What I’ve Discovered in Fifteen Years of Marriage

My husband and I have learned a lot about love and marriage since that hot August evening when he Put.A.Ring.On.It.

We had just returned from a week in Florida, where he met my *lively* family and had The Talk with my dad. Good thing Dad approved since Glendon already had the ring. Thank God for warranties, amiright?

The night after we returned from that trip, Glendon *strongly suggested* that we go for a hike. At the time, we lived in central Pennsylvania where the Appalachian Trail runs along the top of a mountain that towered behind my apartment. Typically, I would have heartily agreed to his idea but I was weary from 20 hours on the road and certainly not in the mood to trudge up a steep, rocky mountain in the oppressive heat. Blisters and chafing were not on my to-do list.

With no need to impress this man who had witnessed my shortcomings over the past several months, I begrudgingly pulled on my socks and hiking boots. I muttered something about the weather and my fatigue and just wanting to read. Nothing—not even the comfort of my leather L.L. Beans–could lure me out of my toddler funk.

The mile up the mountain was quiet, except for the sound of pounding boots, muffled at times by the moss-covered rocks and interrupted by my mumbling. As we scaled the top of the mountain and the ground leveled, I began to mellow. My grumbling turned to awe in the natural world around me. We walked single file along the uneven trail out to Table Rock, a well-known spot where huge, flat boulders provide stone seats for hikers to look out across the back side of the mountain and marvel at the scenery and sunrise.

Save the occasional mosquito, we were the only signs of life in that calm, muggy place. Lost in thought, I leaned back against one of the boulders and took a few sips of cool water from my Nalgene. Glendon began to quote Ephesians 4, a Scripture passage we had chosen to memorize that summer. As he shared those meaningful words, all I could think was, “Well, crap. I’m crap. I don’t know these verses that well. I’m such a loser. Ugh.”

Then he got down on one knee, interrupted my mental self-loathing, and said, “This is what I want our lives to be. Will you marry me?”

Surprised and excited, I blurted out, “Yes!” The evening had shifted from a *forced*, sweaty mile march up rocky terrain to an unexpected, delightful proposal.

The hike back down the trail was much less dramatic. We reveled in our new status as fiancés, chatted about how to share our news with family & friends, and began to consider wedding dates and venues. Most of all, I silently marveled at this incredible man who wanted to commit to me. Forever.

We’ve weathered quite a bit in the past 15 years: difficult decisions, loss of relationships, death, mental illness, painful goodbyes, loneliness, judgment, fear of the unknown, financial stress, misunderstandings, parenting four kids, two adoptions, special needs, and more.

Maybe you can relate. You’ve been married long enough to know that the initial euphoria of being together will eventually fade into morning breath, disagreements, long work days, financial stress, in-law drama, loss, parenting woes, unexpected hurt, and the need to forgive.

Maybe you’re struggling with the reality of your present situation or the pain of the past. Or both. You’re wondering whether you’ll ever recover from your financial or emotional ruin, whether the heartache of your marriage is worth your time and effort and prayers, or whether you even married the *right* person. As you’re sitting in the pile of rubble—of what used to be your wedded bliss, you might think, “It’d just be easier to rise and leave than to try to rebuild.”

Be assured: You’re not alone. Many couples I know and dearly love—couples who believe in the sanctity of marriage–can absolutely relate to those thoughts and feelings. I certainly can.

Some seasons have been undeniably difficult, painful, damaging. I remember thinking that I couldn’t do this marriage anymore—I didn’t want to. The miscommunication or lack of, the chronic issues that left us emotionally paralyzed, the brewing anger over decisions that didn’t feel mutual, the wondering if I really wanted this man—and all that he brought–for the rest of my life. These are not easy words to pen and I’m humbled to admit that at times, I have struggled to love Glendon well.

But.

Here we are. Counseling, emotional work, two stubborn hearts made willing by Grace, the love and support of a tiny, trusted circle of friends, and prayer have contributed to our healing. I can say that marriage has taught me more about our humanity and our Creator than any of my other adventures. This sacred journey has:

• Driven me to my knees in prayer.
• Heightened my awareness of my imperfections and tendency to sin.
• Developed my empathy for struggling couples & deepened my compassion for couples who’ve chosen to separate.
• Taught me the necessity of vulnerability, forgiveness, and laughter.
• Opened my eyes wider to the beauty of God’s unconditional love.

Of course, we can learn these valuable lessons without marriage but God has worked His good in me through my commitment to Glendon.

I don’t know what waits for us down the road. I cannot (nor do I want to) predict the joys or sorrows, the beauty or ashes, the failures or triumphs.

I do know that we’ve grown to understand each other more fully. I do know that I love this man more deeply than I did when we stood before family and friends and vowed to be One. And I know I’m being refined in this marriage in ways I may not be otherwise.

I cannot imagine life without that surprise proposal in 2002. I’m grateful for the step of faith we took to say ‘yes’—to keep saying ‘yes’–to each other. I’m grateful for our countless adventures, the hard lessons learned, the hilarious stories, the beautiful friendships, and the four (usually) delightful kiddos we get to parent. I want to treasure—to keep treasuring—these gifts until our final earthly good-bye.

Thank you for choosing me these past 15 years, my Love. Here’s to another fifteen or more.