We've been married almost 10 years but we're going to start dating again.
Like a real date.
Like not in flannel pants on the couch eating leftovers together date.
Like not a too-tired-to-talk-let's-just-go-to-sleep date.
Like not a grocery store trip with 3 boys asking for Oreo's, fruit snacks, a potty, or the moon...the.entire.time...date.
This is the real thing and I'm kinda nervous.
I can count on one hand (only kinda sorta kidding), how many dates we've had in the last five years.
And now I get to spend hours alone with a man I haven't had an uninterrupted conversation with in months.
I'm wondering if I even know how to talk without having someone yell my name every 3.9 seconds.
What in the world will we talk about if we aren't telling boys to stop telling strangers their social security numbers and to not jump off the back of shopping carts.
And what will I wear?
I dress everyday with the mindset of expecting at least 3 different body fluids, receiving some sort of indelible stain, and the ease of chasing children who are faster than a speeding bullet.
But now I get to dress for him...just for him.
I get to ditch practical and go pretty....and maybe that's dressing a little for me too.
And we get to be alone together and remember just to who it was we said, "I do."
Because there is a scary reality out there - That "I do" can subtly fall to "I did."
"I did" mean all those things before meetings, and deadlines, budgets, and bills.
"I did" mean all those vows before babies, and stretch marks, and 5 extra pounds.
"I did" mean those words before you were too tired, too busy, too lonely, too late.
And then one day, the kids are out of the house and you realize you're married to a stranger. Someone one you grew up beside, but not with.
The world is full of too many love stories gone bad...I do...I did...I'm done.
And our story, the one spanning over a decade, 3 children, 9 moves, 3 states, 5 degrees, 12 jobs, loads of laundry, road trips, dead lines, court cases, due dates, car wrecks, empty bank accounts, holes in shoes, spit-up, dirty diapers, late nights, arguments, making up, and making out...is still very much a story of "I do".
Because "I do...to I did...to I'm done" is a broken story never allowed anywhere near ours.
And that...is why we're dating again.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Monday, March 10, 2014
Ashamed for 33 Reasons
In church, where I was free to go, where worship music played without cause of action, and people sang to God without fear, I found myself moved to the point of wanting to leap to my feet with arms raised before my Father. The message of the words to music were a cry from my heart I couldn't contain and my feet ached to stand and I...
just
sat
there.
Why?
Because everyone else was. Because I would have been the only one among several hundred people making any movement and would have drawn unwanted attention...so I just. sat. there.
And felt ashamed.
So ashamed.
Because I cared more about what 300 people might think of me than the stirring in my soul.
Because I buried the moment of being in the presence of my Father for the sake of self preservation.
Because I assumed embarrasment....
and ended up
ashamed.
Ashamed for 33 reasons.
For the 33 men, women, mothers, fathers, husbands, and wives who only cared what their Father thought.
For the 33 beautiful hands and feet who served under penalty of death.
For the 33 whose church met underground, who sing in their hearts instead of microphone, who are persecuted into silence.
For the 33 who stood up when their heart stirred knowing it was choosing death.
For the 33 who will be massacred for the love of their Father.
For the 33 condemned to death who know more about being alive than I ever have.
For the 33 who could define the word "appreciation" for the freedom of worship that I forsook as I
just
sat
there.
I read another article with a title of the 33 lives being "dead by morning". But I know in my ashamed-to-stand heart that these 33 will be more alive by morning than our language and human brokenness could ever grasp, obtain, or define.
For the 33 who would have never taken my place for granted...I'll stand.
For the 33 who taught me what being alive really is...I'll stand.
And for the 33 I eagerly wait to embrace in Heaven...I will stand.
Ashamed.
Forgiven.
But
I'll
sit no
more.
just
sat
there.
Why?
Because everyone else was. Because I would have been the only one among several hundred people making any movement and would have drawn unwanted attention...so I just. sat. there.
And felt ashamed.
So ashamed.
Because I cared more about what 300 people might think of me than the stirring in my soul.
Because I buried the moment of being in the presence of my Father for the sake of self preservation.
Because I assumed embarrasment....
and ended up
ashamed.
Ashamed for 33 reasons.
For the 33 men, women, mothers, fathers, husbands, and wives who only cared what their Father thought.
For the 33 beautiful hands and feet who served under penalty of death.
For the 33 whose church met underground, who sing in their hearts instead of microphone, who are persecuted into silence.
For the 33 who stood up when their heart stirred knowing it was choosing death.
For the 33 who will be massacred for the love of their Father.
For the 33 condemned to death who know more about being alive than I ever have.
For the 33 who could define the word "appreciation" for the freedom of worship that I forsook as I
just
sat
there.
I read another article with a title of the 33 lives being "dead by morning". But I know in my ashamed-to-stand heart that these 33 will be more alive by morning than our language and human brokenness could ever grasp, obtain, or define.
For the 33 who would have never taken my place for granted...I'll stand.
For the 33 who taught me what being alive really is...I'll stand.
And for the 33 I eagerly wait to embrace in Heaven...I will stand.
Ashamed.
Forgiven.
But
I'll
sit no
more.
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