All posts tagged: #marriage

The Waves – 20 Years of Marriage

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One hot night in late July, a few weeks before our wedding, 20 years ago, I could hardly look at my handsome fiancé at dinner. He was happily talking about our new apartment, new jobs, and our honeymoon. I was trying to keep my food, and my long-held secret, down. He grabbed my hand, rubbed it with his calloused thumb, raised his eyebrows, and said, “You okay, Aim?” I felt the waves crash hard. Me:  “I don’t think I can do this.” Chris:   “Do what?” Me:  “Get married.” C:  “What do you mean?” Me: “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to get married. I’m a lot of work. I don’t take very good care of myself, so I know I wouldn’t take very good care of you. I really don’t think I should get married.” C: [Silence] His face went gray and slack, he searched my eyes and then the floor. He listened to me repeat sorrowful variations of “it’s not you, it’s me.” After a couple minutes he said he …

Wrecked

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Our first child was born October 3, 1998. We had been married 2 years. It was an unexpected, terrible birth. She was an ugly, horrible baby. She’s an awful demanding 17 year old. And while we’ve made peace, most days I fear her. My first baby’s name is Pain. She was born the night I was hit by a drunk driver. That day, my sister and I were hit from behind, pushed into oncoming traffic, and crashed into a second car. The guy who hit us side-swiped 3 other cars and sped off. My sister was covered in sparkling glass, we had some cuts, headaches and big bruises, but the paramedics couldn’t find anything severely wrong with us. But there was. Pain had arrived. She was an insufferable colicky newborn for 2.5 years. She demanded my full attention day and night. It felt like a steaming hot iron was being dropped on my tailbone every 10 minutes. To keep her quiet, I carried a pillow and ice packs to client meetings. I tried 8 different pain meds. We saw …

What I Did Over Summer Vacation

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Moving to Georgia has been hard. We pulled up to Sweet River, our new home, grateful and curious. The kids ran around laughing. The truck came, our house filled up with boxes, and I got to work. I stacked plates, organized books, admired long-lost treasures, and commissioned my husband to spend his weekends hanging pictures. It took a long time. I pushed. I got really tired. One night my husband was talking about where to host the Fantasy Football Draft. I tuned out. He asked me some question and I put down my drink, slammed my palm on the couch, and huffed, “It’s not happening, hon! You can’t do Fantasy Football in Illinois! We live here now. Come on! It’s over! It’s dead. Let it go.” It was quiet after that. Chris followed me into the kitchen and I started vigorously scrubbing some dishes. He asked, “Are you ok?” And I huffed, “No. I’m not! I’m exhausted! [scrubbing] But this is what we signed up for. Just gotta get through it.” He said, “That doesn’t really sound like a plan, babe.” …

A Gentleman’s Invitation

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I started this long story of Surrender on an airplane. I realized that I had life-changing faith not just in a flight crew of strangers but also in God. Hours later God leveraged that reclaimed faith by offering my husband a job that required a major move. This new job was going to be in Georgia. I was hoping for the majestic Pacific Northwest, but instead we were given the sweaty Southeast. Flashback 20 years, Chris and I are dating, dreaming big over schnitzel and knödel in the vineyards of Austria: Chris: “I would love to do economic development in Cambodia, Thailand or Vietnam.” Me: “I can’t do that. It’s too hot. I’m afraid of it being that hot.” Chris: “But what if that’s what God calls us to do?” Me: “I don’t think God would call us to do that. I never even want to move to the South in the States. It’s too hot and gross. No way.” Chris: [secretly touches the engagement ring in his pocket and wonders if he can actually marry such a high-maintenance …