Me and You

Chris and I celebrated five years of marriage earlier this year. It is a milestone, some would say, and it has caused me to reflect on what marriage means to me. I found my answer on my iPhone (no, really!)


I was looking for something from one of our text messages, and ended up scrolling through the long stream of messages we’ve sent back and forth since we got these great little devices over a year ago.

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“Good news on jon. Call me when you get a chance.”
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“Did you say you wrote a thank you note to Mary including Eva’s gift?”
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“There is no way I can survive this day.” (that would be me. I’m prone to dramatics. And it was a work day, not an at home day.)
“Praying for you.”
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“Do you want me to park the car?”
“No, I’ve got it.”
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“Love you tons!!!”
“You too!”
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“Have to leave by 10:20. Need help.”
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“On the plane. Love you!”
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And suddenly it seemed so clear: how two lives are one. How the beauty of our forever-ness is tied up in the the little snippets of back and forth, of scheduling concerns, and of words of encouragement. I saw what’s so beautiful about marriage in those conversation bubbles.

It is a dance, a balancing act, a safe haven. It is a place where we put both of our concerns and desires on the table, and try to make them merge. It is a partnership that asks both of us to help each other out, to have each others backs, and to express love.

Sure, love is in the weekend getaways, the romance, and in the grand gesture gifts.
But deeper love is in the “can you pick up probiotics on the way home? And I love you.”

I love my husband deeply, and I still take such pleasure in the flowers, the little blue boxes and the special dates.
But its the dailiness, the constancy and the quiet partnership we have that fills my soul to the brim.

It's in the way he knows when to bring home frozen custard because I'm having a bad day. It's in the way he adds extra salt to recipes because he knows I'm crazy like that, and the way he takes care of me when I'm sick. It's in the fact that he gets up with our toddler in the mornings so I can keep sleeping, and that I get the baby to fall asleep when I know he's exhausted. It's in him always bringing E to the hospital when I was on call so that I never missed a bedtime. It's in the standing together during those grueling training years and the pillow-talk discussions of new routines to meet changing circumstances. It's in the lunchtime phone calls and the 'what do we have on Saturday again'? It's the 'we'. It's the 'us'.

That’s something my tragically romantic 13 year self would never have believed:
That the best things in life are often the deeper comforts, not the grander excitements.
Or that the first is what often leads to the second.

I’m grateful for marriage. I’m grateful to understand why it matters so much. And I’m grateful that I have the opportunity to walk through this crazy world with someone who makes it such a peaceable walk. And who thinks I’m worth the 0.20 cents/text. (Now that’s romance…and get a texting plan, dear!)

My partner in crime:


Still crazy, after all these years: