Today is our eleventh wedding anniversary. I try to remember the people that we were eleven years ago, and I can’t. From here, we look like babies who had no idea what we were getting into. I know that we thought we had things pretty well figured out. I know we had a lot of big plans and dreams. I know that we were crazy about each other.
We had some hard years at the beginning, but I can say, without question, that this bittersweet eleventh year has been the hardest. It has been a different kind of hard than those early years. Those we spent battling each other, while this year, we’ve usually been on the same team. The uncertainty, stress, and grief of this year further put into perspective the things we thought were worth fighting about a decade ago.
I’m so thankful to be married to this imperfect, rough-around-the-edges man, who loves me at my most unlovable, thinks I’m beautiful no matter how much I weigh, can always make me laugh, and quickly forgives me no matter how much I don’t deserve it.
The request I present to God most often is, “please let me grow old with him,” and I am more aware than ever that we aren’t guaranteed eleven more years or eleven more minutes. He and I have recommitted in the last few months to make the most of the time we’re given to be together – to love each other like crazy, always point our kids to Jesus, be open and eager to hear God’s direction for our lives, and seek out friendships with people who encourage us to do those things. Marriage is probably my favorite of God’s gifts, after salvation. I feel such a sense of urgency not to waste it or take it for granted. Eleven years from now, if it is God’s will, we’ll be turning 45 and will have adult and teenage children. I’m sure I’ll look back at our eleventh anniversary and think we were babies who thought we had things figured out.
That’s okay with me.