Marriage: Six Years of Tennis Shorts on Saturday Night

As hours-old newlyweds, the first thing John and I did upon arriving at our posh Chicago hotel for our honeymoon was ditch the fancy clothes -- the shoes and the hose and the jewelry -- and dive head first into worn cotton t-shirts and soft mesh tennis shorts.

The second thing?

We ordered a pizza -- we were starved from not actually having eaten much dinner during our reception.

As we spread our feet out before us while perched atop the fluffy white down-covered hotel bed, devouring deep-dish pizza, our eyes locked, we grinned like idiots and he said what we were both thinking:

"We get to do this for the rest of our lives."

I laughed.

"What?" I'd said. "Throw a helluva party and then retreat back to our creature comforts and crash together?"

"Yeah," he'd smiled. "Exactly that."

****

We arrive home from a small dinner date in celebration of our sixth wedding anniversary.

We know how to dress for the occasion of dinner at an old-world-style Italian restaurant -- him in a blue-checkered collared shirt and dark-washed fitted jeans; me in apple-red high heels, black tight-as-a-glove fitted ankle-length pants and a white sweater.


 We nosh on delicious food, enjoy the patio-view and the September-blooming flowers and laugh when a little boy, about age four, races to the edge of the pond, comes to a dead halt and proceeds to pee into the pond, his parents chasing wildly behind him, only to find him at water's edge mid-pee.

We pitstop at Whole Foods and while picking up a few essentials come across coconut milk ice cream; we buy some with full intent on it being our date-night dessert upon arriving home.

No sooner than I arrive at our house after driving the babysitter home while John had wrangled the boys into Buzz Lightyear pajamas, do we both race into the bedroom to ditch our lovely threads and slide into soft cotton t-shirts and tennis shorts.

We settle the boys in between their flannel sheets, pull a fluffy down comforter over their feet and snuggle little bodies to sleep before slipping out the creaky door.

Quietly, we sneak down the stairs, sink into the couch, one spoon for two mouths in one coconut ice cream container and begin talking about the boys, our life, our day, our wedding.


 And here we are -- six years later to do the day and date -- at the after-party, wrapped up in soft clothing, our shoulders pressed together as we sit-side-by-side on the couch giggling and sharing dessert.

And while the meal du jour has changed from pizza to delicious coconut ice cream and the clothing threads of old tennishorts, perfectly worn and soft against our skin, are different and our cush landing has changed from a fluffy bed to a couch, my best creature comfort, John, remains the same.

The best creature comfort I have is you.

Happy anniversary, John. I love you. 

Five-Minute Friday: Grateful

We await his arrival, lingering around the front screen door like groupies camp out near the back exit long after the concert ends vying to brush shoulders with the band.

In anticipation, the boys run laps back and forth in the hallway as the summer sun spills through open windows, casting 4 o'clock shadows the floor.

My almost four year old peers out the door, watching for the white station wagon to slowly enter into our cul-du-sac, squints his eyes in attempts to discern if his car might be closely behind.

"Nope, E.," he says to his brother. "That's not it. It's black. Daddy's car is white."

He speeds through that same conversation, changing only the color, several times before asking me if it's close.

"Is it daddy time yet?"

Almost, I assure them, two boys bouncing through the living room, excitement brimming as each minute draws nearer.

And finally.

Finally.

There is white in the distance and then

finally

finally, it's parking in our driveway.

He exits the car, dressed in shirt and tie, sporting aviator shades and a wide smile.

Two small boys bound to the door, overcome with joy and flashmob the king of our castle.

He greets them with hugs, greets me with a kiss.

And my heart basks in gratitude that the father they adore, the man for whom they wait, for whom we all wait more than lives up to all the hype.

Bigger Picture Moment: Grace Personified

In the chill of early summer air Saturday night, I slide my body in between our bedsheets and will my racing mind sleep simply so this week would end.

All of these end-beginnings and beginnings-ends filled with death and eternity and life and the delicate balance that spans the space between had left me saturated in a monsoon of emotions that run the gamut of sorrow and empathy and awe and grief and relief and gratitude and maybe even fear.

So when John whispers a simple question about which church service we would attend in the morning, I simply just refused even going at all.

I feel him suck in a large breath of air, and I think perhaps he might push me on the subject, but instead he exhales, kisses me cheek and lets me fall into sleep.

****
Sun streams in through the blinds of our bedroom, luring two little boys' eyelids open, both of whom had found their way into our room that night before.

We swing into our Sunday morning routine of breakfast and Veggie Tales and hot tea and showers, though my words from the night before are sloshing around in both mine and John's minds.

He asks again whether I'm coming along to church service.

And, again, I refuse. As though I were a teenager protesting against my mother's wishes to attend Sunday services, I dig my heels into the ground at his questioning.

And like a teenager, I can't really put it into words what I'm feeling, so I simply mutter I don't want to go and how no one can actually make me.

I quickly head back upstairs, my husband following at my heels.

I plant myself on our bed.

Quietly, swiftly

without the guilt trip

or the shame

or the judgement

he asks again what's going on.

Nothing.

And again, firmly, gently, what's going on?

I ponder -- saying I've been in some sort of funk for the past week would be the guilty confession of one whose probably already been figured out -- it all adds up but in order for it to be totally sold as truth, an admission needs to be uttered.

Bathed in the warmth of sunlight after days of rain and John's strength, his patient readiness to just love me where I was, I suck in air and spit out the words as we sit on the edge of our bed, my finger tracing the outlines of goldenrod flowers sewen into our sheets.

Where is He? I ask.

In this grief?

In this sadness?

In this pain and this tragedy?

And in my broken hopes and stalled out dreams and the stuckness, the mediocrity?

Where is He?

I can't hear Him for the life me, and if I'm going to be honest, I'm not sure I'm even listening anymore, right here.

We sit, soaked in words that have spilled over the floodgate, me in my own tears, John's hand sweeping up and down my back.

He doesn't offer many words, just his presence, his compassion, this understanding that this, too, shall pass.

And pass it does nearly half way through a message delivered directly to my heart by our pastor at the church service I so desperately wanted to skip.

****

We leave the sanctuary basking in truths about taking captive our thought lives and banishing thoughts that don't speak to His true nature of holiness and goodness and righteousness and love. The message was good -- so good, and it helped lift me out that deep funk by pouring the Truth of His Word back into my parched soul.

As we drive home beneath blue skies and sunshine, John grasps my hand while heavy realizations grip my mind -- I think about what it took to pull me out of bed and carry me into that place where I could be revived.

I eye him up --my husband, completely unaware-- as he drives, and I see that he is grace personified this morning.

And that while sermons are strong and necessary and so helpful, there is nothing that shows itself as powerful as grace wearing flesh.





To share your own Bigger Picture Moment and immerse yourself within a community of creative, talented women also on the journey of intentional living, head over to Melissa's place.

Also linking to Thought-Provoking Thursdays at