I often use the phrase….we’d be divorced.
And while I don’t always fully mean it, I always kind of do.
Quietly I wonder how strong our marriage is. Quietly I question if this flawed, faith filled girl and this stubborn, factual boy will make it.
We have so many issues, big and small, obvious and hidden and take on the world in opposing fashion.
And its less ying and yang and more blood and oil (a fitting analogy if you dig deeper)
And sometimes I quietly wonder if I chose poorly, this good man of no faith, maybe we don’t work so well.
But I’m the one who’s changed, not him, the only thing the same are the jeans I wear, and those are looking shabby. I’m not the woman he married.
And yet, he keeps choosing me, everyday, and I keep choosing him.
And I love him still, I love him despite my changing and his stability. And I know given the chance I’d make the same mistake again (I’m either blinded by love or that stupid). Because this shared flawed work in progress marriage, it’s worth it. And those babes I so adore are half his.
And so I pray one day his facts will be broken and we can cling to things unseen together, cling to the cross and its promises long into our old age, still works in progress, still a marriage in progress, still together.