Bigger Picture Moments: I See it in His Face

When we first were married, no one ever asked him for his ID when he'd order a beer.

But they always asked for mine.

At freshly 22, I'd tease him that I was his young wife, gladly wearing smooth skin and pre-baby curves as I joked.

And he'd look at me adoringly, smile a wide grin, and agree even though I'm actually only two months and some change younger.

It's been seven and a half years, one mortgage, one business, two little boys, two angel babies and now another baby on the way since we said I do, and when we go out now and order a drink neither of us are asked to prove we're of legal age ...

That's what living long days and learning hard into what life gives and clinging fiercely to God while together weathering storms does to our bodies -- it ages us in ways we've not only felt but in ways we can see.

Gray hairs bright and shiny amid my copper-brown locks and small smile lines surrounding eyes and body swelled and stretched in motherly ways.

But John -- he's only a little grayer in the hair and it blends seamlessly in with his short, blonde hair and the smile lines around his eyes are barely noticeable and he's seven pounds lighter and leaner.

It's when I take this good look at my own reflection and then his that I see it in his face.

There is love spread over it in ways I didn't before know or see or recognize.

And I'm thankful for the way we wear our age

reminders of the love we've sown and grown and harvested along the way.

Link your moment at Brook's

Marriage: On a Monday, On Oneness

On a Monday, our feet don't stop moving in opposite directions until we're about to bid the day farewell and welcome in the night.

He was up and out the door before my eyes even opened this morning and our paths spread out over miles and miles of unshared terrain.

It's quite unlike the day we shared seven years ago, gripping each other's hands, eyes locked, voicing vows of love and respect, honesty and loyalty and, most importantly, oneness for all of our days together on Earth; even the clean, crisp air of today is a drastic difference from that day's thick humidity.

Today whirlwinds by, and to the untrained eye we seem anything but one as we quickly exchange a hello via phone bidding each other a happy anniversary, one brief email with a written sentiment and then a small face-to-face and kiss before work beckons me to return just as he arrives home, his capable hands taking the reigns of the household.

I tease him and smile, "What? No time for flowers today?" before walking out the door for work.

In a miracle of sorts, I arrive home in time for a late dinner that he's struggled to prepare amid boy-wrangling and unexpected-necessary errands and poop-splosion clean up.

We all find a space at the table and fall into a stillness of body as we recount our days.

Our oldest talks about school and then his little brother explains the basic tenants of good applesauce {"it yummy and it mushy"} as we listen and smile.

After the littles are talked out, he gives voice to his day's adventures and I can't help but laugh at the raucous of his grill catching fire at the same time our oldest reported that our youngest was mooning the neighbors with a poop-covered butt in the backyard.

As he recounts the craziness, he ends with the scene I unknowingly walked in on just a little bit ago.

"Then we sat down at the table and I exhaled and we thanked God for our food and our day ... and for mommy. And we asked Him that mommy would please come home, um, soon."

And with that prayer shared, he unknowingly unwraps for me the best anniversary present ever.

Because those heart cries are ones I pray everyday, too -- that we would just come back together at the end of days long and alive and filled to the brim with goodness and hardness and everything in between after being stretched so out of shape

and enter back into that oneness we knew in the most physical sense the day we promised it

but now know with our hearts seven years beyond.



Happy anniversary, John. I tried not to sing out of key for you. :-)

Join us at Alita's!

Bigger Picture Moments: For the Worse

It's been hard for him.

These past nine or so months have grown him, too.

I haven't been the only one who feels as though I were stretching outside of my very own skin's capacity.

Though it seems like I've been the one whose been forced-chosen to ungrasp my clenched knuckles from so much, we've both let go of a lot.

Time together as a family, as a couple.

Opportunities and weekends away.

Small pockets of late-night connection as I've slept and he's battled a strong-willed toddler.

Two tiny babies from inside my womb.

And sometimes I feel like he's sort of lost the woman he married while in the thick of all her spontaneity and fun-laced ways, found himself left with someone who has a list of nos that run the trunks of century-old trees ... someone who can't even go out to dinner on a whim anymore because she must first scout out the contents of the menu.

But in the loss, in the for worse of what seems worlds away from the better, roots have been established.

We stood tall through the beautiful times of our engagment and job changes and births of babies, and now, too, we've sunk our roots into firm Soil and weathered storms of illness and loss and grief and anxiety and time spent growing together while being apart.

There's nothing flashy and romantic about the protruding of roots creeping into Solid Ground while the skies rage.

There have been days where we've come together only to utter prayers before tired eyes close, succumbing to sleep. Moments of deep-seated frustration in the boiling over of pots and helplessness in the melting of a crying, shaking body falling into open arms. Exhaustion in digging deep to find more of yourself to give to rambunctious little boys when her arms can't even hold the shovel.

But after the pounding of the rain softens and the thundering of fronts breaking the apart air fade to rumbles in the distance and the whipping of the wind gives way to soft breeze there is a beautiful calm that emerges in seeing that the tree is still standing strong-armed with thick branches and budding green with new life.

There is a growing peace found in the roots of abiding, together.

Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with the beauty in the simple moments of the week.. 

Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.

Capture.
Harvest them!

Share.
Link up your gleaned moment this week at Alita's! Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.

Encourage.
Visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.

Scenes from Life: How I Met Your ...

Thick ropes drape from one side of the descending, rocky staircase to the other, making a skimpy barrier across the private part of the history that's been unearthed.

And she, in a boldness that stretches beyond the sliver ring encasing her lip and fiery red streaks running through dark hair – she bounds toward the unbeaten path with spirit soaring, freedom brimming, adventure beckoning.

The girl with the lip ring, he thinks, had originally come across as kind of scatterbrained and flaky; after all, she'd  ...

I'm guest posting over at Emily's today, writing one of my very own vivid Scenes from Life. Yes, this story is totally my very own God-ordained love story. Head over to share a moment of my life I'll always remember as one of God being the author of our stories -- even and especially the love ones.

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.