love after marriage

My son is right on the cusp of toddlerhood.  At a ripe old age of 8 months old, he is doing his darndest to learn how to walk - pulling up on everything, free-standing, and falling - a lot.  Also biting.  But that one we are discouraging.

Eight months into this life of his, we are starting to feel a bit more comfortable - not pros by any stretch of the imagination, but less of the "why on earth did they let us take him home?" and the "gahhh what does he need?" guessing game.  At 8 months, there's some semblance of a rhythm - naps, bedtime, eating time - and less of the chaos of the "fourth trimester."  Should you find yourself in the fourth trimester, take courage my friend, it does get easier, even though this stage too has unique challenges.

A few months ago, a friend asked Jon and me, if we would consider walking with her, and her fiancé, in some pre-marital counseling.  My first instinct was to laugh, and then maybe think about crying.  Because at a ripe two years and some odd months into marriage, the idea that we would help in preparing anyone else for marriage was both humorous and terrifying because we're right in the heart of the toddler years of marriage.

As I write this, my son is climbing, back and forth, and back and forth over my legs.  And falling a lot.  This is what the toddler years of marriage look like.  Practicing the same things, over and over and over again.  And falling a lot.  And then getting back up again.  A lot.  Not the chaos and total unknown of the newborn era - nor the fresh flowery excitement of the newlywed era - we're starting to feel a little bit more comfortable, but are not pros by any stretch of the imagination.

But after that initial query, I've been thinking a lot about what love after marriage has looked like - what we learned, how we've grown - and so I share, not because we have it figured it - in fact I'm pretty sure we don't yet - but because we're learning, and growing.

Two years into marriage, we know a lot more about the other than we did when we got married.  What makes him tick.  What frustrates me.  How we load the dishwasher.  Stories about them that we'd never heard before.  And the ones that we could tell from memory because we've heard them so many times.  And secrets, that no one else knows and most likely never will.

We can identify what our regular fights are, because we have them... regularly.  And we're more keenly aware of the ways in which we are different. And we're starting to have "our" family rules, as we move towards the middle of blending "the ways we have always done it" from our families of origin into our own unique family traditions.  We're also learning that good fights are worth having.

We've learned how to make up well, and to always make up, even if we're still learning how to fight well.

We've are learning to talk to each other.  Not just in a conversational sense, but in the real, honest, sometimes vulnerably hard ways of talking to rather than waiting for the other to figure it out.  We've learned that as much as we love each other, mind reading is a farce, and it's better all around if we just tell the other what we're wanting or needing.  Yes, we verbally affirmed this before marriage - and were better than some at communication (thanks, long-distance) - but have still had to grow in it.

We're learning that sex is a beautiful part of marriage - not just for pleasure or fun or satisfaction, or making babies, although it's great for all of those - but as a part of loving the other, making up, grieving together, celebrating together, and growing together.  And while honeymoon sex was great, two years in just gets better and better.  For what it's worth, (IMHO) married people need to talk about sex more, because otherwise all we have as a picture is the cultural picture that you gotta get get get before you get married, and enjoy the "good stuff" and then settle down for a long, boring (only occasional) ride.   And I don't actually think that is, or should be, true.

And we're discovering lots of "our" things and "his" and "her" things - and understanding that there need to be both in a healthy marriage - not a loss of individual identity as we do EVERYTHING together and the same - but also not total autonomy as we neglect the unity.  Jon loves to watch football.  I like to sew.  We both like to read.  We both run (one of us loves it, the other not so much, but we do it together anyhow).  We're both foodies, and we both love to cook, brew, and otherwise putz around the kitchen.  Jon needs quiet time, without conversation.  I need lots of talking time.   And we're constantly doing the juggling act to find a balance of "us," "me" and "you."

And after baby, we're learning that we both have a finite amount of selflessness - and with a needy, mostly helpless wee one depending on us - often times that storehouse is pretty empty. Giving selflessly to the other takes intentionality; before baby yes, but most certainly after baby.  And so we're learning again to love selflessly with intentionality. And in that, we have different ways of receiving love - so part of loving selflessly, is learning to love in the way that the other receives as love.

Then, there's the way that we talk about and talk to one another.  We are supposed to challenge one another - to be catalysts for growth - to help refine the other, yes.  But when you do that all the time, it feels somewhat similar to rubbing sandpaper over your face repeatedly.  It's grating and frustrating and can lead to gaping, bloody wounds.  There is a timeliness to challenging one another - in any relationship - when it's for the sake of the other, rather than just for your sake.  And that's a hard one in marriage, when the others growth IS for your sake also.

Lastly, we're learning not to shame the other, and to affirm one another (a) often, (b) honestly not fluffily (is that a word?), (c) privately, and (d) publicly.

Did I know these things before marriage - absolutely.  Did we practice most of them in dating - yes, to a degree.  But the day-in and day-out of marriage tries, tests, and proves what you actually believe, want and live - rather than just what you can do for a time.  And that's where the growth, the selflessness-stretching, and the refining of marriage happens [or at least has thus far for us, as this is my story, not a summary of all marriages ever].  The years - our two thus far - are what actually prove and refine who you are, not just who you want to be.

So what does our "love after marriage" look like?

It looks like date nights in, on the couch with Trader Joe's two-buck-chuck and steak tips (or leftovers, let's be honest), watching Lost, between trying to get the smoke alarm to stop going off and trips to the kitchen for more brownies.  And "I love you's" and grocery list making...

It looks like trying to interpret what Jon is trying to say, with gestures and mumbles, mouth full of toothpaste and toothbrush, and lots of giggles (or guffaws for J since he "doesn't giggle") , as we get ready for bed.

It looks like staying up late, through tears, and tiredness, to finish a fight - because we're committed to working through it rather than go to sleep angry and unresolved, even though in the moment it's easier and even desirable to just say "whatever" and roll over.

It looks like changing diapers, when it isn't our turn.  Or getting up with S, so that the other can sleep a little longer.  Or cooking dinner AND doing the dishes.  Or balancing the budget, and squeezing a little extra out so we can stop for dairy queen.  Or using your allocated "fun money" to do something together, rather than for something for yourself.

It looks like apologizing, again, for the same thing - and forgiving again - for the same thing.  And reminding the other - again, without demanding - what we need, with grace, when it doesn't come naturally.

It looks good.  Hard.  Challenging.  Beautiful.  Deep.

Lovely.

being real in the blogosphere...

There are many embarrassing or awkward, or personal, things that I could tell you about myself, my family, my house, that really wouldn't phase me all that much.  Let's be real, I love me some awkward and with that comes a heaping serving of embarrassing and sometimes personal.

I could tell you that there is a spatula that we affectionately refer to as "the pooper scooper" in our bathroom.  We do not have a pet and it is not for someone else's pet.  I'll let you parse together the details.  But I'll assure that it's gross and involves diapers.  BUT it resides in clorox, n'er you fear.

Or I could tell you that I haven't really dusted since we moved into our apartment... 2 years ago.

I could even tell you that I got angry today, on my commute, because some lady was walking directly in my commute path while uploading pictures to facebook of the train that she and I were currently missing.  Word to the wise, lady, if you're walking slowly enough to upload pictures to facebook... of the train that we are missing... you should get out of the fast lane.  And if we're on the story of commute, if I can hear and sing all the words to your music, through your earbuds,  kuddos to you because I am actually incapable of singing lyrics and always hum half of the words.  And it's too loud. And if you're 18 and in good health and sitting, and there's a 95 year old pregnant woman with one leg in front of you, no no, by all means you should definitely remain sitting.  Please, don't even think of getting up.

[That last one might be an exaggeration.]  But you get my point.  I could tell you that that made me angry, as long as I make it moderately funny.  I would probably also comment that I realized I should deal with my T-rage, as it's probably more harmful to me than the *$&%^ng uploading, sitting, disc jockeys on my commute.

And I could tell you how sometimes my days are really long... and hard... and all I want when I get done with the day is a big glass of wine (or two) and a nice hot bath. Or even how I'm really struggling with balancing work and mommy-hood, but seeing God's goodness in it, even in the midst of my torn-ness.  And seeing how God is redeeming me, and molding me,  in the midst of that.

And all of those would be true things, minus the 95 year old pregnant woman with one leg.  And maybe a slight exaggeration on the dusting bit.  It might have happened sort of once before company came over.  God is good, we are being redeemed and made new.  And I can be funny sometimes.

But, here's the reality - most of us are still in process, and don't have the neat conclusion to our blog posts on the real life stuff that's happening today not yesterday.  We are still an un-cloroxed, n'er dusted mess of pooper scooper and things that we're still dealing with, not figured out [yet].

God is still good.  And we are still being redeemed.

But I'm struggling with loving my husband well today.  I have been short, snarky, selfish and demanding.  That's not a guilt trip - I'm working on it, and acknowledging it, asking for forgiveness there - but I don't have it figured out yet.  There is no neat packaging on that one.  Real time, today.

I'm struggling with anger at work, when someone doesn't acknowledge my hard work, or me, as a person.  And I struggle with comparing our finances to those of others - our ease of life - and find myself bitter and covetous.  Or just randomly angry.

And I totally judge other moms.  Try really hard not to - and really don't want to and totally apologize for it when it comes out - but I totally do it.

How's that for embarrassing, awkward, and personal?

I love the blogosphere.  I love the freedom to process out-loud, to share life, and learn from others as they process out-loud.  For real.  I'm not dissing it.  And I love the awkward, embarrassing, humorous story - can you have too much snark or sarcasm, I ask you.  [the answer is yes, but that's for later]. Ask anyone who knows me, I love it.  And I LOVE hearing how my friends [and random strangers that I blog-friend, let's be honest] are learning about God's grace.  It's good and encouraging, and builds us up and probably should still be the majority of what we write about.  Because complaining and self-pity, and wallowing, are a fine line away from in-process honesty when things are hard, if we let ourselves sit there too long.

But friends, if we're going to be real - and be in process, for the sake of humor, or encouragement, or blessing, in the blogosphere - we need to actually tell some of the stories that don't have a conclusion yet.  Some of the stories in which we are not the heroine or hero, or don't figure it out [yet].  With hope, but...

The ones still in the trenches.

The ones that invite others to encourage us, bless us, or help us find the humor in it... even when we can't yet see it.

The ones that aren't funny.

The ones that are funny, but that we don't look good in.

The ones that we're actually struggling with... still... presently... and haven't resolved.

I get why we don't.  It's risky, and it's [often times] not met well.  Received with judgement, rather than encouragement.  And if I'm honest, the blogosphere probably isn't the best place for that sharing - a coffee date with a friend, a box of kleenex, and a warm pumpkin spice latte probably is.  So please, let's start there.  Please.   I'm going to.  I need to.  We all need someone that we can be that honest, in process, with - a real person, not a blogobunch.

But then as we blog also, if we're the types of bloggers who write "real"... in how ever much detail we choose to write... as we write our funny, awkward, embarrassing, life-learning, grace-seeing stories... let's also write the other ones.

The ones that end in a "to be continued..." or "in process..." or "waiting" or "I don't know."

Because then, friends, when the light breaks through... when the lesson is learned... the grace seen...

That's true beauty.
True encouragement.
Truly not about us.
Real.

9 Things About Me [aka writers' block/getting to know you...]

A few days ago, a friend posted this "Things About Me" get-to-know-you, and, as it was one of the more fun ones of these that I've seen and I too am suffering from temporary writers block and/or just general busyness, I thought I'd snag it and give it a go!  Thank you, Krystal for the inspiration/freebie!

1. Is this how you imagined your life would be? Good question.  I actually have no idea how to answer this one.  Yes?  No?  For some seasons in my life, I didn't dare to dream about what it could be, I just assumed it would suck.  For other seasons, I laid meticulous plans.  And then in recent seasons, the last ten years, I dreamed a little bit, as hope began to take root in my heart.  I would say it looks nothing like the meticulous plans - so much better than the sucky absence of dreams - and similar to the dreams that began with hope.  In my meticulous plans, I would be working in science policy, in a highly visible, highly paid, high power position, either abroad or in DC - and putting off marriage and babies until I was well-settled in my career.  And that is far far from the life that I now live.  In seasons of hope, I wanted to be a mom, even though it took me years to admit.  I wanted to marry someone who was kind and adventurous and would love me and our family well. And I wanted to be proud of what I did, and enjoy the work and life that I was living. And I wanted to be someone who was strong, content, adventurous, and who hadn't given up on her dreams, or lost herself in the midst of that family or that marriage.  And I think that's fairly accurate.

2. Name one good deed you did that went unseen.  Today?  I cleaned cheerios up off the floor.  But on second thought, pretty sure that was seen by my hungry hungry hippo of a child who is no longer able to eat them now. And, while many of the good deeds that I do as a mom go unseen - unless they involve removing something that my child wants but shouldn't have like three-day-old floor-dwelling, dirt-coated cheerios, in which case they are definitely seen and squawked about - I feel like that's just part of being a mom.

3. What’s your drink of choice when out with girlfriends?  Beer, whiskey, or coffee, depending on the day and the time of day.   Sometimes a red wine - although really, I'm so sold on Trader Joe's two buck chuck, that I rarely get wine when I'm out.  I've tried to find a good cocktail that I love, but the reality is, I like things simple and strong.

4. How did your blog come about? It was originally a space for me to personally process leaving ministry and mini-faith crisis #2.  I'm an external processor (ENTP, thanks) - but often times for me, it's easier to do that by writing than talking.  So I made the blog, invite a few friends to read it, as accountability and as feedback - and started writing.  It has evolved since then, as I've grown and changed and become mama,  and invited more people to read along, but the heart and soul of it - learning to live more fully into my identity as a daughter who is called beloved - still remains the same.

5. Name something you’ve learned about yourself that has surprised you.  That most days, I'm okay with some level of unknown and taking things one day at a time, without knowing everything.  I don't need a five year plan.  For a former control freak, this is completely unexpected, but very freeing.  It's a metric of health for me now - when I'm in a good place, a healthy serving of chaos doesn't freak me out; when I'm not so healthy, I start to become grabby for control again.

6. What hobbies do you have that you don’t mention on your blog? I love to make things and create things from scratch - whether that's brewing our own beer, or trying to make our own cheese, or constantly trying new recipes or cross-stitching, crocheting, and piecing together fabric scraps - there's something about the creative process which I LOVE!

7. What do you love about yourself? I love that I listen well, most of the time.  That I'm not afraid to say "I'm sorry" or to admit when I've been wrong.  And I love that I press into conflict, even when it's painful or hard, for the sake of reconciliation.  Also, I really like my creative brain - whether it comes out in words (here) or in creation of beauty.

8. If money were no question, I’d purchase…  a big huge house in the city, with a big front porch and rocking chairs under a tin roof so I could sit outside and listen to the rain.   She would have welcome written on her door, and lived out under her roof.  She would have lots of rooms so that we could have lots of children, and lots of guests - and could more fully live into our love of hospitality and welcome.  And people could feel at home, with space to breathe, and relax, and rest.  And eat.  And breathe.  Also, a small backyard, with a small garden, so we could have dirt between our fingers, space to grow real food and pretty things, and green space for the kiddo(s, eventually) to play.  And it would be in the city, where the people are, because that's where my heart comes to life.

9. What’s your biggest struggle in life?  As if there is just one...  puullllleeeease.  Who here is that whole and struggles that little?  Let me tell you about today alone.  But seriously, it's probably believing that I'm enjoyed - that I'm delightful - not just tolerable - and that I'm enough, as I am, without trying to be more.

So there ya go - 9 things about me.  Feel free to do your own version of this - if you do, link up in the comments so I can learn more about you as well!

God of this City

Six Septembers ago, I was writing down directions in my journal for how to make it downtown on the MBTA - street by street and stop by stop.   And still calling it the MBTA. Six Septembers ago, I was hopelessly lost when driving in the city (and foolish enough to still think driving in the city was a good idea), feeling completely out of place in this brisk northern town, wrestling with a hard heart, homesick, though I'd never admit it, and wondering what the hell I had signed up for.

And singing "God of this City" from the heart, to Boston, even though I couldn't tell you why yet.

Six autumns ago, I was a newbie from North Carolina, who didn't understand why no one smiled at her on the street, who had never owned "real" snow boots, and who thought that a Belichick was probably some Bostonian slang that I just didn't get yet.  I was single, guarded, and not sure why I was here.  Asking God to teach me about vulnerability and openness, and increase my capacity for love.  To give and to receive.

Six years ago, as the weather turned crisp and cool, and the leaves began to melt into those brilliant hues of red and orange and fire and yellow - I fell in love with this town called Boston. Even though I was still lonely, still confused why I was here, and still unsure of who I was or where I was going, this city grabbed a piece of my heart that it still hasn't given back.

I've lived here longer than I've lived anywhere else on my own.  And six Septembers in, this is my home, in as much as a place is home.

I've fallen in love with a boy from the south, here in the apple orchards and fall leaves of the mountains, walking beside noisy streets and beautiful fountains, the mix of history and modern all woven together, with the car horns blaring out the window because the traffic lights and roads are just too confusing, and the neighbors setting off fireworks in their backyards.  I married that boy, and brought him to Boston, and together we made it our home.  We brought home our first baby, born in the north of southern parents - with a blizzard in his first two weeks of life, and him loving bare toes and free fingers - and the love that we had thought big, grew even larger here in this city.

I've had some of my hardest months, weeks and days here, where my soul and my broken and my loneliness were exposed and cold and hurting.  And where God was healing, one sliver of broken beauty at a time.  I can say in faith and confidence, that God is answering my prayers for vulnerability and openness.  That He has been, and is, teaching me myself.  But more than that, Himself.  And knitting me back together, one step at a time, in the company of strangers who became real friends and journeymen and confidants and mentors.  And my guarded heart began to open and soften.

I've yelled at you, fought against you, resented you, and loved you.  I've fought for you, when people say that you are hard, abandoned, or hopeless because those just are not true - not all of the story.   I've gotten stuck in your traffic, wrecked by your traffic; I've run along your shores, and your roads and your paths and in those runs shared many of my hardest, deepest, most beautiful thoughts.  I've dug out of your snow more times than I can count - fully broken in that first real pair of snow boots.  I've rolled my eyes at more lost tourists trying to navigate their way through this crazy town.  And flown south more times than I can count, as we balance the both/and of Northern living in a Southern family.  And I still smile on the streets.  And sometimes, your people, they smile back.

I've wept with you, Boston, when you were hurting. I was there when the bombs hit the roads.  And I wept, not just because the country was weeping, or because of my own personal fear or grief, but because my city was hurting.  My places, my streets, my stores, my landmarks... my people.

Even now, as I write this - and recognize that it's getting long already - I don't know how to put to words, Boston, what I feel for you.  The fullness, of the love that I have for you.

I don't know how much longer we'll live here - it might be forever.  It probably won't be.  I don't know.  But I do know that I love this city.  It has become my home.  A piece of my heart.  And I still sing the words that I sang six Septembers ago... only now, I know just a little bit more of that hope.  That heart-beating longing.  For this city.  For the things to come.  For the ways in which I know that God is at work here.  That I have seen God at work here.  In me, and in this city.  And so I continue to pray these words, to sing these words, with my whole heart, for you, and with you:

You're the God of this City 

You're the King of these people 

You're the Lord of this nation 

You are 

You're the Light in this darkness 

You're the Hope to the hopeless 

You're the Peace to the restless 

You are 

...

For greater things have yet to come 

And greater things are still to be done in this City 

Greater thing have yet to come 

And greater things are still to be done in this City 

Thank you, Boston, for these six rich Septembers.  And for however many more there are to come...