Last Sunday was seven years since this happened.
While I don’t really believe in luck, I do wonder how in the world I got it this good sometimes. There’s not many people who say they really meant the vows they said at their wedding, and still mean them now.
We’ve seen some level of “for better, for worse.” You’ve walked down the road of postpartum depression with me. I’ve joined you as you agonized over tough work and life decisions. We’ve worried together over those heavy weights on our minds. But we’ve also enjoyed many peaceful times together. While we’ve never had huge public successes or what most would consider an enviable lifestyle, we’ve had most definitely had a good life.
We’ve seen “for richer, for poorer.” We’ve shared all sorts of living arrangements- some more glamorous than others. We’ve gone from a tiny basement apartment, to a rent-free farmhouse, to a mouse-filled, tin-can trailer, to being (briefly) technically homeless, and finally, to our little “starter” homestead. (They called it a starter, but we have no plans to move any time soon.) We’ve gone from being a two-income family paying off debt at lightning speed to wondering if we were going to have another paycheck. But no matter what our level of physical abundance, we’ve had each other the whole time.
We haven’t had too much of “in sickness and in health” contrast yet. Except that you, my dear, cook for me without complaint whenever I am in the throes of morning sickness and I can’t even open a can of chicken broth. 😉 Thank goodness you’ve been around for that.
Seven years have brought us many life changes- our own home, three children, and some animals along the way. It’s brought us savings and bills, harvests and losses, blessings and pain.
This is the stuff life is made of. Long days of work we’d rather not be doing. Happy days out with the kids. Trucking each other from place to place. Working on our individual studies, writing deadlines, teaching responsibilities, and finally coming together for meals at the dinner table. Playing sword fights in the living room, sledding in the backyard, family walks in the evening. Days that we hardly see each other. Trying to keep up the balls we’re barely juggling. Late night dates out on the porch with the door open so we can hear if the baby wakes up crying.
I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone but you.
(Photo courtesy of Icarus Image)