Changes

This is just really not an easy post to write.  I've tried a couple times to start, but it all comes down to this - if you are reading about this via my blog, I'm sorry.  So tacky.  But when I write, my thoughts flow whereas my words just stumble all around in person.  And I'm exhausted by the times that I have explained this in person.  It is hard to say, and seems that it's even more difficult for people to hear.

So.  Chris and I are separating.  He is in the process of moving out and will have his own apartment on Friday. (By the way, if you are a robber planning on visiting a single woman's house, just know that I have a seriously enormous dog and some history of karate training - kinda. And I'm pretty feisty.)

The very natural next question is for people to ask why I am doing this. (And yes, it is on my accord only.)  My answer is that I really wish I could explain it.  I wish that the details weren't so private and intricate that I could explain it from the roof tops so that people wouldn't believe that I have up and completely abandoned all that I've worked for.  I have been told that I'm not fighting for my family...that if I just agree to try, it will all get better.  But the truth is, I firmly believe that neither of those statements are true.  And, despite my desire to separate from Chris, I do still believe in respecting the father of my children.  Subsequently, I won't be dumping details out into the community, nor will I be defending myself.  It's not easy to defend my decision without being disrespectful to my children.  Believe it when I say that they are my first priority.  You may not believe that is the case, in the context of my desire to separate from Chris, but again....I will not be defending myself.  It's a tough spot for me to be in.  And frankly, I'm just wearing it like a big scarlet A on my forehead.  But when I think about the details of our separation floating around the world, unsupervised, I picture my future adult children hearing convoluted statements about a relationship that truly only two people understand in this world.  And I can tell you that this separation is not a mystery to Chris.  We both fully understand where things derailed.

I know that people are sad, angry, frustrated, shocked, angry, shocked and sad.  I do understand.  Me too.

We will continue to be a family.  It just might not look like it was supposed to look.  And Chris and I are heavily committed to being great parents to our kids, so you will continue to see us together as a family and working through this, one step at a time.  I appreciate everyone's thoughts, prayers and concerns....I really do.  For now, I have a laser focus on my children and unfortunately, that will be the only way I ever defend this decision.  Thank you.

Adelai is Two!

Dear Adelai,

You are two years old.  I can barely write any further because that sentence alone makes me speechless.  My girl is growing up. And wow, have you grown up.  

This past year, you started to keep pace with your brothers.  In your first year, you were gentle and reserved.  You watched your brothers with a sense of almost pity and with moments of disdain.  They played in dirt, jumped off couches, crowded you with overly excited affection and built stuff.  You seemed perplexed by this.  This year, you jumped into the clan of Garland kids with both feet.  You love them and look for them all day long.  You can often be heard saying “Where’s Chaze? Where’s Jutin?” Your favorite thing to do with them is to run up and down the hallways yelling and screaming.  Your face is lit up with joy.  You also love sitting by them, lying in daddy and mommy’s bed with them, and you particularly follow Justin wherever he goes. 

But you are all girl.  I remember watching you lay eyes on a doll for the first time and your face lit up with glee.  You take care of your babies all day.  You are constantly wasting boxes of diaper wipes washing their faces over and over again.  You love to color and have recently fallen in love with princesses and Strawberry Shortcake.  You hardly ever willingly wear pants and repeatedly call yourself a princess throughout the day.  In short, you know who you are. 

 The first year of your life, you were gentle and unassuming.  You were hesitant to meet physical milestones, quiet and you cuddled a bunch.  You didn’t speak much and could easily be described as reserved.  And then you weren’t.  You are sassy, young lady.  Sassy.  I have no idea where you get that from.  (Your mommy is so passive!) You hold your own with your brothers.  You are a force to be reckoned with.

You have a tendency to attack people when they aren’t doing as you command.  This includes lifting your arm up with the intent to assault and running across the room to complete the crime.  And you don’t just hit once, you hit over and over again.  As you are being carried into time out, you continue your assault on your victim until you are placed in your room.  You then scream, stick out your tongue and slam the door.  You can then flip the switch, flash a dimple and ask nicely for your demand.  Usually you are asking for something completely insane, so when the answer is still “no”, you scream again, attempt a swat, end up in your room and slam the door again.  Then you come out happy and life moves on. 

Your favorite word and clearest word is “NO.”  You don’t yell it, you just state it firmly and frequently.  All the time, really.  You haven’t really gotten a hold of vocabulary yet, but Daddy and I understand you because we’ve learned the Adie language.  You are up to two word sentences, but they have to be the right words.  For example, you have “No, Mama” down pat.  Love that.  Right now I think I’m fine with your vocabulary, because based on your blossoming sassiness, I’m just fine with your inability to express yourself.  Heaven help us when you actually can say what you are thinking.   

You love water and over the past year, your heaven is in the bathtub.  That is, until you started pooping the tub a few weeks ago.  Now you don’t like it so much.  Whenever I ask you if you’d like to get in the tub, you instantly say “poop?”  You also are on the verge of potty training, but can’t quite get the order down.  Right now, you poop your diaper, secretly take it off and then sit on the potty.  You’ll understand that this is not a great moment for me when you’ve smeared feces on the toilet, the carpet, your clothes and then you are remarkably unhappy with the results. 

Your laugh is perfection.  Straight from heaven.

Sometimes (all the time) I want to beg God to freeze time when you are sitting on my lap, all cuddled up.  At bed time, you whisper “nigh, nigh, mama.  Luhyu.”  I think probably if I never had another moment on the planet, I could stand before God and be grateful just to have had that one moment with you.  You and your brothers are the delight of my heart. 

These words just seem stupid because I will ultimately fail to express how you light up a room.  I’ll fail to express how the very sight of your smile when I get home from a stressful day at work washes all the unimportant stuff away.  I won’t adequately be able to tell you that you motivate me to be an authentic woman of God because I want to live up to my own personal standard of who is worthy of  being the mommy of Adelai Makena.  I look at you and think about all that you deserve, and then I look back at myself and think “Wow.  I have work to do.”  Because I know from the depth of my soul that God gave me you with an intention to raise you up in righteousness.  And can I admit that I feel like I still need more “raising up”?

I get told over and over to “enjoy these years with her because woe to you when she’s a teenager.”  In reality, I think it’s more like a life long sentence of loving a creature so much that you simultaneously must have a goal of independence and self sufficiency, yet deeply desire a life long connection and an ultimate moment when I get to hold your hand within the gates of Heaven.  I don’t care if you ever speak clearly.  I don’t care if you ever hate me, if you struggle, if you succeed beyond all imagination.  What I do care about is your eternity.  Sometimes as I see you walking out into the world, my prayer is simply that God would grab ahold of your heart.  That you would love Him early and that He would be the delight of your life.  Because my Adelai, I’ll fight hell for you.  I will fail at many things (like turning your clothes pink or forgetting a bunch of stuff), but I am resolved to not fail at this.  And don’t hesitate to remember that you got your sassiness from somewhere.

My sweet baby girl....it’s an honor to be your mommy. You inspire me. You humble me.  You make me laugh and you show me yet another sign of God Almighty in a tender hearted, fiery little girl. 
Love you Adie-Mak. 

Love, Mommy

Influenza Has Mommy?

Being a mommy does something odd to the psyche.  I think I'm so far deep into motherhood that, at some point, I forgot that I could actually get sick.  This isn't to say that I haven't been sick in the past 6 years, but more like I haven't been so sick that I couldn't ignore the symptoms along side the rest of the little humans in my life.  I'm fairly certain that I could be dry heaving into a garbage bag and any one of my three children would tap me on the shoulder and ask me if I could please get them some more milk.  Or wipe their buns.  Or could I please kiss their owie that they got when they smacked their brother in the face?

So on Saturday, I started to feel odd and easily exhausted.  On Sunday I started to cough uncontrollably.  On Monday I woke up and I thought I was going to die.  Fever, dry cough, congestion, you name it.  Total misery.   I couldn't stand up, I couldn't eat, drink, whine, nothing.

One thing you have to know is that Chris Garland is infamous for being a hypochondriac.  He will deny this until the day that he dies, but the fact remains that as soon as I mention a symptom, he literally has that exact symptom in about 3 nano-seconds, with of course the exception of things like a fever or congestion, etc.  For example, one of the very first symptoms I ever got when I was pregnant was cold symptoms.  My nose would get stuffy and I would swear that I was getting sick.  Then, coupled with a few other symptoms, I would take a pregnancy test and it would explain it all.  Chris got my "pregnancy cold" every single time and it was cured by my pregnancy test....every single time.  Mention a symptom, and Chris is instantly ill.  It's adorable/annoying/adorable.

So, over the weekend, Chris was obviously feeling "tired and sick".  He even took loads of over-the-counter cough medicine, even though he never coughed even once. Then Monday came, and he was refreshed and ready for the week.  I was hit by a Mack truck, but since I couldn't barely put a sentence together to express my symptoms, Chris was unscathed.  I stayed in bed for three straight days, with the exception of when I went to the doctor for ear pain and came home with influenza and antibiotics.

Which reminds me.  I'm sitting at urgent care, my head in my palm, coughing into a mask when the doctor gently asks me "Mrs Garland, did you get a flu shot?"

My mind immediately flashed to the traumatic events of every fall when I get my three children flu shots.  It is pure misery.  They cry, scream, go hysterical and respond to each other's cries as if their lives are truly endangered. As a tribe of psychos, they absolutely panic until the three of them see something shiny and then life goes on, leaving a rattled, exhausted mother in their wake.  Within four minutes, nobody remembers what happened except me.

But wait a minute...I obviously didn't get a shot that day at the pediatric clinic....and then I realized....I completely forgot to get myself a flu shot.  Me.  Unbelievable.

So I tell the doctor that I didn't get one....but can't stop myself from rattling off my life story just in case he thinks I'm a complete moron.  "I didn't get one, but I have three kids and they all got one.  I just forgot to get myself one.  See?  They are....covered, so...that doesn't count...but if the world had any ounce of justice in it, it would....right?"

"Mrs. Garland, I think you have influenza.  The real one" and then, as I look entirely defeated, he quietly jokes "do you need a mental health evaluation?"

Of course I do.  So when I come home and tell Chris, his face goes white and he takes a few steps back from me.  He says under his breath "Oh my God.  My wife has the black plague.  I'm going to die."

I step over all the garbage on the ground that has accumulated in the past 72 hours and return to my bed while Chris is giving the kids a bath.  I am so exhausted that I have to ask Chris to get me some water, but it takes him awhile to respond.  When he finally brings the water, which clearly he would like to hand to me with a 10 foot pole, he looks frazzled.  I ask him what is wrong, and no joke, he says "Oh nothing, just trying to handle my pre-flu symptoms."

So I was incapacitated for 5 straight days.  Chris got the kids ready for school each day and I swear, Adelai literally had a bee hive as she went to daycare each day.  For three straight days, they ate pizza and eggs for almost every meal.  They never had a bed time, but rather passed out on the floor and were placed into their beds.  They had free access to cookies and drank non-stop Gatorade.  It was probably the best time of their lives. And when I finally rose from my bed this morning, the house looked like a war zone.  Not to disrespect the survivors of WWII, but does anybody remember the scene in The Pianist when the main character finally comes out of the house at the very end and the whole entire place is decimated for as far as the eye can see?

 That was kind of like my house.  Except that instead of bombed out structures of houses, I had straight filth and garbage.

I used to feel like a total failure as a parent because my house almost always looks trashed.  No matter how hard I try, I have three little sabotages following behind me, ruining everything.  At least this experience has shown me that I do actually keep total filth and decimation at bay.  Sort of.

And FYI, Chris is still freaked out by me.  When I cough, he does everything short of duck-and-cover.  Luckily, he is still at the "pre-flu" stage, so I think we'll be just fine.

Although, speaking of the need for a mental health evaluation......

The End of Reservations

When I first began my inquiry of God, I was motivated by fear.  I had been a total control freak and while I would never have understood what I am saying right now, I was infatuated with many idols.  The day that Justin turned blue, I would have described idolatry as something some crazy weird people did a long time ago when they thought some weird statues were magic.

The truth was that at that time, I believed in God but I figured that I could handle everything on my own.  He need not concern Himself with me, who had everything taken care of by myself.  I mean...I was Jessica Garland, after all.  (I'm not sure that this actually means anything, but it did at the time.)

Over the course of the past two years, He's relentlessly revealed idol after idol after idol in my life.  Money (a giant one for me), control (another giant one for me), my physical health (a giant one....see the pattern?), my identity, what people think of me....all these things that sort of root my belief that, if every one of these things are in place, I'm secure.  Safe.  If these things are in place, I am on solid ground.

His relentless revelations are at times, tender and at other times, a blow to the soul.  When you are infatuated with your Creator, idolatry is heartbreaking.  At some point in the last six months, I've held money in my hand and been devastated.  This is literally paper that you exchange for stuff.  That's all.  I can't believe this ever uprooted my entire life when it dissapeared.  The clarity of my infidelity to God is painful.  When the fog lifts and you see that it was all just stupid weird statues, falling to your knees seems to be a reasonable reaction.

But the sudden revelation two years ago that the foundation of my life was a fraud knocked me on my heels and I came after YHWH with a fervor.  YHWH, save my boy.  YHWH, save my marriage.  YHWH, save my life.  YHWH, take it all.  YHWH, I'm a fraud.  Make me all new.  


(Sigh.)


Graham Thudium.  I'm never going to be the same.  Because as I had the privilige of watching you as you valiantly and courageously marched towards the gates of heaven, you showed me perhaps my biggest idol yet.  Watching you soften hearts....bring grown men to tears....you revealed the goal in life.  The real one.  Not the "American Dream".  Not the white picket fences.

Not the healthy children. (Insert punch to the gut here.)

My idol is my healthy children.  I have simultaneously been grateful for the blessing and called the death of a child "a mother's worst nightmare".  And of course it is up there at the top....there's no denying that.  Please do not hear me say that the death of a child is not a total nightmare.  But perhaps, if you believe that YHWH is faithful....if you believe that He is who He says He is, and He will do what He says He will do, than my worst nightmare should be more around the fear that my children will be so healthy and so successful that they don't encounter the Living God.  My worst nightmare should be that I would blow these precious years of influence as a parent by being fatigued or selfish or caught up by fear.  (All of which I'm prone to be.)

So I'm stepping out onto a ledge.  I'm no longer focusing as a mother on pleading for the continued health of my children in prayer.  Graham Thudium's life was the definition of success in Biblical standards.  He was covered in faith, he loved deeply and he became a warrior for Jesus.  A victorious triumph over the gates of hell. We are deeply mourning the separation, but resolute in faith that the separation is temporary and will not last.

I want salvation for my children....however God would choose to accomplish that task.  My plea then becomes that He would accomplish that mission--period.  Trusting that, as the Bible says, (Romans 8:28) in all things, He works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.


I now believe that, even if nothing is in place, I remain on solid ground.  And thanks to Graham and the Thudium family, I now boldly approach the Throne of Grace with no reservations.

Upright Stones

I'm taking on a task in this post that, frankly I just don't feel qualified to do. Yet, I can't think of anything else except this post, so I've decided to put it out there and then clean the kitchen. I think that's how God would want it.

In the Bible, when something amazing happened with God, the Israelites would mark the geographical spot with a massebah (pronounced mat-zey-VAH), or standing stone. The plural term for this is masseboth (pronounced mat-zey-VOTE). There is still evidence of these standing stones in Israel.



With my seriously limited theological background, it seems that they erected these upright stones in an effort to point passers-by to the dynamic power and awesomeness of the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Travelers who wandered by would (according to the custom of the pagan world) recognize that something significant had occurred, and ask "What happened here?" Then, the people who knew the story would give the testimony of the power of their God. The power of YHWH.



I was raised a scientist. I have spent my due time learning about the scientific method of the Western culture and "just the facts" has been ingrained into my head deeply. It got me far until the day I believed Justin was dying right in front of my eyes. Then I threw that all away and I have been on a mission into the unseen for nearly two years. And I am in love.

But.

I would be a liar if I said that I wouldn't seriously appreciate some proof.

The Oasis family had the deep and wonderful pleasure of knowing Graham Thudium, a 7 year old boy who died yesterday from a rare form of brain cancer. He was a shining light of joy, hope and unshakable faith in the midst of a scenario that, by all accounts could have robbed him of all three. He saw things simply. Life looked simple when we watched him read Heaven is for Real. And as I watched him read and saw the joy of his heart as he looked forward to playing Nintendo in heaven, I saw the true meaning of Jesus' words when he said "Permit the children to come to Me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it at all." (Luke 18:15 NASB)

Graham was a perfect example of a bar set high. He anxiously awaited the angels of heaven to arrive so that he would be healed of cancer.

And now he's healed. And running, and jumping, and hearing, and looking at Jesus. He's looking at Jesus. Face to face. Graham alone would be worthy of a massebah. He touched so many and, with his passion to see his friends in heaven, he became a tender hearted and unstoppable evangelist.

But there belongs more upright stones in this story. Chris, Louise and Sara are living masseboth. They are upright stones, walking amongst us as powerful testimonies of the power of YHWH. They are still standing. The strength of this family is....a fact.

On Christmas Eve, while driving to Washington in the dark, I sent a message to Louise telling her that I was praying for her every day. I imagined myself in her shoes, wearing a smile and breaking in half on the inside. She responded and said that her home was full of peace and they were loving their time together. I read joy in her words. In the darkness on the highway, I read the message aloud to Chris and he was quiet. I gave him a couple of minutes and then he said "I've never believed in God as much as I do in this very moment. If they have peace today, what more proof of the power of God do we need?"

YHWH has the ability to root us in a strength that makes no sense. He has the ability to build our house on the rock, when we would have built it on sand. And, in the midst of unspeakable grief, He uses His upright stones to show us that there are no limits to His miracles....His mercy.....His grace....His compassion.

Thank you Chris, Louise and Sara. For sharing Graham, and for being a testimony. You are masseboth. We love you.




P.S. See the video of "Billy" Graham Thudium reading Heaven is for Real here.

A Routine Shiner

She sat in her hospital crib, suddenly laughing hysterically at a simple toy.  It was clear that she was feeling the effects of the medication she had received as she swayed from side to side. She tipped over into the pillow, flashed her dimples at me and giggled.  Her smile takes up so much of her face, and I noted the curls in her hair as she grabbed my attention like she so easily does.  I reached to pick her up, but she nonchalantly said "no" and went about her play.  I noticed that she was beginning to drool from her lip, so I quickly attended to her as she folded her tiny body over to press her face into the mirror on the toy.  She was delighted by her reflection.  I was delighted by her delight, even though her ever increasing independence in the world was, at times, tough to accept....or should I say, tough to celebrate.  She owns me.

I tried to appear carefree for her for a few minutes until I realized that she wasn't looking at me anymore.  Then  I stopped.  No sense in pretending that my heart wasn't burning in my chest as the doctors ran through the simple, routine procedure.  The anesthesiologist told me how he would care for her and was completely taken by her grin.  "Are you trying to win me over, young lady?  You had me at your first giggle."  She brightened as if she somehow understood and then sunk into her pillow further with pure glee.  Her laughter filled the tense room. Not a care in the world.

As they were preparing to wheel her away, I overheard a surgeon giving a family a completely different scenario.  "This is a risky situation" and "we'll keep you updated on the progress if we make any...." As they wheeled my girl away, my eyes filled with tears as I was full of gratitude yet couldn't stand the image of her happy little carefree body being whisked away from her mommy.  She never looked for me.  She was growing up.  It's the kind of security that comes from being well-loved...knowing that your mommy will always be back...always come for you.
I will always come for her.

The 30 minute wait turned into two hours.  In retrospect, I think God just shielded me from this knowledge, because I didn't really notice.  The doctor came and explained that it had not gone well.  She was missing a tear duct in her eye that was responsible for 70% of the drainage in the eye.  He explained that she might have to have some kind of extensive surgery, but I didn't listen to anything he said.  I pictured her hair, recently having exploded into curls.  Her inquisitive eyes.  Her fingers...her toes. He gave me a reassuring smile, but I give that smile to patients all the time after I've given them a pep-talk.  I know it doesn't mean much. He left and nearly immediately, they called for the mother of Adelai Garland. I rose from my chair trying to hide the anxious desire to push down grandmas and shove people aside to get to her.

I entered through double doors and there were children lying in beds, along the walls.  Some were sleeping, some were moaning as they woke up, some were sobbing.  I saw Adelai being held by a nurse.  Her eyes were visibly swollen and, under her left eye there was a dark purple bruise forming.  Blood sat on her lip, flowing slowly out of her nose. Her eyes were closed, but she was whimpering and sort of flailing around, yet without much effort.  I said her name and she sort of lunged in the direction of my voice with a sob. I caught her, clumsy in my attempt to scoop her with all her wires.  She fell into my body with a sigh and was unconscious again.  Her breathing became calm and she was home.  I am still her home.

Her head still fits perfectly under my chin.  Her body bends perfectly into mine, as if God created me specifically for what her body would need on this day.  We blended like puzzle pieces.  As I sat and rocked her, I remembered what it was like to be pregnant with her and then to hold her newborn body as she lay like this....so trusting and so peaceful.  I hugged her tightly and took deep breathes for her, helping her to regulate her breathing further.  Her oxygen saturation got back up to 100% and they were pleased.  She woke up a little further, lifted her face suddenly off of my shoulder and stared at me, about 5 inches from my face, as if confirming that it was really me.  She was reassured and dove into me again.  Back to sleep.  It is really me.

Over time, she woke up further and suddenly, a switch was flipped.  She became angry and irritable.  She threw stuff, shoved me away as if I had made her hurt and sobbed inconsolably.  She screamed, ripping off her band-aid that eventually took the place of the IV and bled all over her favorite blanket.  A patience lives in me that is not my own, because I simply sat for awhile as she tried to hit me and waited for her.  Then, she reached for me again and I delighted in her return.

She has a black eye now.  The world has dealt her a blow.  She has spent the day content with staying on my lap for hours at a time.  When she is in pain, she suddenly turns on me, but she finds her way back to my lap.  I am her safety.  She will forget that tomorrow, but it won't change the fact that I am her home.

And when she forgets it, and then remembers it, I'll smile knowingly, with a heart bursting with love.  First, because I'm a mommy and I live for her.  But second, because I do that to my Abba Father all the time too. When I get a black eye and remember to run back to my Home, His heart absolutely bursts with joy.

I should probably remember that.  You should too.

Marriage

Dear Chase, Justin & Adelai,

Daddy and I recently celebrated 8 years of marriage.  I'm writing this letter to you kids mostly because, as I've wandered around my life the past week, nobody seems to remember what it's like to be married 8 years.  I personally have the hypothesis that they've blacked out the trauma, in light of the ease that bursts through at 20 years....or something.  I'm banking on an ease occurring at the 20 year mark, so stay tuned for that letter too.  Likely, by the time you are bursting onto 8 years, I'll stare at you with a blank look and have nothing at all to offer.  At least I hope.  

At eight years of marriage, I think you know that the person you've married is human.  And he/she is never going to be anything better than human.  Perhaps earlier in the marriage, I might have delusionally convinced myself that your dad might eventually morph into a superhero....as if he was a work in progress, and I was simply hanging on (in my perfect state) until he progressed to cape status.  But recently I noticed that he hasn't.  And he won't.  And even worse? (gasp) I'm not perfect.  

I know right?  I bet, as my own children, this blows your mind.  Come talk to me after you read this and I'll point out my few flaws that I've noted over the years.  

Anyway, the idea that your spouse is human is a nice lesson to learn because it alleviates a lot of stress to realize that your spouse is going to let you down....as humans do.  And your spouse will also pick you up...but not the way that restores you and makes all of your troubles go away.  You will have troubles when you are married that your spouse cannot fix.  If you look to your spouse as if they are super human....or even worse, like they should be super human,  all sorts of troubles come your way.  A long time ago, (and by the time you read this, a frickin LONG TIME AGO) there was a famous movie quote from Jerry Maguire in which Jerry says to the woman "You complete me."  

It's about the 8th year in marriage where you realize that this can't possibly be true.  If that's true, then every time that sadness or stress comes and your spouse doesn't fix it, the marriage gets rocked.  This past year, your daddy and I figured out how to live and love without being dependent on each other for our solid footing in life.  Maybe up until the past two years, we felt invincible together...mostly because it's just so easy for your daddy and I to be together.  We fit together fairly effortlessly. Then, life got stressful and it's wasn't easy to be us at all.  

I think you end up in one of two places in that time.  You 1) turn and point fingers and wonder why the other person isn't fixing everything or 2) put down your arms and stand next to each other until you are both ready to get down on your knees and submit to the One who really completes you.  And then, He makes you, as a couple, brand new and shiny.  And He becomes a river of Life, flowing through your home.  And you don't look at each other anymore with frustration or anger about things not working out, because you realize that you are both simply human.  

And then you look around and see that, given the 3 children under 5 years old, the mortgage, the small business, the three cats, the dog, and the budget from hell, life really should be stressful.  

So at 8 years, you sit back, hold hands and laugh with each other.  You accept that it's hard, and you thank God that He offered you a life partner who is your very best friend in the whole world.  And then you briefly fight about how your spouse never rinses off the dishes before he puts them into the dishwasher, therefore making every dish nasty and hardening the leftover food until it's a substance that resembles cement.  And you might, in the midst of that fight, be completely flabbergasted by the idea that your spouse would then put said dish into the cupboard anyway.  And you might, after that, become amazed that this does not faze him, pointing out that this might be indicative of a mental disorder or something.  Then, you'll suddenly realize that he's not looking at your eyes, but rather looking just past your head at ESPN on the TV behind you.  And then you briefly lose your mind before you come back to reality.  And then you laugh again. 

That's 8 years of marriage.  

So what I can say is this.  When you pick your person, pick somebody that you would easily call your best friend.  Pick somebody who has a good heart with great intentions.  Pick somebody who would joyfully sacrifice anything for you.  And after many years, when things get hard, don't ever forget that marriage is a gift, but life is about being refined by fire.  Your marriage should be a retreat, but God is in the process of making you holy...and He will use your marriage to refine you.  With that in mind, one might even say that the challenges are the biggest gift.  (I would not be willing to admit this when I pull out a dirty dish from the cupboard, however.)

I started praying for your marriages already.  And one thing that I pray is that your spouses love you the way that your daddy loves me.  I am well loved, that is for sure.  

I may have to do the dishes again, but I am well loved.  

Love you, my babies.  Forever and always. 

Love 

Mommy

Mommy and Daddy Christmas 2011