Yes, me, over here. I am undoubtedly one of those annoying hype girls on social media (and, albeit slightly less obnoxiously, in real life) swooning over her beloved spouse, whose musings make you want to scrape your eyeballs out. That is me. I claim it and I apologize for the plethora of damaged corneas I've left in my wake. But here's the thing: I wasn't supposed to be this girl. This was not my plan. My disgusting, overbearing, gushing adoration for my husband comes as just a shock to the love-stunted, relationship-illiterate little girl inside of me.
Not unlike many of you, my mom and dad split when I was just two. There were financial reasons, family reasons, chronically sick kid reasons. Whatever the reasons, a young girl can't comprehend why love wasn't enough. There, the faltering foundation that I would built my love ideology upon was laid in stone.
From there, we spent some years with just my mom, sister and I. "The three musketeers". Which is fine, except for when your mom has to be both a mom and a dad. I won't say it can't be done; she managed to juggle the jobs and the home and the two kids, the homework, the cooking, the hospital trips, the bills. But even as a child, I could recognize that just because it was possible, didn't mean it was meant to be that way. We managed just fine, too. We got to visit our out-of-state dad every summer and every other Christmas. It sufficed for my sister and I because we didn't know any different. But even still, that sting of longing for dad would surface every now and then. I remember not wanting to tell my mom that I missed dad, for fear of hurting her feelings. I don't remember a time when my parents got along or a time when I didn't feel like I had to choose one over the other. I didn't understand parental unity, or marital unity for that matter.
There were seasons of us being the three musketeers, and there were seasons where it wasn't just us. There were men that were around for years that I inevitably attached a dad-like bond to, hoping for the happily ever after. But not unlike the one before, each ended abruptly and with little room for discussion. Sometimes I was glad. Sometimes I wasn't. I yearned for stability, security, a sense of "normal". But even within the relationships that I squinted at to see as healthy, I knew that they weren't. Fighting, yelling, swearing, drinking, cheating, throwing things, constant threats of separation, physical abuse to my mom. I watched my mom become smaller and smaller under oppressive men, and smaller my sister and I became too. My psychological fear manifested into a physical reaction when men raise their voice- to this day I can't control my shaking legs. I was subconsciously learning that marriage was no more than a temporary relationship that only yields pain and emptiness. But even still, I knew it shouldn't be that way. I knew there had to be more, but I wasn't even willing to take the risk.
A few snippets from my journals over the years testify to it:
I remember at 15 years old having a serious talk with God. I remember telling him that I didn't want to get married, because I didn't ever want to live like that. My heart longed to be a mother and a wife, but I wouldn't know the first thing about how to do it right. I told God that it would be better for me to just stay single. I challenged Him, saying that if there was someone He wanted me to marry, that he would have to fit within my standards. I (no joke) told God that my husband would have to be tall, super dark, have facial hair, wear glasses, play basketball. He would have to love Jesus and love his family. He would be quiet and patient and not swear, no matter how mad I made him. Sweet, compassionate, and want to rescue orphans with me. My husband would have to be a hard worker that could use power tools. But mostly, he would have to love me enough to make me change my mind on marriage.
When I was 16 years old, I met Will.
It was laughable, really, how soon I knew he would be my husband. He was everything I had asked God for, right down to the beard and power tools. He loved me and pursued me and waited for me; he prayed for me and urged me into God's word. He was a gentleman that treated me with gentleness and never swore at me. I knew, at just 16, that this was God's redemption plan for me and my broken picture of love.
We said "I do" when I was a young 19. When I got barraged with the expected, "you're too young to get married" line, I couldn't help but respond with "I know". Cerebrally, I agreed 100%. There was nothing inside of me that expected to be married at 19, and I couldn't begin to explain to anyone else how or why I knew that it was right. I just knew that it was God's plan for my life, and I was going to trust in that. I know wholeheartedly that getting married when I did saved me from a long life of seeking love and happiness in things and people that wouldn't satisfy me. I hate to think of who or what I could have become; fragile and too trusting and too love-damaged to see truth from facade. God, through Will, delivered me from what could have been and is teaching me what it's meant to be.
When I brag about my husband and how wonderful he is to me, it isn't because I'm lovestruck infatuated teenage girl. My singing praises of his goodness doesn't come from a place of immaturity and naivety, it comes from intimately knowing the opposite. When I talk about how much I appreciate his hard work and selflessness, it's because he is the first man to show me what that really means. I know security and trust and stability like I've never known before. I have a man that works hard to fill our fridge, keep our bank account out of the red, and provide me with a comfortable life. I have a man that is teaching me what a dad should be: strong, compassionate, reliable, stable. He is showing me what it means to be loved as a wife. Never has he called me a name. Never does he yell at me or swear or get out of control. He is tenderhearted, forgiving, generous. He leads me and protects me and has endless grace for me.
I have seen firsthand how God takes ashes and turns them into beauty. I think sometimes to truly, truly appreciate the blessing, we first need to know pain. I am not damaged by my past, indeed the opposite. It's through the lens of my past that I can truly see love and marriage for what it should be. I know that William is not only my husband, but my treasured gift from God. And of that, I will brag.
Not unlike many of you, my mom and dad split when I was just two. There were financial reasons, family reasons, chronically sick kid reasons. Whatever the reasons, a young girl can't comprehend why love wasn't enough. There, the faltering foundation that I would built my love ideology upon was laid in stone.
From there, we spent some years with just my mom, sister and I. "The three musketeers". Which is fine, except for when your mom has to be both a mom and a dad. I won't say it can't be done; she managed to juggle the jobs and the home and the two kids, the homework, the cooking, the hospital trips, the bills. But even as a child, I could recognize that just because it was possible, didn't mean it was meant to be that way. We managed just fine, too. We got to visit our out-of-state dad every summer and every other Christmas. It sufficed for my sister and I because we didn't know any different. But even still, that sting of longing for dad would surface every now and then. I remember not wanting to tell my mom that I missed dad, for fear of hurting her feelings. I don't remember a time when my parents got along or a time when I didn't feel like I had to choose one over the other. I didn't understand parental unity, or marital unity for that matter.
There were seasons of us being the three musketeers, and there were seasons where it wasn't just us. There were men that were around for years that I inevitably attached a dad-like bond to, hoping for the happily ever after. But not unlike the one before, each ended abruptly and with little room for discussion. Sometimes I was glad. Sometimes I wasn't. I yearned for stability, security, a sense of "normal". But even within the relationships that I squinted at to see as healthy, I knew that they weren't. Fighting, yelling, swearing, drinking, cheating, throwing things, constant threats of separation, physical abuse to my mom. I watched my mom become smaller and smaller under oppressive men, and smaller my sister and I became too. My psychological fear manifested into a physical reaction when men raise their voice- to this day I can't control my shaking legs. I was subconsciously learning that marriage was no more than a temporary relationship that only yields pain and emptiness. But even still, I knew it shouldn't be that way. I knew there had to be more, but I wasn't even willing to take the risk.
A few snippets from my journals over the years testify to it:
"January 20, 20--
I hate arguing. I refuse to do that. [They] argue all the time. Is that love? ... How can they be happy? If they get divorced, I hope they at least wait until I graduate. Enough 4 am yelling matches, enough threats, enough stress, enough sadness.
Lord, please help me to learn from these experiences and grow from them."
"February 15, 20--
Well it's official, they're getting divorced. I really don't have any more emotion left about it. I was mad, then sad, confused, embarrassed, betrayed. Now I just don't even have emotion toward it. I hate this. I can't wait to graduate."
"[Unmarked Date]
I swear, they hate me. They're never never never happy. I don't think they even enjoy being around me. This weekend [in Portland] was great because it was just a calm atmosphere and I could do what I wanted. Then I got home."
"November 20, 20--
My parents are having a yelling match again. Yay. I guess my mom has to get another job and they're fighting about it. I just wish I could escape. I wish I could just leave and not have anyone care. ... Oh, just heard some throwing/slamming going on downstairs. There goes my leg shaking. I hate that. I can't wait to have my own place, my own life. I pray that I will never live like this."
"January 8, 20--
Why even get married? Is it even worth it? No. It's not. I hope I never fight like this. Never. Lord, help me to remember this."Sure, I knew there were "happy" marriages out there. My former pastor's wife who, bless her, would come pick me up in the middle of the night when I called her, she seemed happy in her marriage. My grandma. Oh, my grandma. She showed me security and love and servanthood. I loved staying at her house and waking up to fresh folded laundry at the end of my bed and hot breakfast on the table. She seemed happy. Even still, the slim possibility of a healthy, happy marriage in my eyes didn't hold a candle to the inevitable.
I remember at 15 years old having a serious talk with God. I remember telling him that I didn't want to get married, because I didn't ever want to live like that. My heart longed to be a mother and a wife, but I wouldn't know the first thing about how to do it right. I told God that it would be better for me to just stay single. I challenged Him, saying that if there was someone He wanted me to marry, that he would have to fit within my standards. I (no joke) told God that my husband would have to be tall, super dark, have facial hair, wear glasses, play basketball. He would have to love Jesus and love his family. He would be quiet and patient and not swear, no matter how mad I made him. Sweet, compassionate, and want to rescue orphans with me. My husband would have to be a hard worker that could use power tools. But mostly, he would have to love me enough to make me change my mind on marriage.
When I was 16 years old, I met Will.
It was laughable, really, how soon I knew he would be my husband. He was everything I had asked God for, right down to the beard and power tools. He loved me and pursued me and waited for me; he prayed for me and urged me into God's word. He was a gentleman that treated me with gentleness and never swore at me. I knew, at just 16, that this was God's redemption plan for me and my broken picture of love.
We said "I do" when I was a young 19. When I got barraged with the expected, "you're too young to get married" line, I couldn't help but respond with "I know". Cerebrally, I agreed 100%. There was nothing inside of me that expected to be married at 19, and I couldn't begin to explain to anyone else how or why I knew that it was right. I just knew that it was God's plan for my life, and I was going to trust in that. I know wholeheartedly that getting married when I did saved me from a long life of seeking love and happiness in things and people that wouldn't satisfy me. I hate to think of who or what I could have become; fragile and too trusting and too love-damaged to see truth from facade. God, through Will, delivered me from what could have been and is teaching me what it's meant to be.
When I brag about my husband and how wonderful he is to me, it isn't because I'm lovestruck infatuated teenage girl. My singing praises of his goodness doesn't come from a place of immaturity and naivety, it comes from intimately knowing the opposite. When I talk about how much I appreciate his hard work and selflessness, it's because he is the first man to show me what that really means. I know security and trust and stability like I've never known before. I have a man that works hard to fill our fridge, keep our bank account out of the red, and provide me with a comfortable life. I have a man that is teaching me what a dad should be: strong, compassionate, reliable, stable. He is showing me what it means to be loved as a wife. Never has he called me a name. Never does he yell at me or swear or get out of control. He is tenderhearted, forgiving, generous. He leads me and protects me and has endless grace for me.
I have seen firsthand how God takes ashes and turns them into beauty. I think sometimes to truly, truly appreciate the blessing, we first need to know pain. I am not damaged by my past, indeed the opposite. It's through the lens of my past that I can truly see love and marriage for what it should be. I know that William is not only my husband, but my treasured gift from God. And of that, I will brag.
 |
| From my journal in 2007, one month after meeting Will |
