Friday, June 15, 2012

Journeying On

It's a Friday and I slept in until 10.00. It's been weeks since I just "slept in," with nothing but kids ready for breakfast to wake me up. Andrew got up with Meredith at 6.30 this morning when she wanted some milk, and then both of them went right back to sleep. Me? I peeked an eye out from under my covers and snuggled back in.

Andrew's now gone to the store to get more goat milk for Meredith. Both girls are asleep, and I've been sitting on the couch thinking about and researching options for our future. Currently (these-days-currently, not right-now-currently) I'm working while Andrew stays home with the girls and works on his last two classes during their naps. It's slow going, but it's working. We'll both be so glad to be done with school. I finished in May, and he'll be done, Lord willing, in August. One class has been an absolute beast to get going-- everything that could go wrong with it (all completely out of our hands), did. Each time I think we've bested it and come out on top, and so far without fail, another obstacle has come along to prevent him getting started on it. Now there might not be enough time, but we're working as hard as we can (him doing the work, me keeping the kids out from underfoot when I'm home and around) to get it completed.

It's exciting and scary at the same time: we have the whole world open to us at the moment, it feels like. We could go anywhere, do anything. We both have so many interests and a variety of skills, and we're just now embarking on life after college. (We've never known each other without school-- crazy thought!) We're looking to stay in the area for the next while at least, and settle into our own place. It feels like we're at a fork in the road, but one with dozens of paths branching off of it, each setting us on a course we'll be influenced by for the rest of our lives. As yet, there is no "obvious" road, but many possibilities we could take.

When I was a teenager, the two men I was interested in were 6+ years older than me. I used to think it wonderful to be in a relationship with someone who's already got it all figured out and is settled into life. Andrew's only three years older than me, and it shocked my closest friends when they found out how "young" he was ("And you're still interested in him?!"), but I've found that I absolutely love being a part of his "figuring it all out." We're in this together. We're at the same stages of life, experiencing the same firsts, mourning the same lasts, and journeying on together. We're far below the American poverty line, and yet neither of us has ever felt impoverished. We're just shy of three years married, and yet we're still in the "honeymoon phase." (Pretty sure that's not going to change--and shouldn't.) We have two beautiful children-- and that beauty is talking purely of their sweet and loving hearts, their care for each other, and the fact that they are made in the image of God. I've been pregnant or nursing (or both) for more of our marriage than not, and I'm known more completely than I ever have been in my life. I'm married to a man who daily points me to Christ, who humbles me with his love, and who models God the Father to our children. Andrew is unswervingly faithful, fiercely protective, and mind-blowingly loving. Every day, I'm humbled by how over and above he loves me. It's not that it's such a big deal that he gets butterflies in his stomach looking at me or feels sparks when we kiss, but that when he doesn't feel that way at that moment, or when he's hurt because I spoke thoughtlessly, or when he's tired and just wants to sleep, he still loves me. He acts his love. He chooses to love me. He has vowed to love me, no matter what ups and downs we might ever experience. He's given his oath before God and man to actively choose to love me every single day.

And he does.

How could I not love going through life's uncertainties with a man like this?

When I was little, I always thought the verse in 1 John 4:19 was a bit mercenary: "We love Him because He first loved us." Andrew makes me understand that verse. He loves me so completely, so thoroughly, that I can't help but love him in turn. His love humbles me and shows my own failings up so painfully that without him speaking a negative word to me, I am compelled to do better in loving him. His love for me is so great that I love him in return. How could I not?

And so we journey on together, living, learning, failing, and learning some more. We strive to love each other better and to lead the other closer to Christ through our relationship. Through the ups, downs, hurts, and joys, we journey on, wondering what God has in store for us next.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

In which we talk of texting

It's with quite a bit of trepidation that I step back into the world of blogging. Throughout high school I blogged extensively (and verbosely) on xanga, and made many friends through common thoughts and shared ideas. Since then, college, marriage, and kids have happened, and I'm a little more careful of what I put out on the web for others to read. It's so easy to misinterpret words that are merely read and not heard, expressions that are written and not embodied. I used to naively think that there was only one way what I wrote could be interpreted and understood, but no longer. For those who don't know me as well, what I write could probably be taken several ways. Up until recently, I haven't felt like I wanted to write enough to risk that, but today I decided to take the plunge. 

I'm home for the afternoon and it's lovely. Not really lovely weather, and I have a headache that makes it hard to focus on my computer screen, but lovely to not be at work. While I was nannying this morning, though, my husband (who was at home with our girls) sent me the following text concerning H, our two year old: 

H: "All done! I poop lot! Poop LOT."
A: *gets out phone to text me*
H: "Talk Mommy?"
A: "I'm sending Mommy a message."
H: "Mommy messy?"
A: "No, message. These words tell Mommy about your poop."
H: "Message Mommy: Poop."

And so he did. H is one of the most verbal two-year-old children I know (and she's only been two for a week). Every day this week she's picked up some new word (or ten) and while that's great and dandy and I love hearing her talk and learn and express herself ("Hot. I hot. I hungwy. I eat chex? Tchrawberries. Tchrawberries good. Yummy berries."), it also means that now Andrew and I have a much wider pool of words to guess from when she's trying to speak. ("Coffee? Is that what you're saying? No? Crab? The crab's all gone. Carry you? I can't carry you; I'm cooking dinner right now. Yes, dinner. Wait, caramel? No, no caramel for dinner.") And at the end we're still not sure if she's picked up the word "caramel," "coffee," "crab," or any of a myriad of other words.