the one where I talk about sex {again}

{via pinterest}

let's talk about sex.
I'm serious.

it's everywhere.
I'm serious about that too.

but you know something else?
it's also a really big secret.
{especially in church}

I grew up in a world where gateway drugs weren't seven-leafed plants held rolled and drooping between teenage fingers. it was the fingers themselves that were the problem. because if skin touched skin, that was the start of a slippery slope...

...a slope that led to bodies and skin and nakedness and words that were alluded to, but rarely spoken aloud. just in case there was someone listening. and the idea of it being mentioned in church? never. just in case God might overhear.

we talked about purity, of course. about guarded hearts and the mystery of a man with a woman and the way it should be for marriage. but what, exactly, should be for marriage? we were never sure. not really.

it was all a mystery. until churches and white dresses and rings slipped onto sweaty fingers and hotel rooms where the door shut with a heavy thump...

...and then it was still a mystery.

because it was a secret until that minute, except that everyone seemed to have forgotten the "sex kitten" potion that was to transform a blushing new bride and a nervously fidgeting groom  into ravenous sexual creatures. they forgot about what happened when the door closed and we stood there with shuffling feet and the acute awareness that there was nakedness under our clothes.

this is the part where I am supposed to present a solution.
the only one I have is for us to talk.

we have to stop making little words that start with "p" and "v" and "s" into dirty unrepeatables that linger like forbidden fruit squashed into pulp on tongues. we have to find that line and realize that it's written in the dirt, not carved into rock.

we need to talk.
with words, not euphemisms and "when you're married, you'll understand."

because it doesn't work that way.

we need to talk.
about sex.
about penises and vaginas and hormones and sex. hear me say it. sex.

because the most important thing is a heart.
not a hymen.

when I was one of the X-Men

{photo via pinterest}

we were given lessons in how to touch. I wouldn't think it was real unless I had experienced it myself, first hand, sitting shoulder to shoulder and toe to back with my peers. there were big smiles as they demonstrated on the stage, one boy and one girl.

always from the side. never from the front. girls have breasts. don't cause a brother to stumble. arms around the shoulder, quick squeeze. 

we called it "nacho"-ing, a playful turn of phrase coined from the lauding of the "non-committal side hug." we were being taught how to stay pure. we were being taught how to protect our brothers from stumbling, from being ruled by that strange thing behind the zipper of their jeans. we were proud of ourselves.

my body was dangerous. I had to be careful. we all knew that. we were dangerous beings, with our shapely hips and our growing breasts that might press into a boy's chest and send impure thoughts racing though him like poison.

I was one of the X-Men. my name was Rogue. to touch me was to die.

because I was a girl. and girls were poison, except to our one-day husbands.

I'm going to let you in on a secret. it didn't protect me. it did the exact opposite. 

it taught me that I was dangerous. it taught me that my body was a cactus. all I could do was hurt, all I could was destroy. it taught me to hate me.

this same dangerous theology creeps through the ranks of the youth groups and the purity conventions. raps and songs and t-shirts and seminars abound. we grip the hearts of those girls, sitting shoulder to shoulder and toe to back with their peers, and whisper, you are in charge of his mind. you are in charge of protection. you are the problem. 

who put us in charge of stripping them down until they keep their arms crossed across their chests and their heads down with shoulders bent to hide that they are women, God-made and Heaven-adored? where is the mandate to shake the least of these, the little ones, until all their worth comes dropping out the bottom like gold doubloons down the storm-drain?

we are resisting innocence in our chase for purity. we are hanging stones instead of breaking them to gravel.

I remember the first time I hugged the man that would become my husband. I mean, really hugged him. I had just returned from a summer in South America, long weeks of sleepless nights and experiences that filled me with wonder. and there was my boyfriend, standing on the curb beside my parents' van, smiling. I didn't think. I hugged him, hard. from the front. and I can promise  you this :: the thoughts in our head were not about breasts or penises or sex or impurity or stumbling blocks.

we were embracing.
that was all.

in which I am doing something

{photo by me via Instagram}

in 2011, I wrote 297 posts.

it was the second year of my blog, the first full year from January to December. my mother called me prolific, and it was true. I was writing a post nearly every single day, sitting at the computer agonizing over something to write that was profound enough, that was rich enough, that was "good enough" for me to push publish and let it fly. and if I ever missed  a day, ever missed a step, I would apologize profusely, as if I had broken some never-made promise to always be present, always have words.

since I started writing, I've always felt like I had something to prove. that's what happens when you get married a week after your nineteenth birthday instead of going to college, and people are breathing down your neck for you to do something. it's not commonly done, choosing to become a wife instead of pursuing a degree. and so I wrote, wildly, and in some respects it was good because it was a honing period, a chance for me to understand the edges of my voice and what it had the potential to sound like , eventually.

but I had to clear my throat first because I had so many other voices at war in my vocal chords to the point that it was hard to figure out which was mine and which ones belong to everyone else. they taught me a lot, these other voices, because they pruned me down by making me feel uncomfortable. their words fit in their mouths so perfectly, but they were the wrong shape for mine.

:: :: 

I started to press myself deep into the Lion in those days, the ones that heralded the start of my thrashing as I shed my dead skin and sunk deeper into that lioness hide where I belonged, a selkie of a land-bourne sort. that's when I started to realize something.

maybe Susan wasn't "spared" death in the train crash because she was leaning toward boys and make-up and things that were pushing her into socially-appropriate adulthood. maybe it wasn't Lewis' way of chiding children for growing up, for choosing to walk . because if that was his point, if his purpose was to chase away adulthood and keep them locked in innocence forever, then Aslan wouldn't have been needed, and His own words would have been made void.

{photo by Nikki Jean Photography}

there, I have a different name. you must learn to know me by that name. that was the very reason you were brought into Narnia, so that by knowing Me here, you might know me better there. 

and in those words, I started to understand.

I have absolutely nothing to prove for being in the Land where He placed me. 

my voice and my story and my authenticity are mine, breathed holy straight into my lungs from the mouth of Lion on the mountaintop. it is a shift from the familiar, and it makes me feel a bit of a dervish. but this view, it's breathtaking.

I've spit out the salt water. my throat is clear.

and I'm prepared to speak.

knowing him with the lights on

{via pinterest}

I want to talk about sex.

again.

on Monday, I wrote about Beyonce and her husband-lover and the way they held each other close and moved as one flesh at the Grammys, and the way the Christian world rose up against them. I wrote about redemption of sex and of freedom to wrap arms wildly around the neck of marital lust.

and that was when I realized. I've found a voice and I've started wondering things...more things.

I wonder why we're made so afraid of sexuality, as though being sexual creatures is not something Holy-Created, as though whispering the words or leaning too close on your husband's arm within the confines of Church is scandelous. we look at the wedding rings and we know, we see the pregnant women and smile at their joy, all the while refusing to acknowledge what brought this new life into being.

I wonder why we can read the words laid out in Biblical black and white, but then cringe and giggle and find ourselves whispering the names for our body parts in sheepish undertones, as though they are not there if we don't pronounce them, as though our sexuality is non-existent if we do not speak its name.

there's safety in the darkness, quietly tucking ourselves into dimly lit bedrooms, curtained off like voting booths, every action a secret and never discussed. it's as though we expect our bodies to burst into flames if their flesh is exposed to the light. sexuality is the new vampirism.

but there's that Hebrew word :: yada. that word that comes up whispered in the early pages of the Word, when the first man took the first woman into his arms and knew her. that's yada. that's knowing. and then comes the word, the whispering of be still and know. that's yada. same word, same holy hush falling.

I delight to sit in his shade,    
and his fruit is sweet to my taste.
:: song of solomon 2:3

we as woman are told that we are dangerous. each morning as we dress, we cover the danger, and the more we wear, the safer we become. we press our palms against the man-hands beside us and blush, hesitant in that affection, that rare bit of skin allowed to brush in public. there are expectations, and being Beyonce isn't one of them.

{via pinterest}

and so we go home and turn down the lights and slip down to our skin in darkness and slide under covers, less for warmth of body and more for safety of soul. who are we protecting? is it ourselves, the shame from the outside carrying into this marital room where only you and he will ever lay? are we protecting the man that shares this mattress, that burden placed upon our bodies for all male creatures...how are we supposed to turn it of for him, for one hour or two or six, and then make sure that we put the vixen away, and carry on as normal for everyone else that we are supposed to call "brother"?

I want 
to do with you 
what spring does with the cherry trees.
:: Pablo Neruda

and so we come back to yada. being known, the deepest and most intimate knowing of all. it's holy ground. shaking is appropriate.

so you, oh woman, you are not dangerous. your body is not a wrecking ball and your touch is not acid. your loving him is not a sin, and your wildness need not be hidden. not here, not with him.

did you know that silence is not required here? it is allowed, of course, but not required.

it's in those moments when bodies meet, not passing like ships but merging like an eclipse, that the loudest crashes are heard. because that is the sound of walls tumbling. every move he and I make together is a pass around Jericho walls, and with a mighty shout, the fortress crashes.

so, oh woman, blow out the candle and flip the switch.

he can call me Peaches with the lights on.

the one where I talk about sex

{via pinterest}

I want to talk about shame.

I want to talk about how good it tastes, how easy it is to cut off a slice and take bite after bite, decadent and bloating until your very soul feels as though it will choke.

I want to talk about Beyonce. I want to talk about marriage. I want to talk about sex.

I want to talk about double standards.

I want to ask questions.

maybe I would ask, why so much shame in sex before marriage that we rush to point fingers, gawking and whispering like Ham, son of Noah, running to bring others to look and comment and take a bite of the shame? 

and then of course another question would follow. why so much shame in sex after marriage that we make a point to turn our heads so we don't see, stopping all conversation at the church doorways, making sure we never cross the thresholds with words like orgasm or sensuality?

these questions of mine keep coming, marveling at how we make sex so forbidden, making sure to laud marriage as the ultimate and only place for sexuality, except we freeze it out and make it odd and matronly, using words like intercourse, all the while forgetting that the word used in Scripture is knowing, deep intense provocative knowledge of the one whom your soul loves, and it doesn't get more sensuous than that.

and then Beyonce and Jay-Z performed at the Grammy Awards and the internet exploded and the church rose up in arms. I watched them tear one another apart, throwing mud and stones at the couple's actions, words, lyrics, wardrobe, and I sat in awed confusion.

{via pinterest}

because I didn't see something raunchy or scandalous. I saw something transformational. they're celebrities, rubbing shoulders with people who last barely sixty days into a marriage before filing for divorce. they live in a world that tabloids feed on, plastered up and down the grocery checkout lanes where separation, break-ups, and divorce are bread and butter to that brand of so-called journalists.

this April is six years of marriage for them, six years of til death do us part in a world of broken vows. yes, this couple and their faith differ from mine. yes, their actions in the public eye were far more erotic and intense than I would venture with my husband between the eggs and the milk of the local grocer's.

were there issues with the words, a few rough edges regarding a metaphor or two? were they explicit to the nth degree? yes, and yes again. but in this world, promoting it all before and nothing but ice and high collars afterward, that love is refreshing and inspiring.

there is no shame in nakedness. there is no shame in that passion, that marital lust that flows when skin touches skin and eyes meet. I'm no Beyonce, and he's no Jay-Z. but there's music when we meet that rivals theirs in beauty. when I get behind the door with my husband and I hear that latch click, there's no more veils there.

and you won't be hearing any apologies from me. you might just hear a little Beyonce.

the guy

i'm not sure how to start this post off. i have a lot to say, so much that it's brimming over and twisting my tongue into knots with the magnitude of how to begin. i feel like whatever i say, no matter how carefully thought out and prepared for your eyes, will fall entirely too short.

it's about this guy. this man i've spoken off in bits and pieces, mostly because he doesn't mind being waiting offstage while i write my soul in the center.

this man i call "husband."

and i'm ashamed to say, i've had the sun in my eyes. too blind to honestly appreciate just how much this man has done for me, and is doing in days of exhausted wife with piled clothes and unwashed plates.

he works in a factory, fifty hours of grind, and still has a volunteer's pager strapped to his belt for when fires start and cars flip over. he works all day, and sometimes late at night when the beeping wakes us both and he grabs for boots with bleary eyes and tousled blonde hair, barely time to press a kiss to my sleeping lips before he's gone out the door to save a life.

now he takes the piled jeans and puts them in the machine, and washes dirty plates and knives when my feet ache too much to stand. and when my stomach churns, he sits outside the door because it makes him sick too. but he does what he can because he doesn't want to leave me alone.

there's late-night runs for grape slushies and onion rings with ranch dressing, and countless nights of sleep disturbed while his wife tosses in discomfort and leaves little room for him in bed with the thousand curving pillows and left-side sleeping.

and still his strong fingers find that one spot in my back and press for relief, and rub my neck and brush my hair. this is man i share a booth with, pancakes and bacon and root beer every Saturday morning. the exhausted man, the hard-working man.

{via pinterest}

the one who kisses my nose and brings home chocolate when he knows i'm overwhelmed. the man who holds me in one arm with the other hand on my stomach, waiting to feel the kicks for himself.

and my daughter carries his genes. oh, how honoured i am to carry the strength of this man's flesh and bone merged with mine to create a whole new tiny warrioress for the world. she is not all me -- she bears more than my feeble strength. she has his too, and i am so glad.

this is the man i'm having a baby with, the one i'm sharing my life with. the one that waited in a white suit with a red rose on his lapel at the end of a long aisle two and a half years ago.

this is my husband. this is my hero.

so the nights will still be long, but he will still tangle his legs with mine and run his fingers through my hair while he rubs my back and waits for a little kick to remind him that he is "daddy."

 he is altogether lovely.

this is my beloved, this is my friend,

    daughters of Jerusalem.

twenty-nine

{my parents on their wedding day}

i love fairytales. i love happy endings.

i love those storybook moments that make people sigh and give those little smiles and maybe, just maybe whisper into someone's ear

that'll be us one day

i grew up watching a fairytale. not a perfect one, not one without the occasional villain or rolling fog or even broken-hearted tears. 

but still a love story. a passionate beautiful thing where two people pledged their love and it remained. 

for twenty-nine years

today.

my parents are a legacy in their own right. barely into their fifties, but still a legacy. 

their love is a bonding of heart and soul and everything good and sacred.

{my parents on their wedding day}

 if you want to see a God-touched love, a soul-rippling marriage

take a look at them. 

twenty-nine years ago, my Daddy wed my Mummy. 

he still looks at her the same way as he did then. 

they still dance in the kitchen to silent music. i still hear them laughing in that secret teenage way.

and i know they are still passionate together.

not just romantic. but passionate in that way only man and wife can be. 

and it was never hidden. 

{my parents on their wedding day}

never 

stop, the children are watching. 

he kisss her lips daily. more than, even. and he has never hidden his affection and admiration for her. not to us, his children. not to anyone.

yes, they have their secret intimacies, as do all couples.

but they are newlyweds forever. holding hands, singing, dancing, raising my sister and i in full view of that love. 

she still blushes when he looks in her direction. i've seen it, i've seen the notes and the flowers and the little signs of this and that. 

and they're my parents.

{my parents on their wedding day}

i'm fortunate to have parents still this much in love, twenty-nine years since they said i do. 


perhaps my bias is higher than most, but i am confident that i have the greatest parents in this world.

their covenant connection to one another is Biblical, strong, and connected by cords of love that only the King of Kings could weave.

they cling to Him. they cling to one another.

til death do us part.

happy anniversary, Mummy and Daddy. 

i love you so much. 

wise men say, only fools rush in

but i can't help falling in love with you

catch

five minute fridays. we write for five, and only five, minutes. no editing, no overthinking, no backtracking. linking up with the gypsy mama.

the word

CATCH

now GO...

there is something so amazing about spending a week with a bride in preparation. most people don't get to see this part. this is precious between just a sacred few. 

because we get to see it all. the anticipation, the waiting for her groom to arrive. ten hours away no more. he will be here, and someday is only two days away from being forever. 

but there is the other stuff too. 

the stuff scattered around the room, suitcases open and tousled, things strewn helter-skelter. because she's preparing in this week. 

it's more than just tulle and ribbon and last-minute shopping runs and hot glue and sewing kits. 

it's a change of life. 

she knows that soon, she will have a human parachute. 

it's a drop and catch type of affair. 

she's dropping one name, and catching another. 

she's dropping the old life, the old home, the old surroundings

and catching the new. 


the new existance with the man she has loved for so long without even realizing he was the one she loved. 

this is a strange kind of balance. this thing of drop and catch.

but the dropping is slowly coming to the end. 

the end is in sight. 

and the catch. 

that beautiful soft catch. 

of sand and beaches and sunrises and tearful i do's. 

of money and children and grey-haired futures.

welcome to the catch, love. 


{please forgive my lack of commenting, loves. when my dear one is married, expect a return from me
also, would you please leave Alex a word of love? two more days before she is a wife.}

cotton & clocks {118}

another Monday.

but this one is different. 

on this day, i will only share one blessing of my thousands. my list will grow, but only by one.

because today marks two years. 

two years since we said i do. 

two years since i awoke to four girls singing going to the chapel at my drowsy bedside.

two years since we raced here and there on a bitterly cold October day from salon to house to church and back again sixteen times.

two years since he took my hand and never looked back.
two years since i tripped going up the aisle because i stepped on my hem.

two years since my father made his address behind my back since he made the promise "not to cry in front of me."

two years since we became man and wife. 

two years of tears. laughter. heartache. hospital visits. picnics. hardships. sunrises and sunsets.

this is my blessing. #118.

my man. my soulmate.

my "broom," as my autotext just accidentally referred to him.

my husband. 
happy anniversary, baby.

i love you.

amigos

five minute fridays. we write for five, and only five, minutes. no editing, no overthinking, no backtracking. linking up with the gypsy mama.

the word

FRIENDS

now GO...

i wonder where i'd be without them. 

these people who have radically transformed. touched. caressed and pushed and held and gripped my wrist so tight as i slip beneath the surface and pulled me up again.

man was not meant to be alone.

each one of us has the one partner with whom we are meant to spend our lives. 


and i have found my precious true Love and life companion, and my life would not be the same without him to hold my heart. my true best friend is him, indeed. 

but there are those others. 

those other lifeguards that watch your shore, those other hands to hold as roads are raced, those other heads of hair to blow in the wind from rolled-down car windows as music flows through each strand. 

so much shouting. laughter. wisdom. precious ones. 

{via pinterest}

{those tissue bearers. those shoulder-lifters. 

those warm blankets for a wounded soul, those comforting wraps for laughter at the fireside. 


those sisters. those brothers. 


those dearhears that can look back at the page and say, 

yes, we were there. but we overcame. and we sang and laughed and wept and danced and leaped for the pureness of it all. 

together. 

companions. 

my precious ones. 

my sister. my Abby. 

my soul sister. my Alex.

my tender mother. my sweet mother-in-law. 

my loyal father. 

my brothers. my sisters. 

lists too long to name. but i love you. 

my team. 

champions all.

survivors all. 

His all. 

{the fantasy giveaway ends TONIGHT! be sure to enter here before midnight tonight}

Separate

"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart." - Helen Keller

There are so many things about life that confuse me.

The cruelty of separation is one of them.

It's a hard thing for me to wrap my mind around. Why is it that those people who mean the most to us are generally so very far away?

I am surrounded by friends who are involved in long-distance relationships, or are simply kept from seeing the one they love for one reason or another. Having dealt first-hand with the struggles of being in a relationship with someone living in another state, I know exactly the ache that creeps in from time to time.

It's not even those with whom we share a romantic connection that feel so very far away at times. I live with my husband and see him on a fairly regular basis; however, the rest of the people I care about are spread far and wide. Some are much closer to me geographically -- as close as a ten to fifty minute drive -- while others live in different states or even in other countries. Some are even as far away as Heaven.

So why do we do it? Why do we endure the separation from those people that mean the most to us, and still fight it out, even in the most complicated and crucial of moments?

Because it's worth it.

We do have the blessings of modern technology through cell phones, email, and social networks to keep us connected to those we care about. But even those things fail us sometimes...

...how many nights do we go to bed with a heart twinging with the familiar ache of distance?

...the wish that we would hear the lilt of that familiar voice or catch a whisper of a too-long silent laugh?

Separation is hard. The fingers of loneliness and the chill of missing are very real.

...but then, does that not make the reunions all the more sweet?

"All days are nights to see till I see thee,

And nights bright days when dreams do show thee to me."

~William Shakespeare, "Sonnet XLIII"

Diary

The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it. ~James Barrie

Visiting the library is like stepping into another world. Shelves and stacks of books line the room from ceiling to floor...

...the rich aroma of ink and dusty volumes whisper of worlds yet hidden in bindings of leather and paper...

...but yet, between these seemingly innocent pages, is danger and mistrust and anger.

For these books are more than just words...more than stories...more than records of fiction or fact...these are the thoughts of an author laid bare before our eyes.

Their secrets are no more.

For I have not yet met a writer who was able to strip all hint of personal emotion from their work.

In fact, the thing that makes an author great is their ability to step into the pages and let their hearts do the writing.

For it is an unmistakable truth that, for a writer to allow another to read their work is to expose their soul.

It is as if we have opened the pages of our most private diary, held it out to the world and begged them...

..."come and read my soul. Feast your eyes upon my hidden mind. And please...be gentle with me."

This may be why so many of us struggle with allowing the world to read our work. It is nothing if not a terrifying idea for someone else to take something that we have poured our hearts and souls into and bring it out into the light.

Pieces of the writer themselves have become lost among the words. It's more than just a fairytale or a retelling of a historical event. It's part of our story, a scrap of our legacy, wrapped up in these fragile pages.

The work itself might be perishable, but the dreams, hopes, and fears that are represented there are enduring.

So please.

Be gentle.

Witness

We need a witness to our lives...in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything..you're saying 'your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go unwitnessed because I will be your witness'. ~Shall We Dance

People ask me all the time: "So, how's married life?"

This question is one of the most impossible quandaries to answer. Because, honestly, the truth is not what people are looking for when it comes to this question's complicated answer.

They want you to tell them that everything is wonderful, and has been nothing but roses and sunshine since the day you said "I do."

If I told you that, I'd be lying.

Marriage has been one of the hardest things I have ever undertaken. In fact, until a couple of days ago, I don't think I've even fully understood this cacophonous symphony we call "matrimony."

I think God decided that it was time that I had my eyes opened...and everything that I thought I knew about marriage changed dramatically right before my eyes. In the long run, it wasn't even that big of an issue; important, but not life-or-death.

It was last night when I finally realized that I had been going about my marriage all wrong. I had been looking to my husband to fill my heart up and meet my needs without fail...and in the process, Jon's heart had been forgotten.

For the past couple months, God had been trying to turn my eyes away from myself and back onto my husband's aching heart. However, I had been so lost in my own selfish, myopic world that it took something frightening to snap me back into focus.

In a way, I am Jon's only earthly witness to this life we share together.

I am his partner and his other half.

God created me to be Jon's helpmate, his bride, and his companion from the moment we said "I do" until one of us passes from earth to eternity.

I will be his witness...

...hand in hand, from this day forward.

Marriage isn't perfect, to be sure. There will be bumps, heartache, and loss. It takes sacrifice, selflessness, and unconditional love.

It's hard...

...but there will also be love, life, surrender, joy, and precious moments.

It's worth everything.

As You Wish

"Death can not stop true love, it can only delay it for a little while" ~ The Princess Bride

I can quote a lot of lines from a lot of movies. It's just one of my many quirks. My memory seems to latch onto cinematic dialogue. I have no valid explanation.

However, there is one movie that I can quote in its entirety without hardly batting an eye.

The Princess Bride.

For those of you who haven't had the distinct privilege of viewing this 1987 cult classic film...GO WATCH IT. Because, I have to say, it is one of the most incredible movies ever released.

Oddly enough, as my husband pointed out to me tonight, it is the movie that best describes our marriage.

One scene in particular, actually.

The Dread Pirate Roberts has "rescued" Buttercup from the hands of her three unusual kidnappers, and they are on the run together. They stop for a brief rest on a mountaintop. Roberts is being rather gruff and brutal with her, mocking her and treating her sorrow over the death of her one true love, Westley, as something trivial

She finally becomes fed up with him and screams in his face,

"You mocked me once; never do it again. I died that day...and you can die too, for all I care."

With that, she shoves him off the cliff and watches him tumble head over heals down the mountainside. As he falls, Roberts manages to call three simple words back up to her.

"As...you...wish..."

Buttercup suddenly realizes that the man that she has just potentially murdered is not the frightening Dread Pirate Roberts. It is her soulmate, Westley, whom she had thought to be dead. Horrified, she throws herself down the mountain after him.

In so many ways, that is my response with Jon. He becomes gruff or sharp with me in a time of conflict, and I retaliate with a knee-jerk reaction of pushing him away from me...maybe not down a literal cliff, but most certainly in a way that disrespects him.

Suddenly, I realize that I have just injured the man whom I love the most in this world, and I throw myself down after him. I would rather be wounded myself than to live the rest of my days knowing that I had hurt him and had lost him forever.

This is the conundrum that is so prevalent with marriages all across the world. We hurt the ones we love, and then we self-destruct in a last-ditch effort to save the one we have just wounded so brutally. This unending cycle seems intent on destroying our relationships -- not just with our spouses, but also with our friends and family members.

It's at moments like this when I look into my husband's eyes, and I realize something so incredibly powerful.

Jon loves me. He would risk his own safety to protect me and keep me safe.

He would brave the Cliffs of Insanity.

...swim through "eel-infested waters."

...sword-fight with a Spaniard.

...engage in hand-to-hand combat with a man six times his own size.

..."go against a Sicilian when death is on the line!"

...brave the three terrors of the Fire Swamp (lightning sand, flame spurt, and even R.O.U.S's)...

...and finally, he would even undergo the most horrific of tortures and surrender his life

...all for me.

Because he loves me just that much.

So maybe, I need to lay down my pride, take his hand, and brave these terrors of life together. Because, as everyone knows...

"This is true love. Do you think this happens every day?"

Nanook and Superman

"If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you." ~A. A. Milne

Weddings are amazing.

Maybe it's the massive overdose of "romantic" in me, but there is something so captivating about two people gazing deeply into one another's eyes and promising to be together forever...

...it's amazing.

Yesterday (7-24-10), I attended the wedding of two very amazing friends of mine. I've known the bride (Rachel/Nanook) since Sophomore year of high school, and the groom (Joshua) since Junior year.

As I sat in that church, watching Rachel and Josh hold hands as the minister joined them together as husband and wife, I couldn't help but smile. Their love is truly so very sweet and precious. I have never seen a more excited bride in my entire life.

And, I have to say, their wedding was indeed a reflection of them and their love.

The ceremony was simply precious. The decorations for the sanctuary were simple and breathtaking in their elegance. The bridal party was small and intimate, and the amount of love felt in the room was overwhelming. It truly was enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Rachel's uncle (who is also a minister) gave a short, meaningful address to the young lovers. However, my eyes were continually drawn to Josh and Rachel. Even as they looked and listened to the words of wisdom being shared with them, their attention never left one another. It was truly one of the most intimate and romantic moments I have ever seen.

So now, I raise my glass to the newlyweds....

Rachel: You are a beloved and beautiful friend to me. You have been there for me in ways you will never fully realize. I treasure every memory that we have shared together over the past four years of our friendship, and I pray that we make many more in the years to come.

You have truly found a prize in Josh -- your Superman-- and I know that he loves you more than life itself. Keep Christ at the center of your marriage, and remember to lift up your new husband in prayer on a regular basis. Blessings and love to you, my sweet Nanook. (Love, Puppet)

Josh: In the past two and a half years, I have had the privilege of getting to know you and become your friend. Since September of last year, I have watched you romance and tenderly love my dear friend. Yesterday, I watched you make her your bride forever. It is truly incredible to see how much you adore her and how much she means to you.

You are Rachel's "Mr. Darcy" and her Superman. Your relationship is one of the most tender and beautiful things I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing. Lead Rachel with tenderness and love, pray for her constantly, and never forgot just how precious she truly is.

I wish you both the very best, a life fixated on God, and overflowing with happiness and love.

I love you guys with all my heart.

Congratulations!