Stretch, bend, snap and bind: like-mindedness and marriage and a few other meandering thoughts

My husband is playing the guitar on the other side of the room, and I keep opening and closing browser tabs trying to decide what I have to say here right now or whether I have anything to say at all, or whether to close the whole thing down and play Candy Crush. I've almost done that twice now.

But as satisfying as passing level 216 of Candy Crush would be, nothing beats jotting down a few words. It's the thing that wakes me up, even when I'm cross-eyed tired.

Last light. Hang on, green. Things are about to get crazy in your world.

Two days ago, Brandon and I celebrated 12 years of marriage. He's playing "True Companion" by Marc Cohn right now, the song we danced to on our wedding night to launch us into the years that have done (and will likely continue to do) their "irreparable harm." Gratefully, "I can see us slowly walking arm in arm" my husband and Marc Cohn continue, "just like that couple on the corner do. Girl, I will always be in love with you." This weekend, I get to tag along to Columbia, SC, and while he works, I will also work--on essays and poems and blog posts for Off the Page--and the kids will stay back and destroy the house for us while we're gone. I'm really excited about going away with him for the weekend, because, as predicted last time, I've already found myself sobbing on the couch with my laptop and wine several nights this season waiting waiting waiting for my husband to come home.

It's hard, marriage.

So, Columbia will be glorious. Even if it is supposed to rain all weekend.

Tonight I started listening to Love Wins by Rob Bell and had one of those fluttery heartbeat feelings. This guy gets it, I kept thinking. I walked into the house after my commute still buzzing and blubbering a bit about Rob Bell and heaven and how YOU HAVE TO READ THIS ROB BELL BOOK IT'S FREAKING AWESOME.

I love finding those people whose spirits align with mine, like we're really all in this expansive universe together. When Brandon and I met, we were at that perfect place where ideologies and hopes for the future aligned. Somehow, over the last 13 years, we have stretched and bent and sometimes snapped, moved ahead of each other or lagged behind the other on our respective journeys. We have warned each other about giving the devil a foothold. We have gone door to door together and separately for varying causes and political campaigns. These days, our conversations about faith and politics, peace and love find more common ground than not, and I love this space between us. I love that we are like-minded. I love that right now, in our relationship, we are partners in this space. It makes the times when circumstances of life grind a little more tolerable.

It's really touchy-feely and I apologize for that but man, I just love it. Love it love it love it. I've felt that way a lot lately about people and places where I've landed, connected to like-minded people, united in common causes, gathering in a "sharing everything in common" Acts 2:42 way. Richard Rohr and Rob Bell don't know it, but we're totally breaking bread together. Same with Elizabeth Gilbert and Brene Brown and Cheryl Strayed and and and and...it makes me feel like we can all take on the trouble and pain of the world and deliver light. Together.

Don't forget to pack your crazy eyes!

Last week, I was depressed about the husband-on-the-road. I think it was one of those deadly swings of hormones and circumstances spiraling like they do for me, and when I get in that haze, I lose sight of hope. The world narrows and all I see is want. Grief. Loneliness.

How is it that one week later the world is light and life and heaven-on-earth? Is it because of Rob Bell? Is it because Brandon is home and I'm going on the road with him next week? Is it circumstantial only, and if so why am I so short-sighted, blinded by this fog? When will it descend again? Will it?

I don't know, but the surge of energy, the need to engage with the rest of humanity, the drive to do the thing that I was made to do, whatever that looks like, blossomed out of the chaos again. Maybe it's coincidence. Maybe it's hormonal. Maybe it's human touch. Maybe it's that recognition of a common vision. Maybe it's hope.

Anyway, here I am. Writing a wandering blog post, anticipating the weekend and the good work ahead. Grateful. It only seems right to end my blathering blog post tonight with what has become a mantra for me these last few years:

Sow your seeds in the morning, and at night let not your hands be idle, for you do not know which will succeed, whether this or that, or whether both will do equally well. - Ecclesiastes 11:6

Back When:
2014: The In-Between
2013: Most Memorable Moment: Ten Years Later
2012: That Isn't on My 30th Year Goal List
2011: Anniversary
2010: I'm Going Pro-Joy
2009: Posting Poems
2008: You Can't Have It All

After the Storm: A Better Love Story

Tonight as I wrapped Christmas presents for our family, I watched Serendipity, a movie in which two characters, John and Sarah, meet one Christmas, separate and then spend the majority of the movie looking for each other whilst being engaged to be married to other people.  They chase fate and destiny in order to overcome their circumstances and find their reputed "one true love."

I love this movie, especially its soundtrack, and I found myself a little weepy eyed here and there.  It's a lovely, romantic story, one that makes a case for Providence working everything out just so. Love in the Time of Cholera with her number in it is wrapped in gold foil and given as a groom's gift, the $5 bill with his phone number on it is exchanged for change on a bill at the very same restaurant they dined in, engagements are ended, weddings are called off, and then, the glove floats through the wintry air and lands. Happily ever after.

But I know a better story.

It is about love chosen, over and over, in spite of temptations, in spite of moments of selfishness and pride, in spite of career changes and lifestyle shifts and dreams put on hold.  It is mercy given when judgment might have been due.  It is understanding and forgiveness and grace in the face of remorse and mistake.

Brandon and I are only a decade into this love story, and yet we have weathered several storms, some stronger than others, some that shook us down to our very foundation, some that left us helpless in each other's arms and others that caused us to ask each other, "Do you want me to leave?"  Incredible highs.  Nearly disastrous lows.

And yet.  Tonight, I wrap Christmas presents to Lydia, Elvis, and Henry from "Dad and Mom," not because some magical force swept us together over a decade ago and has held us there since.  Not because we are surviving each other for our children's sake, holding on and playing the part of husband and wife until some age in the distant future when maybe they'd understand.  Tonight, I wrap these gifts and inscribe them with "From Mom and Dad" because somewhere inside us we choose to love instead of judge.  We choose honesty and vulnerability instead of pride and secrecy.  We choose to lay down ourselves and look to each other's needs and interests.  We choose to support each other in our weaknesses and encourage each other in our strengths.

This Christmas, I am humbled to be the recipient of such love.  It is the kind of gift that survives against all odds, rare and true and pure and beautiful.

I don't mean to brag about this at all in a "we made it and you might not have" sort of way. But grant me this moment to celebrate: we've made it so far!  So far, we've made it.

Marriage is not easy, and there are plenty that fail, some because they should have never happened in the first place and others because it's just plain hard.  There's no doubt that forces within and removed from us will continue to rain down their threats in the years to come, and I pray to God that when they do, we are each able to conjure up enough faith and grace to forgive and continue to love each other with a "one another" kind of love.

It's in the power of that kind of love that all things can be redeemed and renewed and thus shine with a glorious light unlike any we might produce through our own impulses and pursuits.  With each storm, the places where breaks have formed are welded with the heat of a refiner's fire, and that bond is stronger than the base metal itself, forever changed, stronger and tougher than ever before.