To my love, on our first anniversary

My love,

It's been one year. That day was the most fun.  I just remember that's all we kept thinking during and after that day.  It was the most fun.  All of our families & friends in the same place at one time. Dancing the night away & eating so much amazing food.  Cutting into that apple pie [and you said that it shocked you into reality] & hearing the toasts from some of our favorite people. Our ceremony & the weather & our first dance & the sparkler exit. We had the time of our lives.

There was so much joy in that whole weekend and so much hope for what was to come and I just remember feeling so thankful - and so pleasantly shocked that I got to really commit to YOU, to spending the rest of my life with you.  We felt and knew the significance that day, but we didn't really know.  We don't even know now what we'll know in fifty years, or even in one more.  And yet, we spoke these words:

I take you, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.

I loved you that day and those vows I made to you I was so sincere about.  We knew that each of those things would come, and yet, we didn't know that so many would come so soon.

We didn't know the ease to which marriage would come - how naturally it felt to be with each other at all times, to be working together and living together and doing everything together. And sure, it would take time to adjust to things like learning how to relax together when we relax so differently.  Or the first few months of transition in general when things were just a little harder and not as smooth as I had imagined.  But we were happy to be together. Happy to serve together. Happy to spend our time together and to have serious conversations over breakfast or goof off in long car rides together or sit in the quietness of our house together on lazy Saturday afternoons.  Oh, how much I love the ease to which being with you comes.  You make me more of me.  I love you for it.

We didn't know what it would mean to be in times of abundance and need.  We didn't know that learning how to share our finances would be such a beautiful gift, and how much joy we would take of making the same jokes, nearly every time we're at Chipotle, every month for the past year, about one of us paying for the other with our same, shared bank account, with things like "Aw, you shouldn't have," or "You sure you want to pay for me? Don't worry, I got this..."  We can see and have tasted how finances would cause immense stress on a relationship, and we've chosen to fight for sanctification through those tough conversations/reality checks and for a dependence on God as He provides for us - and He does. We're always provided for.  And we look at each other and we say, we wouldn't choose life any other way, and I love that.

And in sickness and in health.  In joys and in sorrows.  For better or for worse.  I didn't know, John-Mark. We didn't know.  We didn't know the joys we'd have this year.  We didn't know the fun we'd have taking a megabus up to NYC for a spontaneous two day Christmas present getaway.  We didn't know how much we'd come alive to see each other in ministry, serving God together, watching God use each other in so many different contexts.  We didn't know the gift of our families - at least not fully - and how much we'd come to love them both even more this year.  We didn't know how straight up fun it would be to live with our best friend.  We didn't know the joy we'd still have today this year and we didn't imagine how sweet today would feel.

And we didn't know the pain we'd experience this year.  Sure, we knew we'd have hard times. We knew we'd go through heartache. But this much, this early... we didn't know.  I am so thankful to go through this with you.  To go through the immense joy and fear that comes with finding out we were pregnant the first day in a six-week trip on the other side of the world... and to go through the immense grief and pain that comes with finding out that our baby boy is not well.  God is my Rock and my Anchor, but you are my sweet companion, my leader, giving me tangible strength and pointing me back to Him.  You are my best friend and my confidant, the one to whom I can say all the scary and ugly things inside my heart that I feel with this grief and yet you can look me in the eyes and tell me it's okay and you understand.  You hurt alongside me and I hate that because I hate to see you hurt.  And it's just not fair for you to be going through this, I think.  But we're in it together, and I would've never guessed what that would mean for us this year to be in this. Together. In joys and in sorrows, for better and for worse.

You're an incredible father to our baby boy.  He seems to be just like you, and I love that about him and his little personality. You care for me so well. You love me so well. You hug me tight when I spontaneously burst into tears, which is often. You share with me how you're doing.  You take me for some [minor] retail therapy or out to an expensive restaurant when we really shouldn't just so we can take our minds off of life for a minute.  You teach me that we can have joy in suffering, like it says in James, because Jesus already paid for our ultimate suffering on the cross. You teach me that that doesn't diminish our current pain, but it means the worst has been taken care of... and as terrible as this is, this deep suffering can't even come close to what we deserved. And I believe you.

You love me well, John-Mark. You're my best friend and you tell me often I'm yours. You give me confidence to speak up in moments where I tend to lose my voice. You let me be emotional and irritable and short-tempered with you and you forgive me and you let me process.  You don't let me run away and hide when I want to. You tell me I'm beautiful and you help me to embrace how God made me.  You make it easy to respect you and follow you and I truly look up to and admire the man you are. You're a good man. You know that I think that because I can't resist telling that to you, often. You're better than I deserve and I can't put words to what that means to me.

So, on this, our one-year anniversary, I simply want to tell you that I love you. I'm so thankful for you. God knew what He was doing when He introduced us six years ago, and when he brought us together and then apart and then together again.  We didn't know what this year would look like, but we also didn't know how sweet it would feel today, one year later, looking back at all God has done and all we've gotten to do.

Happy One Year, John-Mark. Here's to many more years of figuring this thing out together, and learning what we didn't know. I love you.