This week – yesterday actually – marks fourteen years since Ted and I started dating. When we were dating and at the time of our wedding, I loved Ted more than I was in love with him. Being in love seemed so scary to me, after all the sorrow I’d seen while growing up. Loving Ted seemed more straightforward. And love was something solid while being in love was some sort of foolish emotional balloon that would pop.
I’d never have imagined that fourteen years later we’d be married with three children. The honeymoon ended long ago: by that I mean that early on we got to know (see and experience) some of each other’s faults and weaknesses. We’ve had some rocky roads and turned around some surprising corners in these years together. Some fears and monsters came out of the closet and we’ve had to fight them together. We’ve had hurts and doubts.
Yet I find myself today more in love with Ted than ever. And I love him more too. I never imagined love could be so deep and clear, like mountain water. But we are such clay pots, holding this water, clay pots with cracks and bumps. We’ve learned to love each other more and to love God more. For that I am thankful. Very thankful.
I feel with each phase, even the ugly, bumpy ones, we’ve built a firmer foundation, faith as the cement betwen the stones of experience. Freedom too is coming now from the firmness of where we’ve been. And especially with our lifestyle, we are becoming cemented together each day.
A couple weeks ago, Ted had to be gone for an entire day to go to some meetings. I got up at 4 am with him, to help see him off, and he left the house at 4:45 to catch the 5:20 ferry.
It was still dark outside when I kissed him goodbye at the back door. Since he’s been working at home most of the time these past couple years, it’s not often that he and I do our commuter routine: Ted laces his boots, drinks his tea, grabs his backpack and kisses me. He walked out the door, onto the deck and headed down the stairs to the driveway. I turned the lock, turned off the lights and then walked through the house, already missing my husband.
Idea in mind, I hurried to the window by the stairs near our front door. From that perch during daylight we can see all the way down the curve of the street, since we live on top of the hill.
But as I looked out the window, hoping for a glimpse of my husband, all I could see was darkness. Black with shades of gray swirling from our house lights. Like an eager kid I pressed my face against the window hoping to see some sign of my beloved. But he was gone. Disappeared into shadow. Already out of sight.
At that moment, looking out into the darkness where my husband had disappeared, I thought to myself that if I could, I would wait there all day. If I could I would wait there, watching out the window, watching until the darkness returned again at night. I would be there watching and waiting until I saw my husband come home.
That moment, that early morning, I had this feeling for Ted and I felt it so strong. But it didn’t scare me. And I knew I was in love with my husband, deeply in love with the man I had married. And I felt grateful in many ways.
P.S. We both took this marriage quiz Test Your Pressure the other day and got the same score. We had a few slightly different answers but I thought it was fun that we each evaluated our marriage at the same level, which according to the survey was “as good as it gets” – well, I hope it keeps getting better 😉
