Post Category → marriage

I’m here again

We have a big picture window in our new home, and it’s where I find myself each morning. Vast blue sky textured with shadowy clouds, open green lawns peppered here, there with houses, and a sloping road beckon me each day. Some days I respond to the invite and walk out to greet the world, but most days I sit and watch from my chair with my coffee and my Bible. I love this spot. It’s like a deep breath, somehow. Oxygen flooding my lungs, life spreading through my body… a new lease, new energy. The breeze whispers through leaves and teasingly tugs at my hair through the window screen, and somehow I know that whatever lies ahead on this day can be done peacefully, gracefully, and in Perfect time.

—————–

So here I am. A bit out of practice, it seems–and not just with writing: a bit out of practice with thinking, articulating, processing, being. After one month–literally, 30 days–of traveling, there’s the distinct sensation that my Self got lost somewhere along the way. Somewhere in the middle of suddenly being married, never alone, not at home, far away, traveling cross-country and back, and starting a new life, Self got lost. But I think she’s finding her way here, to my new abode. And I’m glad to see her; life is not quite so fun when she’s not around. Words are hard to form, ideas are scarce, and usual excitement and drive wane and waiver when she’s away.

And I think she’ll be happy with what she finds here, with what we’ve done in her absence. I think she’ll like our cheery little space up on the second floor (“It looks like a tree house from out here,” a friend said. “Like Swiss Family Robinson!”), our cozy little meals in whatever spot isn’t being overhauled at the given moment, the pile of pictures we’ve assembled that recall a certain sunny day in June, and most of all, our smiles for each other. The Love and Joy and Peace that we try to cultivate. The Friendship that comes so easily. The laughter of shared secrets, the tears of suddenly sensing blessedness. Hopefully she’ll find that I’m working on honoring him and making him King of the Treehouse. Hopefully she’ll notice a twinge of regret in my heart when I speak sharply, and a quick apology. She’ll watch and notice, I hope, that I’m not one anymore, and that I’m trying to think of myself as two. Perhaps I will have grown a bit in flexibility, in letting go of my plans and letting someone else have the final word. Hopefully. Hopefully she’ll find just that.

She’ll notice that I would much rather cook than clean; there’s creativity in the first. I get overwhelmed by piles that need to be organized and need Liana or Brietta or somebody, because I’ll just do what Dad does: make new piles. I sing to myself a lot more because there’s no one talking in the background, no television, no computer game…no nothing. I cry seemingly at random times when I suddenly miss my family, my home, the stability of being around things that pre-dated me. I devour books, magazines, recipes–anything in print. Perhaps it’s the absence of a TV? She’ll notice lots of things, she will.

But most of all, I hope she notices how blessed we are, here in this little haven of newlywed bliss. We still don’t know everything, or even much, but we’re ready learners. We misunderstand, sometimes, or hurt and offend, but there’s grace and forgiveness. We find ourselves wondering if we’ll ever be able to stick our heads outside, or if this mountain of “getting settled” will last forever… but this season, too, shall pass. And we’ll miss it when it’s gone–when we’ve found our nitch and groove and style, and remember with certain fondness the early days of life together that somehow resemble a long-legged fawn, trying to make sense of four feet, gravity, and walking. We’ll chuckle together, as we sit in the dusk of our lives, at our early struggles; and the days when we lived separately, with two different names, will be but foggy memories, dimmed by years of union and solidity.

a day the Lord has made

I can’t imagine there will be many more opportunities to write in this before the big day. The countdown is getting close. (Did I ever think it would really be only 9 days away?!)

Half a dozen times each day, I find myself overwhelmed with one emotion or another, whether it be leaving home, perfecting plans, or wondering how long before Ryan and I really understand one another’s communication. Any one of these things would usually be carefully processed and prayed about and not impede the progress of my day. But all at once? All at once is a different story. Inevitably, I end up living the day with the gnawing fear that I’m not spending enough time with Merrick, with Mom, with Ryan, with my projects, with the Lord… Agghhh!

And so last night when Ryan shared his heart once again—how he wants to serve the Lord each day, doing whatever is before us, and finding peace in the calling as servant—I took a deep breath. Oh yeah, that’s right. I’m a Christian. Worry is not just pointless, but sin. Each moment is ordained by the Lord, and each one is better than the one before (Proverbs 4). I don’t have to carefully craft my life in order to love enough, give enough, live enough; He crafts it perfectly. If I have memories and wonderful relationships and a bright future, it’s because I’ve trusted Him with each day. And if I started that way, with such wonderful results, why would I continue on my own strength and wisdom?

There are so many things coming to a close, and so many things about to begin–but what a beautiful moment to live, like the carefully orchestrated modulation at the climax of a symphony. My eyes are on Him, the baton is in His hand, and the sound will be nothing less than heavenly.

Yesterday is gone–
went and left it far behind me.
Tomorrow’s a gossamer dream.
I know I said that You could have my whole life.
Well, I guess there’s not much that I’m holding–
I guess there is only this moment,
So You can have today. (–me!)

closer and closer….

It’s been a busy week. Let’s see:

Within 7 days, I was in Albany for two days and Rochester for three… and the two in between didn’t count for much other than preparation to leave again!

America got an Idol—the wrong one, but at least a decent one. It could have been worse (it could have been Fantasia again, right?)

After ridiculous deliberation (decision making is not my favorite), I finally bought dishes for our new home. White, because I’m not settled enough to pick a few colors. (White is amazing wisdom for a girl who likes brown and bamboo, pink and gingham, orange and watering cans, and holiday decor!)

The said apartment made progress: carpet measurements, doors hung, and a shower installed!

I played a concert during Memorial Day weekend—one of the first nice evenings of the year (so you can take a guess at how the turnout was!)

My own dear boy moved out of his last bachelor pad, and I got to clean. Let’s just say, he needs a wife!

The homestead is being turned upside down—time for summer projects, and a wedding is a great goal to work towards. Paint, sand, goop, and sort…

And most exciting to me is that in the last seven days, summer has arrived in Northern New York! The gardens are finally full and ready to burst into bloom, the grass is green and growing like crazy, birds are singing, bugs are buzzing, and the sun is pouring its warmth. Ahh, there’s nothing better than digging in the garden with the sun warming your back. Of course, I could do without the wasp that is presently flying around my head and now trying to land on my leg. Gross.

If we trace back a few more days than seven, I can tell you about my wedding shower. How much fun it was! Of course, my little sisters and cousins manned the camera that day, so instead of shots of the huge number of wonderful women who came to support me and share their love, we ended up with baby Bronwyn sitting, baby Bronwyn drooling, baby Bronwyn grinning, baby Bronwyn crying, baby Bronwyn crawling… You get the drift! But it was a lovely party, and I was so very, very blessed. The setting was lovely, the food was incredible (thanks to my amazing mom, sister Bri, and lots of others who helped with prep!), the gifts were wonderful, and the fellowship was special and will be cherished. There were hugs and words of advice and prayers that brought me to tears, so real was the love and affirmation expressed by all. I’m excited to iron the fun napkins and cook my first meal, but I’m especially excited to get married, having within me the investment and example of so many.

But perhaps most monumental is that today it became June—the June when my life will change forever. This is the first time that I’ll have lived anywhere but with my family—and our family in the same house for almost two decades! It’ll be the first time I have a husband, too, and people tell me that’s an even bigger change than moving! I’m growing in excitement as I hear the Lord speak to me, as my love for Ryan increases, as my desire to sow into his success gains expression, and simply at the amazing change that’s around the corner. I’m not one who will volunteer for change—I like tradition and constancy more and more—but this is a change worth running whole-heartedly into. Bittersweet, yes, but more than that, the Holy Spirit gives the ability to mourn as those who do not mourn, for our true Love and Desire lies ahead, far from 1942 State Highway, Madrid. And though change may come at a cost, and the future demands that we trade in the past, undiminishing joy and the fulfillment of our hearts’ longings is waiting for those who run with an unwavering love for the Prize.

On June 25th, in a few short weeks, Ryan and I begin running this Christian race together. And how blessed I am to be joining a man who will not only take care of the “togetherness”, but will see to it that we run in such a way as to attain the prize, Christ alone.

67

Perhaps none of you are quite as concerned with the little counter at the bottom of this page as I am, but just so you know, it’s only a bit more than two months from the big day. There’s so much to do and, if you’re like me, so much to process. (Life has my permission to move forward only after I’ve thoroughly pondered and considered and understood–and then written down–the implications of this forward-motion!)

I’m amazed. I just had no idea that the Lord would give me to a man who would care so deeply about the intricacies of who I am–my strengths and my weaknesses–and that his grace and love, both spoken and silently displayed, would be a constant reminder and revelation of God’s heart toward me. I thought I was just the helper, you know? I thought we’d get a to-do list from heaven, stick it on the fridge, split up the duties, and that would be marriage. But how I underestimated the perfect plan of God–and more, the love of God toward me. The fact that God so carefully designed a covenant that would offer so much speaks of His immeasurable love for me.

Yes, I’m blessed. I still have to pinch myself sometimes. I woke up this morning and saw the envelope from a card he gave me, his writing scrawled on the front, propped on my nightstand. I touched it and thought, “Crazy. Ryan Dunphey loves me.” Cool, huh?

I think so.

sudden

“Keep a journal,” Mrs. Kinnen said.

Keeping a journal means, to me, simply slowing down enough to notice: to notice moments, feelings, faces and places, and to ponder them for so long that you come to cherish them. And once I truly cherish something, there is the compulsion to write it down and honor it with a permanent record.

So I’m taking a deep breath these last few days.

This morning I woke a bit on the late side (after 7; what a sluggard!) Actually, I was privileged to wake up four times this morning–but that’s not part of this story.

I woke up under the familiar weight of my down comforter, lofty after years of use because of my diligent “fluffing”. My first sight was of shelves of books–journals, textbooks, art books, magazines, and children’s stories–that each tell of an interest I have, or, at least, have had. My eyes wander: there are the tall pineapple-crowned posts of my bed; there are the photos of places I have seen and want to remember; there are the chairs I loved and bought because of my mother’s encouragement to do so; there is the artwork of a best friend, the gift of a sister, the framed card I thought sweet enough to preserve… There is the collection of my years on the earth.

And high on a top shelf, noticeable because it was recently moved and still seems out of place (I don’t adjust to change so very quickly), is a vase bursting with dried flowers. Each time it catches my eye, the thought is the same, and this time was no different: “Those are not quite as pretty as at first. I’ll need to collect a new bouquet from the gardens this summer.”

Ah, this summer. Suddenly I was taking in the room with a fresh appreciation, although my mind was wandering. Summer has always meant one thing for sure: long days out in the hot afternoon sun, weeding and turning sod and pruning and transplanting, rewarded by vibrant patches of color that grew larger each year. But this summer? What will this summer be?

There are winds of change, and a sense of excitement mingled with twinges of sadness. There are summer days of hot sun when the air is still and smothering, and suddenly a gust of wind will sweep through–and it stops you suddenly, because you recognize the cool temperature and sweet smell as the warning of drastic change. Rain is coming.

Change is coming, and I realized, as I looked at the dried arrangement in my room, that without even realizing it, my summers of working in Mama’s perennial beds have been relegated to the attic of my memory, to be retold to nieces and nephews and even my own children.

Sudden.

I’m always struck by the fact that, no matter how much planning and thinking goes into a transition, there is still a certain moment, a sudden instant, when that transition takes place. All the planning in the world can not change the pace at which that happens. How many weddings have I attended and simply marveled at the fact that, regardless of whether the event took two months or two years to plan, that man and that woman, after repeating two short sentences, just had their lives changed. It’s sudden, whether you ease in or dive in.

And I guess part of that “sudden” is happening already, in the realization that suddenly childhood Christmases are a memory, summer gardens are a memory, coming home to my siblings is a memory, getting rides with my mom is a memory, my identity as only a daughter is a memory.

I don’t mean to sound morbid or sad, because I certainly am not. If anything, as I process what effect this “suddenly” has had on my life, and I box up each memory and tuck it away to be retold, I realize how very full of wonderful things my life has been and how very rich in blessing I have always been. This morning, as I looked at those telling flowers, I thought, “I can’t wait to tell stories about how Mama and I loved the same things together, and how my life was permeated with the warmth of love.”

So today I’m excited about change, and even more excited because of the wealth with which I face the future. I have much to pass on.

When I Became a Man

“When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things.” — 1 Cor 13:11

I worked so hard this past year—sometimes frantically—to get my proverbial “house in order,” as I waited for an answer from Danica’s father to take her hand in marriage. And now, as this reality has arrived (even if still a few short months away), the responsibility is overwhelming.

I need God in my life like never before, and isn’t it exciting to know that those who call upon Him, He will answer.