Eight Years

That’s us, just a few months married, in our little apartment with the yellow kitchen and cornfield view. That’s us eight years ago now. And I want to tell those kids so many things. I want to tell them that the hard seasons are really hard. I want to tell them to talk more about the real things. I want to tell them to prioritize each other over pretty much everything else.

That’s us just this past week. Pretty tired and a little worse for wear but still smiling and still hopeful. In eight years, we’re just now learning how to do some things and how to say some things, but we’re learning. In this relationship, I feel God pulling us together over and over again, urging us to say the things and to be kind and forgiving. Because you have to choose to come together again every single day. To lean into God and into each other, even when you don’t feel like it. Even when it’s hard and the justice streak in your heart says he should be first to make amends. Bending ever lower to serve each other and love each other. Dearest Carl is way way better at it than I am but I have the rest of our lives to improve. And in eight years, I always come back to thankfulness for this husband of mine. God is good and faithful to carry us.

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