It’s not a “milestone” anniversary, but oh, it feels like it. I think the weight of this year has pressed everything deeper, has made the taste of every victory that much sweeter, don’t you?
My husband and I have been married 24 years. Longer than many, shorter than some. We were ridiculously ill-equipped for marriage when we stood at that altar. Speaking only for myself, I had an independent streak wider than the Grand Canyon, a temper that flared like a banshee, and no small amount of terror that I would end up divorced, abandoned, and bitter at 38 like my own mother.
But, God.
Oh, yes… we’ve done hard work. The heavy lifting of learning to love one another in spite of, not because of. The careful threading of our lives together rather than apart. The humble acknowledging that sometimes, the problem really is the person who feels he or she has been wronged.
But, it’s been God who has made this work. He is the one who has led us, gently, to forgiveness, to acceptance, to a place where the idea of self elevation has become unthinkable. He knit us together, and tied the final knot that has secured our union in the face of some devastatingly hard times.
I don’t just love my husband. I cannot imagine drawing breath without him in this world. We aren’t just a team, business partners in this occupation of doing life and raising family. He is my heart walking around outside of my body, and I treasure the gift that we have in our marriage. I know it’s not common. I’ve spoken with enough other wives to know that somehow, God gave us a set-aside blessing in binding us together this way.
I am grateful. So grateful.
Twenty-four years is no small feat. Neither is it a lifetime. Not yet. But no matter how long the Lord has ordained that we should walk this earth together, I am both honored and humbled to do it with this man.