On Ten Years

We've been together since I was 20, but don't go giving 20-year-old-me too much credit. I was more focused on the dreamy brown eyes, great abs, and charm. I had no idea what I was looking for in a life partner then and couldn't possibly have planned and anticipated the kind of person I would need by my side. All I knew was the boy I'd had a crush on since I was 13 was kinda into me, so I was going to carpe the heck out of all the diems until he changed his mind. 

Except he didn't change his mind. And 16 years and a decade of marriage later, I still don't have words for what I need except to say, Jon. He's what I need. 

Jon makes me a better person for my benefit, not his. He could choose to make me feel guilty for how much time I need by myself. He could choose to focus on the mess I make when I cook dinner or my inability to close drawers or how I leave the clothes I try on piled on the closet floor. He could nag me and cajole me and try to manipulate me into being better at that stuff because it would be easier for him if I was. He could try to mold me into a better person by focusing on what a better Jennifer would look like for him.

Instead, this: he encourages me to take care of myself. He calls friends to come and help out when the kids are sick while he's out of town. He makes sure that I have the time, money, and space to write and dream and grow. He thanks me for cooking dinner every single time, even if I burn it or it tastes terrible or all we’re having is mac and cheese. He asks my advice and listens to my fears. And he does all of this while closing my drawers, cleaning up the kitchen, and hanging my clothes back up (facing to the left, of course). He molds me into a better person by already seeing me as that person.

I didn't know he'd do all of that at 20 when I said yes to being his girlfriend. I didn't know he'd do it at 26 when I said yes to being his wife. 

But now I know. And as someone who's almost always faster with a no, the power of that yes isn't lost on me.

I can’t tell you how to choose the right person to marry. I don't have a checklist or a roadmap, and if I wasn't a praying person I'd chalk up being with Jon to dumb, blind luck. And then of course, there's also the caveat that even a marriage to the right person is the hardest work you'll ever put in.

But I think choosing rightly has something to do with how they see you and our human tendency to meet expectation. The wrong person focuses your attention on your failures and shortcomings. Their dissatisfaction is what drives your improvement, and they have you forever chasing the ideal version of yourself, because that's the one who's worthy of love.

The right person pushes you toward betterment too, but not in a way that makes you feel like you're not enough as you are. It's more like becoming so convinced of your own value and worth that you expand into the person you were always meant to be. It's feeling safe enough to settle in and drop a few defenses and lean into your own potential. When you do that, there's a risk of failure, sure, but the certainty in the love that grounds you strengthens your resolve. When you feel safe, you stretch. You soften. You view life not from a place of scarcity, but one of abundance. There is enough. You are enough.

I knew none of that at 20. Or 26. Even now I think I only know enough to be grateful for it. To be grateful for Jon and the way he sees me and the way he never stops trying to get me to see myself.

Yes, marriage is hard work. But I've found that when we're putting in the most effort, it doesn't feel like work. It feels like rest.

It feels like home.

A Recipe for Marriage

jeff-sheldon-264920-unsplash

Ingredients:4 C love 2 C devotion 2 C passion 1 C attraction 1/2 C (heaping) forgiveness 1/3 C patience 1/3 C determination 2 T encouragement 2 T plus 1 T honesty/gentleness blend ½ tsp shared values Endless amounts of grace

Directions: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Combine love, devotion, and attraction in the depths of your soul with paddle mixer. Add passion in ¼ cup increments, stirring thoroughly to incorporate. Never stop stirring.

In a separate bowl, sift forgiveness, patience, and determination, then add to mixer to serve as a binding agent. Note: if you omit these ingredients, your marriage will fall apart when exposed to the heat of the oven.

Transfer contents to baking dish. Sprinkle evenly with encouragement, shared values, and 2 T honesty/gentleness blend, reserving 1 T for the really hard conversations.

Bake at 350 for a lifetime. Sprinkle periodically with grace to keep hard edges from forming.

Best served with friendship, family, and adventure.

To store, wrap carefully and thoroughly to protect it from jealousy, comparison, and complacency. When stored properly, your marriage will remain fresh indefinitely.

Happy nine years, love. You're still my best yes.

The Calm in the Midst of the Storm

Let me tell you the story of the calmest, coolest bride there ever was.

It started on Thursday with flowers. They were supposed to arrive that afternoon, but we received word that morning that the entire shipment of ceremony and reception flowers was still on a plane in Colombia (the country). I made a few calls and sent a few texts, and we found a place to order backup flowers from. Only when Plan B was in place did I call Cassidy with the news.

"That sounds fine; no problem," she said cheerily. "I'm sure it will be great."

On Saturday, the (outdoor) wedding forecast was for scattered storms and showers. There was no indoor venue backup plan. We pushed back the setup time to 2, then to 4. Friends rolled heavy tables across the lawn from the lakeside setup to one closer to cover. While the rest of us watched the sky and made contingencies, she stayed calm, even-keel, and unflustered.

The wedding was to start at 7. Radar showed a massive storm arriving at 7:10. Everything and everyone was crowded under the open-air, covered pavilion—the best shelter available. We hurried the bride across the lawn and under cover at the precise moment that the first raindrops fell.

She walked down the aisle and when she arrived at the front, so did the 70 mph winds that knocked centerpieces and glass jars to the ground. The thunder and lightning were incessant. Children were crying, adults were casting anxious glances at a dark and furious sky, and the ceremony paused while everyone huddled together in the center. The bride never stopped smiling, while the groom, officiant, and friends compared weather sources and debated what to do. The winds abated briefly, but there was a series of storms lined up behind the first. It was clear this was as good as it was going to get, weather-wise.

"Snuggle together—we're getting married!" the groom shouted to the cheers of the crowd.

Handwritten vows were read, tears were wiped, rings exchanged. They were pronounced husband and wife. Another cheer went up from the windblown, rain-spattered friends and family surrounding them.

With the decorations strewn across the ground by the wind and more storms imminent, the decision was made to cancel the reception and encourage folks to head for shelter. Many dispersed, but several also formed a line to hug the new couple.

"Most memorable wedding ever!" was the frequent refrain. "We will never, ever forget this night."

As we cleaned up after the last of the crowd departed, my hair worked its way loose from the bobby pins and the hem of my dress was soaked. But all I kept thinking about was I would indeed remember this night forever.

I'll remember the wind, rain, thunder and lightning. I'll remember watching my brother find love, joy, and redemption after a lonely and hard season.

But mostly, I'll remember her face and how she never stopped smiling. How her constant refrain was "I'm great/it's great/whatever you all think." I'll remember her smile as she read the note he sent her and the way her eyes sparkled when they were pronounced man and wife. She was never ruffled, never worried, never shaken.

I've never seen anything like it. But then, I've never known anyone else like Cassidy. She is joy, and peace, and certainty in the midst of turmoil. You can't help but feel she knows something you don't. So you draw closer and you watch carefully, and you realize that it's Jesus. Her trust and confidence in Him is unwavering. The rest of us are the disciples on the boat in the middle of the storm-shaken sea, bailing water and casting frantic glances at the sky. She is the one watching Jesus sleep and trusting that if he thinks it's okay, then it will be okay.

It was all okay.

And now I have a sister who will remind me where to look when the storm rages.

Twenty Years

Jon and I met twenty years ago. 20. I think that makes us old. I was 13, he was 14. I don't remember the exact circumstances; it was probably summer, and he was probably one of a whole passel of boys hanging out at my house with my big brother that day. I do remember his brown eyes, and how my stomach gave a little flip whenever they met my green ones.

I was shy and awkward then. I suppose most 13 year olds are in one way or another, but I was what my mother would graciously call a "late bloomer." I wore pleated shorts and had stringy hair that was perpetually in a ponytail. Boys confounded me completely ... especially boys like Jon. I said nothing during those early teenage years as other girls - prettier, more outgoing girls - vied for his attention. He was charming and friendly, and there were always two or three who would try to catch his eye.

Oh, we exchanged a few words here and there over the years, as our mutual group of friends brought us together. I even thought he may have been flirting with me once or twice (he was, he tells me now), but I was too clueless to know what to do about it.

The summer after my freshman year of college, I was about to move 500 miles away for a boy. Another boy -- the wrong boy, as it would turn out. Days before I was set to leave, my brother had a bunch of people over to swim. Jon was there.

"You can't move to Michigan for this guy!" he told me emphatically as we stood next to each other, filling our plates with food. I looked up at him, and my sharp retort was lost.

Flip flop.

Give me a reason to stay, I thought. But he didn't, and I went ... for six months, anyway. The weather turned bitterly cold, and it nudged me to admit what I'd known for 5 1/2 months. I'd made a mistake. I was going home. Alone.

Weeks after I moved back, my brother got married. I was the maid of honor; Jon was a groomsman. Wedding festivities brought us together, and there seemed to be more flirtation than ever (there was), but I still tried not to read too much into it.

The night after the wedding, the phone rang at my parents' house. "It's for you," my mom said. I took the phone in surprise -- who would call me here? It was Jon, inviting me over to watch a movie with some friends. I stayed until 2 a.m., talking and listening to music.

He was nervous. I was the little sister of his good friend. He wasn't ready for anything serious, and didn't see how dating me could be anything but. He kept it casual - always hanging out with other people around. No real dates. Until the night, seven years after we met and three months after that phone call, when he kissed me.

Flip flop.

After that, it was Zapp and Roger's "I Wanna Be Your Man" playing in the background while he asked me to be his girlfriend. Five years later, it was waves crashing in the background when he asked me to be his wife.

We've been married for seven years now. We've lived in three homes, had two kids and slowly morphed from the couple who closed down the bars at 2 a.m. to the couple who unwinds with an episode of West Wing on Netflix at 9 p.m. He knows that just because the cap is on the toothpaste doesn't mean the cap is really on the toothpaste. I know that the pile of dress shirts that accumulates on the back of the couch over the course of a workweek doesn't need to be washed.

20 years. Those brown eyes still make my stomach flip, you know. Oh, not every time. Sometimes when our eyes meet, all I feel is relief -- my 5:30 p.m. savior has arrived. Sometimes it's annoyance or even anger. You can't build a life with someone else without getting a little pissed off every now and then.

When the butterflies come though, they almost always catch me by surprise now. He's hot, sweaty and tired from working out in the yard, and his gaze briefly meets mine as he steps into the coolness of the air-conditioned house. I watch with a smile on my lips from the doorway as he focuses intently on putting a tiny bow in our daughter's hair, until he feels my eyes on him and looks up.

Flip flop.

It's no small feat, to make a heart flutter after 20 years. He's seen me at my worst and champions me always toward my best. I've made plenty of mistakes, and I'm sure I'll make many more. But saying "yes" to his "will you?" will always be the best thing I've ever done.