10 Things I Wanted to Tweet: Part 2

1

If you aren't willing to OBEY it, it doesn't do much good to PRAY it.

2

Why walk when you've got Daddy? #RidinInStyle

3

There are very few things Sour Patch Kids can't heal

4

"Your life follows your words. What you say and listen to matters." @vickiyohe @tocmc #DiamondsConference

5

Real men send flowers #realman #ImGrateful

6

This girl. #ImGrateful @saraeshields

7

I double dog pound dare you to listen to #Happy and not dance. @pharrell #YouCantDoIt #ClapAlong

8

Most of us are already educated far beyond our level of obedience. We just need to DO what we already KNOW. @stevenfurtick #CrashTheChatterbox

9

He's hungry #ThatsAWholeChicken #happyplate @HavenHouston

10

I feel like there was a better way to do this...

Good Word Wednesday

"To be a good writer, you have to be a good reader."

David and I have seen a therapist for years. Nine years to be exact. If I could give a gift to the world it would be the freedom to embrace therapy. There's this unfortunate misconception that it has to be "that bad" to see a counselor. That means that millions of people are walking around each day in various states of sadness, pain, hurt and turmoil because in their minds it's not yet "that bad." It brings to mind the picture of a trip David and I took years ago. After a very busy period at work, we planned to spend a few days in Las Vegas. But by the time we got there, the toll of long hours, lack of rest and exhaustion had caught up to me. I was so sick that I barely made it to the room before passing out. Our first night in Vegas, I spent sleeping and David took a walk alone. I hated to ruin our trip, so I tried, but nothing was enjoyable. Casinos, shows, people watching on the strip - things I would normally love were hardly bearable. I was in a cool place but I could only appreciate a shadow of it. My experience was a lesser version of what was intended because my illness held me back from its full potential. It makes me sad to think of so many who aren't getting to experience the fullness of life - so many families living only a shadow of who they were meant to be. When they don't have to! With time and NyQuil, I was ready to take on the town. With grace and hard work, our families can thrive instead of just survive.

Getting the Love You Want by Dr. Harville Hendrix has been written, edited, revised and updated since 1988. It's been used to help millions of couples acknowledge, accept and work through the issues keeping them from experiencing the fullness of their potential. The book is equal parts educational material, philosophy and self-help. It not only tells you WHY your relationship is struggling, but it tells you WHAT to do and most importantly, HOW to do it.

The book is phenomenal not because it's light reading - although it is surprisingly easy to read. It's value is in the change possible both in you as an individual and your relationship if you will commit to do the work suggested. Now, just like a gym membership, it's only as effective as the time you actually work out. (You can't blame the trainer for your muffin top if you won't do the sit ups! Believe me. I've tried. He laughed at me.) But if you are willing to let some therapeutic light shine on your past, the way you think and how it's affecting your life, I promise it will change you from the inside out.

Therapy is expensive. Getting the Love You Want is about $13.00 on Amazon -- $8.00 if you get the Kindle version! :o)

Deep in the Heart

It was hard to leave family and friends when we decided to move to the East Coast, but we wanted to embark on an adventure. David and I have never considered ourselves people who need to live super close to family. We can visit as often as we want, and we know they'll love us no matter what our zip code. We knew the transition would be easier for Brynna when she was little, so we thought of all the fun things (changing seasons and Smithsonian museums) that her childhood would be filled with, and off we went. We worked hard to put down roots in DC. The only problem was that no matter the effort, our hearts never felt at home. As difficult life struggles began to hit us, we felt thrown and tossed by the trials. We realized that the anchor we thought we didn't need was thousands of miles away.

Someone may read this and think we weren't strong enough. Someone may wonder if we couldn't cut it or if we quit. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I have learned that it takes strength to ask for help. It takes faith to do what doesn't make sense. I now know more than I did before that if you are not where God wants you, it's never going to fit; there's always going to be something that doesn't feel at home.

So two years after we left Dallas for DC, and in the wake of the hardest season of our marriage, we began to pray about moving.

Our prayers weren't answered right away, and when they were, God didn't call us back to Dallas. He led us further south to Houston. He still hasn't told us everything. He's given us one step at a time. 1) Sell the house. With no plan after that? Really, God? Our house in Virginia sold in 2 days for more than asking price. 2) Go to Houston. With no house to move to? Really, God? Family and friends opened their homes, but even as I write this, we don't have a house in Houston. No contract, no plan, just faith that we are being obedient and God will take care of the rest. And in the midst of the uncertainty of the details, I've never felt more secure.

God has a plan and this was our part of His story. I'm ever-grateful for our time in DC. I'm thankful that my marriage will never be the same because of what we struggled through and overcame - together. I'm thankful for the culture Brynna experienced and will always remember. Most of all, I'm thankful God loves me so much to have let me hurt so I can know Him better. And that He loves me enough to let me come home - deepER in the heart of Texas!

Just Breathe

Sometimes you can see a movie or hear a song and it meets you right where you are. It sums up how you feel; puts words to your hope or your hurt. I've had a few of those moments. It's like you want the world to hear or see it the way you do because maybe then they'd understand what you're going through. If they could just hear that lyric or watch that scene, they'd feel your pain or know your joy.

I watched the movie Hope Floats so many times during college that I literally broke the VHS tape. (That's right. I said it - VHS.) I wasn't married, of course, and I didn't have a child like the main character, but I could so identify with her heartache. I knew firsthand that feeling of being so hurt by someone that for awhile you couldn't find yourself in the midst of the pain. I also knew the reality that when you are wounded that deeply, you can't imagine ever letting anyone near your heart again for fear they would shatter what's left. I watched those scenes and somehow, seeing her hurt made me not feel like the only one.

I haven't seen that movie in years, but the other day it came on television. It's not even the whole movie. I didn't start recording until about a quarter of the way into it. There are commercials and pieces of the movie that are missing. (I know because I can almost quote it.) But none of that has stopped me from watching it about 17 times in the last 6 days. What has captivated me the most is that I no longer hurt when I watch it. I don't identify with the pain of her loss. While I remember the way I used to feel, I identify more with the hope she finds in rediscovering her own strength. The man who hurt her is a blur in the background of the man who loves her back to herself. Several times as she interacts with this new man, he forces her to just be still. He doesn't push her; he just quietly tells her to "breathe."

It seems like a simple thing, breathing. But when you're convinced the world will fall apart if you don't hold it together, sometimes you don't realize you're holding your breath until someone tells you to breathe. Today was a lesson for me in breathing. David let me sleep in, took care of Brynna and arranged a sitter so we could have the whole afternoon/evening together. He brought me flowers and got me a new bag. (What can I say? Handbags are my love language.) Less by what he said and more by what he did, he told me to breathe. And here are the lessons I learned:
     1. When someone lets you breathe, he is assuring you that, even if just for a moment, he'll handle the rest
     2. You have to let him

You I have to let him and it may not look the way I want. It may be slower than I would have done it. It may be a different route than I would have chosen. At those times, I just need to breathe. I have to stop trying or talking and just breathe. I have to stop anticipating and fixing. And breathe.

What are you holding that's too big for you to carry? Just breathe.
Who can you look to for help? Let them.

2 Thoughts That Changed My Life: Part 2

If you missed Part 1, the first thought that changed my life was that marriage is more about making me holy than making me happy.

I went through the first 10(ish) years of marriage learning what that really means. It's a tough concept to grasp, but, if I can be totally transparent and honest, one thing made it easier. That's still kind of about me. I know! The whole point is that it's not about me. But if you think about it...if it's about making ME holy instead of happy...that's still kind of about ME.

That's when the second thought changed my life. This one wasn't read in a book. (Not one that's published yet, anyway.) This one I didn't hear or glean from someone else's experiences and wisdom. This one was just for me. God spoke to my heart directly and said marriage is a group project.

Remember when you were in school and you were assigned a group project? Sometimes you could pick your group members and pair up with those you knew would work hard. Other times you were randomly assigned groups and got stuck with partner(s) who didn't carry their own weight. Regardless of the situation, the group would rise or fall together.

Marriage is a group project.

Thankfully, you get to pick your partner. You set about finding someone you think you'll work well with, but you can't predict every situation, can you? You saw that he makes strong, stable choices but only over time did you realize those choices take a loooooong time. His thought process takes about 3 weeks longer than yours, which means you spend a lot of time waiting. You thought you married a changed man only to lean that those bad habits were just tucked away in a closet. And when they reappear, you both get to face them. You chose the guy successful with money; you didn't know that was a facade and now you're both in debt.

The moment you said “ I do” God saw you as one. One output. One future. ONE. The problem was that for years I saw us as "Two as One." I conceded the point that it's not all about me. I accepted that there are times David will lead and I need to follow. I even acknowledged that sometimes (albeit rarely) I may not have the answer. But I still viewed myself separately. God was working on making me holy and at the same time making David holy. And that's where I was so wrong.

Marriage is a group project. 

That means that when God views us, he doesn't see that David works in an office and Regina stays home with Brynna. He doesn't see that I pay the bills and David takes out the trash. From my point of view, I saw it this way:
David - works to provide X income, makes long-term financial decisions, gave a homeless man $20 on his way back from lunch
Regina - manages life outside of work (i.e.: bills, errands, etc), cares for child, supplements with Y income, spent the afternoon with a girl desperately in need of a friend
But God sees us this way:
THEY - make XY income and tithe (give) part of that amount, manage THEIR home, pay THEIR bills, invest in THEIR future, care for THEIR child. THEY gave to a homeless man and THEY loved on a girl needing a friend.

Do you see the difference? God doesn't care who takes out the trash. He sees that it's taken out. He cares less about who earns what portion of income. He wants to see that we give a portion of it back to Him. Marriage is a group project and what matters is the final output.

Just like in school, this means that sometimes I have to pick up the slack that David leaves. Sometimes I bear the consequences of his choices. It means that sometimes he has to work harder than I do. It means that sometimes he gets to share the benefits of my effort and other times I get to reap the reward of his labor.

There's no scorecard. There's no record kept of how many diapers changed or dollars earned or hours worked. I can't describe the freedom of truly, really, down in the deepest parts of me understanding that I don't have to feel less than because my income is smaller (or nonexistent). But I was shocked to learn that it was freeing for David, too. He said that it lifted a weight from his shoulders to know that he gets to share ownership in the work I do just as I share the benefits of what he does.

Marriage is a group project.

And regardless of how you see you, God sees you as one. One output. One future. ONE.

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Side note: None of this is permission to slack off. He still sees all we do and knows all we think. He is, after all, still God.

And another side note: It goes both ways. He sees all we do collectively. He also sees what we don't do. You will rise or fall together.

So the question is: are you working hard together or is there a slacker bringing down the group's output? Are you the slacker? Will you do the work or blame your partner? 

2 Thoughts That Changed My Life: Part 1

There are two thoughts that have changed my life in regards to marriage. One I read years ago in a book titled "Sacred Marriage" by Gary Thomas. What if God designed marriage to make us holy instead of happy? If you can push through the selfishness and pride (even the parts you don't like to admit to) and really let that question get in your gut, it'll change your life, too, because that means that "we don't get along" isn't a reason for divorce. It means that "we fell out of love" is bull. Marriage isn't something you trip and fall into. It's a choice. And...brace yourself...it's not about you. Yes, I said it. Your marriage is not about you.

God said that we are made in his image. He has both female traits and male. God is nurturing, caring and kind. He is also strong and dependable. He's both tender and tough. That means that the best representation of who He is can only come when both of those sides are shown to the world. And how did God plan for that to happen? Yep. Marriage.

See, you thought it was a cultural norm. You thought it was a fairytale idea and a reason to wear a pretty dress. You thought it was a political agenda. Marriage is the most whole representation of who God is. And it's the best way to make you holy because Marriage 101 is learning that you are no longer alone. Your decisions affect another person. His choices bleed into yours. His socks clutter your bathroom and your bras hang on his door handles. And once you get over the shock of someone imposing on your physical space, there's more. His baggage begins to affect your emotions. Your feelings begin to supersede his desires.

And that's becoming more holy. That's when a little bit of the selfishness chips away.

It changed my life because it's true. God didn't design marriage so I could be happy anymore than he designed raising kids to do so. Is happiness often a bi-product? Absolutely, yes. Is it the ultimate reason? Absolutely, no. On the days when I'm not happy do I get to stop being a mom? No. When I'm exhausted and have nothing else to give, do I get to quit? No. When I've tried everything and I still feel like I'm losing do I get to send her back and start over? No, no, no.

And hard as it is to hear, the same is true for marriage.

Let that marinate for a minute, and I'll tell you the second thing that changed my life tomorrow...

Mamatone

When he comes home from work, you choose.
When she wakes up in the morning, you choose.
When he breaks something that can't be fixed, you choose.
When she gets on your last nerve, you choose.
When he disappoints you, you choose.
When you aren't sure of the answers, you choose.
When she disobeys...again, you choose.
When you're hurt, you choose.
When you need a break, you choose.

You. You choose.

Whether you are a wife, mom, sister, friend or daughter, you set the tone. You choose whether your home will be a place of peace or strife. You choose whether there will be sorrow or rejoicing. You choose. That doesn't mean you always get to pick the circumstance. It means you get to choose how you react. And how you react, they will follow. Your husband. your kids, your family and friends. You set the tone and they will walk to your beat.

So the question is: what tone are you setting, mama? Does your family feel more faithful, patient and understanding because they are following your lead? Or are they anxious, timid and living in discord? If the pulse of your home is not what it should be, you choose.

Deep Thoughts at 2am

How can college-educated men excel professionally yet struggle to remember to put a bag in the trashcan?

Regardless of his trash bag installing abilities, I'm so proud he's mine. Even when I want to shake him. I'm grateful I get to do the shaking and not someone else.

I wonder how many times a week day he wants to shake me? (I'm sure rarely, if ever...)

Speaking of wanting to shake someone...
God patiently waited before I believed. God patiently waited until I was ready to be honest. God patiently waited for me to be obedient. God patiently waits. Yet the minute I don't have answers I don't want to wait. And I certainly don't want to be patient.
...I wonder how many times a day hour He wants to shake me?

Shaking aside. On a serious note. I'd like to make a worldwide amendment. All signs, references and descriptors labeled "kid-friendly" should be removed. Let's just call a spade a spade and put "adult-unfriendly" on the signage.

Who first had the brilliant idea to put a play area at the mall? That person should be shot.

I love boots but my feet miss heels. Especially peep-toe ones.

I need a pedicure.

I need sleep. I've got to get up tomorrow in a few hours and put a bag in the trashcan and then wait patiently while my child plays with her buddy at Chick-Fil-A (where the play area is at least enclosed).

Soundproof glass - now THAT'S adult-friendly!

It's OK Not To Be OK

I recently learned of a church near Vegas who is known for a slogan. They have it painted on walls, signs and shirts. Not far from the strip, it's become their symbol of the open door the church should always have - no matter what you look like, feel, think or do.

It's ok not to be ok.

How different would each of us be if we really, truly believed that? How would your day look? How would your voice and the words you use sound? What else would you do with all the time in your day usually reserved for just trying to be (or at least look) ok? What would your kids learn about you and themselves? How would your marriage change? How would it affect your view of the world around you?

It's ok not to be ok.

You are a new mom. Your body is only vaguely recognizable as the one you've known for 20+ years and you are awoken every few hours by the most awful sounding siren. Not only does the sound wake you, but it then expects you to feed it, change it, hold it, sing, walk, rock or stand on one foot until it can sleep again - at which point now you're hungry and can't sleep because you need a snack. It's ok not to be ok.

Being a wife is hard. Period. You have to share both your bathroom and your feelings with another being who apparently prior to knowing you did not respect either. You have to love him with he's unlovable and care for him when you need care yourself. It's ok not to be ok.

You are pregnant. Enough said. It's ok not to be ok.

You want to be pregnant but you're not. It's ok not to be ok.

Toddlers are exhausting. Utterly, completely and totally exhausting. No, you don't want to go outside again. No, you would rather not push the swing for the trillionth time. No, you don't want to get out the paint supplies because you just cleaned the kitchen AGAIN. It's ok not to be ok.

You are grieving the loss or pain of a loved one. It hurts. Your world looks different today than it did yesterday. You don't have to go on like it's business as usual because it's not. It's ok not to be ok.

You now have two kids (or three or more...). Two is different than one. You have to learn to change diapers with a toddler hanging from your back. You have to discipline one person while comforting another. Schedule is now a curse word because everyone is on a different one. It's ok not to be ok.

You are depressed. I know, I know, you don't want to call it that. (I didn't either.) You don't want to take the medicine. (I didn't either.) You don't want to admit the "failure." (Which isn't true at all, but we'll wait 'til you get past the medicine part and then we can address all the wrong stuff your head has tried to convince you.) You don't want anyone to know that you don't want to get out of bed. But you don't. And it's ok not to be ok.

You are in over your head. You feel like you might be close to drowning. You are overwhelmed. It's ok not to be ok.

Do you hear me? It's ok. You are ok.

Will you make me a promise and make this your mantra for the next few days? Will you write it on your mirror, put it in your car and hang it on the fridge? It's ok not to be ok. That does't mean it's ok to stay in the place you're in. If you need someone to help, it means it's ok to ask. If you are tired, it means it's ok to let the laundry pile up and eat take-out food while you take a nap. If you are hurting, it means it's not going to hurt forever. It's ok not to be ok.

And it's ok if people know you're not ok. It would make them a little more ok to help you. That's how God designed us - to need each other and to fill needs in each other. It's ok not to be ok. It doesn't mean you failed. It doesn't mean you are a burden. It doesn't mean you don't measure up. It's ok not to be ok.

What Happens When You Find a Need and Fill It

Our Friday was nothing like I originally planned. We didn't go to Six Flags (because it was closed. Mom Fail. Let's not rehash it.). We didn't spend the afternoon at the hotel swimming and relaxing. Instead, BG went to gymnastics and then we headed into the city for lunch and an afternoon of fun. David and I were a little out of sync from the time we left for lunch. Have you been there? Nothing is wrong; no one is mad or upset. You're just not quite clicking right. By way of happenstance and slight miscommunication, we ended up on a random street nowhere near where we planned to go. We parked and fed the meter, literally not knowing where we were going. There was a McDonald's nearby so we got BG a happy meal and walked onto the street to find big kid food.

As we headed toward Qdoba, we passed a woman sitting on the sidewalk. I'm not sure what her sign said, but she was holding a little boy about 18 months old. We entered Qdoba and BG asked if she could have a quesadilla. I explained that we got her McDonald's but she asked again. I couldn't get the image of that woman out of my mind, so I left David to finish ordering and paying, and BG and I went back out to the street. In the middle of M Street Northwest, with traffic and pedestrians surrounding us, I explained to Brynna as best I could why the woman was sitting with her little boy. I told her that all kids don't get to choose what they eat; that some kids don't get enough. I asked her if she thought we could share what we had. She looked up at me with a huge smile and said, "Mommy, I want to share my french fries with that little boy!" The thought wasn't sad to her. It didn't make her tear up. The joy of being able to give literally flooded out of her. Although she can sometimes play the shy card when approaching someone new, she walked right down the sidewalk, up to the woman and her son. The little boy, obviously curious about Brynna, started to smile as she approached. Brynna handed her happy meal to the boy, looked at his mom and said, "He can have my french fries."As the little boy began to smile, his mom looked at me with the most sincere gratitude and mouthed "thank you so much." And without thinking, I responded, "No, thank you." As we walked away, I thought to myself that my reply was a bit out of place. I probably should have said, "You're welcome." Or "We hope this helps." But in that moment, all I could think was to thank her - for being in that spot on this day when I had nothing else to do, nowhere else to be but on M St. NW to teach my daughter what it means to find a need and fill it.

As we sat eating our food, I realized about halfway through lunch that the funny out-of-sync feeling was gone. The stress of whether or not we go to an amusement park tomorrow had disappeared. And in it's place was peace.

We ended the day having dinner with some new friends in Baltimore. They are friends of my childhood friend, Jeff, and together they all work with an organization called Kupenda. They raise funds, support schools and build into kids with disabilities in Kenya. And now, past her bedtime, BG is swimming in the hotel pool with her daddy. She doesn't care that the day didn't go as I had it pictured in my head. And neither do I.

I've heard it said many times that the answer to having peace and purpose in life is to find a need and fill it. That's all. And when you fill one need, find another one. My new friends have found a need in Kenya, and they are filling it. Brynna found a need on a sidewalk in DC and filled it. Imagine if we all found a need - just one - every day and filled it. Your day may turn out looking nothing like you planned, but find a need. And fill it.

Love is...

Love looks like the perfect pair of shoes that ties the whole outfit together.

Love sounds like Brynna’s giggle. 

Love tastes like my mom’s cooking.

Love is that one pair of jeans that make you feel pretty no matter what you weigh, what time of the month it is or what else is going on in life.

Love feels like that spot on David’s chest where I lay my head and it’s like it was created to fit me alone.

Love sounds like “I’m sorry.”

Love feels like the presence of a friend who knows you better than you know yourself.

Love is that moment after Brynna’s thrown a fit and she finally relaxes and lets me hold her.

Love is when I’m tired, overwhelmed, exhausted and upset and Miles lays his head on my lap, looks up at me with big, brown eyes and sighs…because he doesn’t care about that other stuff.

Love feels like a lump in my throat when I can't quite find the words to tell Taylor how proud I am of who she is.

Love is when you smile and wave goodbye with a tear on your cheek.

Love feels like the sting of spanking someone you love so much you refuse to let her be anything but her best.

Love is the moment when you admit you aren’t perfect, you can’t do it on your own and you let Jesus fill in all your empty places.

Love is 40 hours in planes and airports to hug the neck of the person who loves even the ugly parts of you.

Love sounds like “I do.  Forever.  No matter how hard.”

Growth Track

I read something the other day that stuck with me.  An author of best-selling relationship books was giving the secrets to sex and marriage.  “The myth in marriage is that two people become one,” she said. “Couples who allow each other to grow separately, I believe, have a better shot at growing together over the long haul.”  Now I’m not going to base an opinion about a person or her entire philosophy on one isolated quote.  I agree that we are better for each other when we are two whole, healthy individuals as opposed to a co-dependent or otherwise unbalanced relationship.  My agreement pretty much ends there, though.

People misunderstand “oneness.”  It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have your own thoughts and opinions.  It doesn’t mean you can’t have your own iTunes account or belong to a different gym than your spouse.  It doesn’t even mean you have to agree on everything.  It does mean that in order to truly grow, you are going to have to give up a little of yourself, take on a little of your partner and both of you leave some things behind. 

I have close friends who have tried it both ways.  They functioned according to the standard this well-meaning author proposes, and they found themselves married, yet not growing. We sat down across a table one weekend and I asked them this question: “When you think about your marriage and the future, do you see yourselves as walking side-by-side on parallel tracks?  Or do you see yourselves, hand-in-hand, walking together.”  The husband asked for clarification.  He didn’t see the difference in the two scenarios.  I explained that walking on parallel tracks doesn’t require much growth.  There’s no major sacrifice or life change.  You decide to marry someone, and as long as his track runs parallel to yours, all is well.  But being on separate tracks means one very big thing: you aren’t tethered to each other.  If, at some point, one track begins to veer away from the other, that’s just “part of growing apart.”  I would argue, though…that’s not growing.  That’s changing, yes.  But it doesn’t take much growth to do what you want to do.  The second of the two scenarios left my friend silent for a very long time.  He pondered, thought and contemplated what it would mean to be on the same track.  It wasn’t such an easy picture, and it took him time to wrap his mind around that.  Walking hand-in-hand with someone means that at some point, she’s going to want to go right, you’re going to want to go left and a decision will have to be made.  One track means you can’t veer off.  You are connected.  Good, bad, scary or fun…you are going in the same direction. 

After spending a little time on separate tracks, my friends have learned the penetrating peace of becoming one.  She’s still very much the strong, independent woman she’s always been.  He’s still the fun but quiet strength we all love about him.  But she’s sacrificed a little independence to allow him room to lead.  He’s learned that giving voice to his thoughts means he doesn’t have to navigate them alone.

Walking the same track – becoming one – takes growth.  You can’t be selfish and walk the same track for long.  It takes sacrifice.  It takes compromise.  It takes grace and mercy, love and forgiveness.  Those are not traits that come natural.  You have to grow into them.  And that’s why so many marriages end in divorce.  That’s why we spend millions of dollars a year on books that make us feel good about walking on separate tracks. 

Growth hurts.  It’s sometimes hard.  And like most difficult things…it’s worth it.

my prince

There are some decisions in life that you make and regret. There are choices made for you and choices you made so independently that even when you wish you could blame someone else, you're left holding the bag.  There are minor, day-to-day, what-shoes-will-I-wear decisions and major, life-altering, who-will-I-wake-up-to-every-morning decisions.  Your choices determine the direction your life will take.  Your decisions shape you.

Our first date (yes, we were babies...)

When I was young, I made a bad decision.  I chose to please another person to my own detriment.  And I paid a high price.  It left me broken, sad and very, very angry.  Months after meeting David for the first time, he told me that he was terrified of me.  "I was pretty sure you hated men," he said.  I did.  As much as I tried to hate him and put him in the category of person who had so hurt me, I realized something was vastly different about David.  He rarely said what he wanted without first learning my opinion.  Even when it was painful, difficult, costly or inconvenient, my needs always came first.  From what I wanted to eat to the ring he eventually put on my finger...I, and everyone around me, knew that I came first.  That's not to say he is a pushover.  He is strong and confident and unshakingly stable.  But he is patient.  And he's never attempted to rush or push me to get his own way.  After we'd been dating awhile and I tried to force him to leave, he said, "Tomorrow and the next day and the day after that, I'll be right here.  You aren't getting rid of me 'til I'm six feet under and unable to follow you."

He was right.  He didn't leave when I got so sick with headaches I couldn't get out of bed.  He didn't leave when I took out my anger on him although he had never been the cause of my pain.  He didn't leave when the wounds inflicted by others threatened to break our marriage.  He stood still.  He waited.  He rubbed my head and sang silly songs he made up.  He held my hand.  He let me lead; he led.

Shortly after we started dating, David started calling me "princess."  It became such a common name that at times, friends and members of our families have accidentally or jokingly referred to me by my nickname.  It began to sum up everything about us.  I'm not a diva and he's not a wimp.  But he fills my plate before his own, and he drives an old Tahoe so I can drive a brand new car.  He honors me.  He sacrifices for me.  He treats me like a princess not because I've earned it or it will benefit him but because he believes I'm worth it.  And in doing so, he's showing our daughters what it means for a man to love a woman.  He's being an example of the kind of love they deserve.

I didn't know it 32 years ago, but today would change my life.  It was the day God gave the world my prince.  And it's a day I celebrate with gratitude.