Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary. We'll be married four years. Those years have gone by in a snap. Truly, I can hardly recall where they've gone. From shivering and fighting blizzard after blizzard in a very deep Northern part of Iowa, to welcoming two babies, one right after the other, to wiping sweat from our brows on our first day in Texas . . . it's been a fast, fast four years.
This night four years ago, I was relaxing with my girls in the hotel. We swam, sat in the sauna, had all manner of silliness in our room. It was a wonderful, wonderful time.
Our wedding was absolutely beautiful. It was so simple, so home-made, yet still beautiful. We tried very hard to glorify the Father who had given us to one another. We had songs of grace and of the Father's love; we shared communion with our guests. We made sure that there was a full gospel message presented, as marriage is an earthly reflection of our relationship with Christ. It was beautiful. Simple, home-made, and beautiful.
And it wouldn't have been all that it was without all the friends and family who lended hands and hearts to make it so. Whether it was coordinating who would stand where, playing piano and singing, ushering, decorating the cake, placing greenery on tables at the reception, or just offering a steady hand . . . thank you all, all of you who we love so much, who helped make our wedding the beautiful day that it was.
And here I am, a married lady of (almost) four years, and I have a vibrant and growing family. I have hopes and dreams and gifts. I have a man who encourages me. I feel so often that I am not what I'm supposed to be. I didn't finish seminary (yet). I haven't finished any of the books I've been writing for years. I haven't read those intellectual books that have been sitting on my shelf. I'm not as good , as pretty , as talented , had as great adventures, as well-versed, as articulate as (there are several I could name) - - - on and on and on, and every one of those "not as" statements, nothing more than a lie whispered into my ear by the enemy. Something to distract me from all the gifts that surround me. Even more dangerous, that I might be distracted from the opportunities to minister to the hearts of those nearest me. Or to miss opportunities in my neighborhood or greater community. It is difficult to see anything but my own failures, if I listen to those well-worded lies.
Thank you, Scott. You are my darling. You help me ward off those lies. You tell me they are not true. I pray that I may be a helpmeet to you. I pray that I might not fail you, as I so often have. I am glad that four years ago tomorrow, we became each other's.
My beloved is mine, and I am his . . . Song of Solomon 2:16
