Marriage Letters: Enduring Together

Trav,

We’ve had the talk numerous times. We’ve truly been blessed so far along this journey. We’ve been provided for, we’ve been a little spoiled, even. You’ve gotten jobs you applied for, we’ve been accepted for grants and programs we wanted to get into.

When we moved to Fayetteville, I told God it would be okay if we suffered a little bit. I thanked Him for the blessings and admitted that I desired a little of the holiness that comes with suffering. So, once again, He provided. Only a few weeks after moving here, our car was broken into, and both laptops, your phone, your world-traveler Chacos, and the rest of our luggage–all stolen in the night.

I frantically looked through the car and moments later remembered the prayer. Suffering…this was it. We laugh about it now, but those moments brought floods of realization that our photos, our papers, our work was forever gone.

Mother’s Day is around the corner, and last night while watching a cheesy Hallmark commercial (the ones that always make me cry anyway), I realized that I’m a mom now. There’s been a lot of enduring in that department. I’m losing my selfishness one piece at a time, and the hacking away really hurts. You’ve seen it happening, I’ve seen it happen in you. By the end of the day we are in each other’s arms, Eliot is asleep with us in bed, and we both know that we’ve made it.

We lost Notre Dame and all the dreams that went along with it. Those dreams of fireplaces and snow, Eliot growing near his cousins, your studies at a beautiful institution. God changed that course quickly, and we still mourn the buried dreams. My heart is still trying to catch up to the present, and along the way it is tender and broken. But, we continue to endure.

Early this morning (your mind is always active, Love) you talked to me about something someone said when you were somewhere last night. All I can remember at this moment is that you talked about suffering. You talked about enduring, about the true life, the true faith that comes in the process of the hurt, the process of our scales coming off. Our scales are coming off, one by one. Have patience with me. I’m catching up.

There’s no one else I’d rather endure with.

Love you.