment. He simply said Love them.
Of course He knew we never could. He knew that we would never want to or even try to. Nevertheless He plucked us up and put His spirit within us, His spirit to love others.
I am feeling His love when I see these dirty faces with missing teeth. I can see His hands reaching towards them. It would be easy to close my eyes or even just stay in this bubble...this bubble that is only beauty and perfection. To walk beside people who are also in this bubble, to make friends with people in this bubble. That would be easy...and fun, I'm sure. But Jesus has called me to be His hands and feet...it's not a comfortable idea, but a narrow road is never very comfortable, now is it?
All of this to say, or not to say, that this place that we are privileged to be a part of for the time being...it is not bad. It is lovely. It truly is. It is one of the most pleasant, beautiful, and relaxing yet fun places I have ever been to. If you ever have the opportunity for an incredible Colorado vacation that will go down in the books forever, this is the place. Truly! ;)
I just couldn't ignore the irony of my situation...spending my days in the laundromat with the bottom of the barrel and then the evenings spent with the creme de la creme. Such an experience.
We are now in Colorado! Eek! Hubby found a great job here and off we went. Things are going well, as well as expected. I am loving so much of Colorado and burdened by the other part. We found a home in a wonderful area, though it is very old and barely a hop skip and a jump away from other areas where the homeless will find shelter in an unlocked car.
The whole city is really like that. Incredible, lovely and amazing areas and then a couple houses down the street tiny houses with windows and doors barely hanging on. There are so many men and women lining certain streets, obviously in dire need of a clean jacket and a new pair of shoes.
When skies open with rain or snow, you can see them scurry to and huddle under various freeway overpasses. I was at a laundromat the other day and a woman was telling her daughter in law how she had left her car unlocked overnight and came out in the morning to find an old man sleeping inside. Nothing was disturbed or missing, he was simply trying to find a warm, dry place to rest his head. She said he thanked her for the place to sleep when she woke him up.
Later, at the natural food store next door to the laundromat, I found myself rubbing elbows with some of the more upper class of the Springs.
I find it curious, yet extraordinary to watch how closely these economic polar opposites coexist.
It has always been such a distant issue where I have lived. There were wealthy, middle class and sort of struggling and one or two bums at a street corner here and there. It is different here. It is grabbing me.
We have been living in an exquisite resort. A one hundred year old hotel whose history is as rich as the flooring and furniture. There are endless hallways to explore and countless employees eager to share a story or two. We have truly enjoyed living the "suite life." Late nights by the over sized outdoor fireplaces, hot chocolate every night, dining on the patio for breakfast, lunch and dinner, feeding birds, watching deer, swimming, walking around the lake, playing checkers, bowling, video games and going to the movie theatre...all without ever leaving the property. And of course, I don't need to mention room service, housekeeping and valet services...it has been grand, a luxury, an experience that we would never have had on our own. And I am so very thankful for this grand time that I have been able to sit back and just be with my children. We have been busy still, of course, moving to a new state comes with a long list of to-do's. But without the distractions of regular housework and chores in between, I have spent many hours playing board games with my children, reading to them, exploring and just being together. For that, I am filled with gratitude.
However, my heart has also been so torn! Here I am among some of the most elite of society in Colorado, if not some of the most elite in the world. You think I am exaggerating? Oh no friends, Prince Harry was a guest here this past weekend. My husband prepared his dinner one night. I am not telling a tale. And I dare to tread on this topic that involves wealth and upper class society...I hope that my heart's musings are not misconstrued and not used in a hurtful way, but rather just an examination of self. As I have watched so many people come and go, tossing money around so easily, and then spent the next afternoon playing with the poorer children at the laundromat, I just can't help but wonder how it is so unevenly split? Now, I am not at all saying that wealth should or should not be evenly distributed...I am definitely not trying to get into that argument. I believe in hard work and that you sow what you reap.
No...not my point in the slightest.
I am merely explaining some of my own heart's concerns. I couldn't help but think of the times that Jesus reached out to the poor, the sick, the weak. About the times He warned the rich. Jesus loved the lowest members in society. He dined with them. He called them to Him. He washed their feet. Jesus loved sinners. Harlots. Liars. Adulterers. These were the type of people that made up our Biblical heroes. These are the "greats" that God chose to serve Him. And then He commanded us to love. To love our neighbors. Not just the hardworking, bill paying neighbors with their lawns mowed and their children's hair cut neat....no, there is no exclusionary statement in His commandment. He simply said Love them.
Of course He knew we never could. He knew that we would never want to or even try to. Nevertheless He plucked us up and put His spirit within us, His spirit to love others.
I am feeling His love when I see these dirty faces with missing teeth. I can see His hands reaching towards them. It would be easy to close my eyes or even just stay in this bubble...this bubble that is only beauty and perfection. To walk beside people who are also in this bubble, to make friends with people in this bubble. That would be easy...and fun, I'm sure. But Jesus has called me to be His hands and feet...it's not a comfortable idea, but a narrow road is never very comfortable, now is it?
All of this to say, or not to say, that this place that we are privileged to be a part of for the time being...it is not bad. It is lovely. It truly is. It is one of the most pleasant, beautiful, and relaxing yet fun places I have ever been to. If you ever have the opportunity for an incredible Colorado vacation that will go down in the books forever, this is the place. Truly! ;)
I just couldn't ignore the irony of my situation...spending my days in the laundromat with the bottom of the barrel and then the evenings spent with the creme de la creme. Such an experience.
Friday, August 5
Come What May
Never knew I could feel like this
Like I've never seen the sky before
Want to vanish inside your kiss
Every day I love you more and more
Listen to my heart, can you hear it sing?
Telling me to give you everything.
Seasons may change, winter to spring,
But I'll love you until the end of time.
Come what may, come what may
I will love you until my dying day.
Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place
Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace
Suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste.
It all revolves around you
And there's no mountain too high,
no river too wide
Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side
Storm clouds may gather,
And stars might collide.
But I love you
Until the end of time.
Come what may, come what may,
I will love you until my dying day.
Wednesday, February 23
Once upon a time, Five Years Ago...
There lived a girl. Yes, a girl.
Today Hubby and I are celebrating our five year wedding anniversary. I always see these posts and thought I'd post a tribute to us also. Five years ago today, I married my best friend and we've had three kids, two dogs, a few fish, a snake or two, a turtle, we bought our first home and our first minivan. And we've had 1,825 days of love, laughter and bliss that I would not trade or give away or change or slightly alter or do anything to because each and every moment was perfect and spent with my best friend, soul mate and lover.
Mm-kay. That's it. And they lived happily ever after, the end.
Well, that's nice in theory and kudos to all of you who have experienced marriage and family life in this way. That's fantastic and amazing and you are a great example for others to follow.
In reality, mine and Hubby's story goes a little differently. Well, one part is still the same. He was and still is, my best friend, lover and soul mate. I knew that then, and I know it more today. But the bliss and perfection part is far from the truth.
Five years ago today, I was a girl. A scared girl. A pregnant, scared girl. I was getting ready to marry a man I knew I loved, but I was unsure that I was ready for married and family life. Check out this picture of me at our wedding:
I know, right?! RELAX!
We got married at the MGM Grand in Vegas. I was five months pregnant with daughter. I was just a girl. I wasn't scared to be with Hubby for the rest of my life, I wasn't even scared to make that promise. I was scared to start the rest of my life! I was scared at the endless possibilities of ways that we could totally mess up this whole thing, not to mention our unborn daughter's life! I was scared to meld our families together. I was scared to disappoint. I was scared to miss my goals and dreams. I was scared that I'd never be able to "do life" the way I wanted to. I was scared to be so in love that I was willing to take this leap.
Well, we got married, had a nice dinner and went on with life. Soon, that day in the chapel was just a memory, something that made us smile and laugh. It was our technical beginning, but did not feel that way. Hubby and I had already given our hearts and lives to one another long before that day in Vegas. That day was a marker, a milestone in our lives together. The day that we vowed in front of six people that we would love and support one another forever.
That's why this day is special to me. Not because of the memories that come flooding back when I sit down and look through our wedding album. We have eleven pictures in the album, so really, how much memory flooding can I expect? Not because it was such a picture perfect day and there were doves and violins and rows and rows of loved ones smiling. Not because we danced to our song or spent the next week in Tahiti. No, none of those things happened.
This day is special to me because five years ago today, I showed up to my wedding "slot" (we had twenty minutes and the other couples were already lined up for before and after us), scared and anxious, unsure of my future. I walked down a very short aisle, as a woman played a song that our dog had selected from a list the chapel emailed to us a few weeks earlier. It was barely the length of a hallway in my home and it felt like an eternity. The minister, or whatever he was, was cracking jokes with Hubby and I could barely make eye contact. When I finally did reach Hubby, we turned and faced each other (with instructions from Mr. funny guy aka minister) and he took my hands in his. He looked in my eyes and smiled and a little of my anxiety melted away.
This day is special because it marks five years that Hubby has been holding my hand as I have changed from a scared girl to a woman, wife and mother. I have a life to be envious of, a Hubby that loves me and holds me, protects me and helps me, guides me and calms me. He has calmed my fears and shown me a future together, one that I need not be fearful of. I am so thankful to married to this man, a man that loves me unconditionally, a man that presses on when life seems to come against us.
When I was unsure, he was confident. When I was anxious, he was calm. When I was afraid, he was not. When I felt I was walking this path alone, he took my hand and came beside me. He is my lover, best friend and soul mate, but also my strength and confidence.
Happy Anniversary Hubby
Today Hubby and I are celebrating our five year wedding anniversary. I always see these posts and thought I'd post a tribute to us also. Five years ago today, I married my best friend and we've had three kids, two dogs, a few fish, a snake or two, a turtle, we bought our first home and our first minivan. And we've had 1,825 days of love, laughter and bliss that I would not trade or give away or change or slightly alter or do anything to because each and every moment was perfect and spent with my best friend, soul mate and lover.
Mm-kay. That's it. And they lived happily ever after, the end.
Well, that's nice in theory and kudos to all of you who have experienced marriage and family life in this way. That's fantastic and amazing and you are a great example for others to follow.
In reality, mine and Hubby's story goes a little differently. Well, one part is still the same. He was and still is, my best friend, lover and soul mate. I knew that then, and I know it more today. But the bliss and perfection part is far from the truth.
Five years ago today, I was a girl. A scared girl. A pregnant, scared girl. I was getting ready to marry a man I knew I loved, but I was unsure that I was ready for married and family life. Check out this picture of me at our wedding:
I know, right?! RELAX!
We got married at the MGM Grand in Vegas. I was five months pregnant with daughter. I was just a girl. I wasn't scared to be with Hubby for the rest of my life, I wasn't even scared to make that promise. I was scared to start the rest of my life! I was scared at the endless possibilities of ways that we could totally mess up this whole thing, not to mention our unborn daughter's life! I was scared to meld our families together. I was scared to disappoint. I was scared to miss my goals and dreams. I was scared that I'd never be able to "do life" the way I wanted to. I was scared to be so in love that I was willing to take this leap.
Well, we got married, had a nice dinner and went on with life. Soon, that day in the chapel was just a memory, something that made us smile and laugh. It was our technical beginning, but did not feel that way. Hubby and I had already given our hearts and lives to one another long before that day in Vegas. That day was a marker, a milestone in our lives together. The day that we vowed in front of six people that we would love and support one another forever.
That's why this day is special to me. Not because of the memories that come flooding back when I sit down and look through our wedding album. We have eleven pictures in the album, so really, how much memory flooding can I expect? Not because it was such a picture perfect day and there were doves and violins and rows and rows of loved ones smiling. Not because we danced to our song or spent the next week in Tahiti. No, none of those things happened.
This day is special to me because five years ago today, I showed up to my wedding "slot" (we had twenty minutes and the other couples were already lined up for before and after us), scared and anxious, unsure of my future. I walked down a very short aisle, as a woman played a song that our dog had selected from a list the chapel emailed to us a few weeks earlier. It was barely the length of a hallway in my home and it felt like an eternity. The minister, or whatever he was, was cracking jokes with Hubby and I could barely make eye contact. When I finally did reach Hubby, we turned and faced each other (with instructions from Mr. funny guy aka minister) and he took my hands in his. He looked in my eyes and smiled and a little of my anxiety melted away.
This day is special because it marks five years that Hubby has been holding my hand as I have changed from a scared girl to a woman, wife and mother. I have a life to be envious of, a Hubby that loves me and holds me, protects me and helps me, guides me and calms me. He has calmed my fears and shown me a future together, one that I need not be fearful of. I am so thankful to married to this man, a man that loves me unconditionally, a man that presses on when life seems to come against us.
When I was unsure, he was confident. When I was anxious, he was calm. When I was afraid, he was not. When I felt I was walking this path alone, he took my hand and came beside me. He is my lover, best friend and soul mate, but also my strength and confidence.
Happy Anniversary Hubby
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