wedding morning coffee date
There was a wedding and a reception and a honeymoon and all of these things were beautiful and perfect and wonderful and the moments that you dream your whole life of. And they were everything their power and worth entails. They were brilliant examples and Christ’s love for us and an image of what a community should be. And I have words beyond words of thanks that are bubbling up ready to pour over these pages. But tonight those are not the words stealing my attention.
Words have always been admired by me. There always seems to be more than I can handle welling up inside of me. Yet when people ask me how being married is, how is feels (and they do, often), there is only one word that hits me with the weight of how this great life change truly feels. Right. It just feels absolutely, purely right.
It’s just right.
I’ve always loved Andrew. I mean always. Even in the rockiest parts of our story, of our friendship, of the journey that has led us here, I have loved him. And people know that, obviously. But the boy does not get the credit, the outward love from me that he deserves. Andrew is a servant; he is a dreamer, a writer, a friend, a really bad (and really funny) dancer, witty as hell. And one of my favorite things about Andrew is that as much as he holds my heart here and now, he also holds so much of my history and growth. He holds my memories and the sinking weight of every place I’ve been. The day of our wedding, Andrew gave me a stack of old journals, full of letters to God and funny tid-bits of writing and letters to me throughout the past four years. As I have sat over the past few days and read through them, I am captivated by the words that make up the pieces of our hearts tacked together today. There are pages and pages of prayers for me and for our marriage years and years in advance. It’s like reading your favorite author when your favorite author happens to be your closest friend. It’s getting to see deeper into the heart that is tangled so tangibly with your own.
I’m not one to gush, but these moments are gush-worthy. God writes powerful love stories and I’m sitting here, humbled to be living in one of His own great story-weaving. Stories of words and each step we take erase the meaning of a norm, of a measurement to compare to. We are living a tale of our own, of the power of the Spirit within us, with each inhale, exhale, inhale. These stories are lived, but words are how we share them, both today and tomorrow. Words shape our lives. And sometimes, as silly as it may seem, words are what is needed. Words can just be right.