This month Mark and I will celebrate 12 years of marriage. And this summer marks 18 years of our being together (what?! I can’t possibly be that old!) Ours is a story that is long and deep and most importantly still being written, every single day. He is my most favorite person on this planet, yes. Writing about marriage is hard: it’s hard to tell it like it is, nuanced and edgy. It’s easy to be syrupy sweet, to come across braggadocios like we have everything figured out. Or the flip side is to lament about how hard it is, add up complaints or resentments. But the truth is neither of these things, is it? Like most of life, it is more colorful than that, more difficult and more beautiful. And that can be hard to write.
Briana Meade is a writer friend of mine who is attempting to do just that. In her series “For Better or Worse” she’s asking folks to write about love and marriage. It is a beautiful series, illustrating the many shapes and forms that love takes in a marriage. Today, I’m over there sharing about what Briana has dubbed “The Middle Years.” If you’ve been around this blog for a while, it may be a familiar story, but I”d love for you to jump over to Briana’s blog anyway and check out some other folks’ stories about love and marriage.
Here’s a little to get you started:
It’s 5:00am. He’s made the coffee and brushed his teeth. I am only sleep walking, eyes closed to tend to the Littlest, only five months old, before his cries rally the rest of the house.
It’s one of his favorite parts of the day, Mark tells me. I pick my head up, make bleary eye-contact, completely surprised by this admission.
There is not much he can surprise me with anymore. Not for as long and as wide and as deep as we’ve been each other’s.