Spending more time alone these days has reminded me of how much I take my husband for granted. I’m not even talking about the million ways he blesses me; I’m specifically talking about his presence. The simple fact that every night he comes home to me and no matter what we’re doing…I am not alone.
When we first started dating back in Jersey, our schedules were totally separate and different. He worked 8-5 and I worked 11-8 sometimes…but the fact was we led totally different lives. Even into our first year of marriage it stayed that way and I thought it was normal. Then we planned our move to IHOP, which included downsizing to one car and a one bedroom apartment and I think I remember hyperventilating at the thought. We were going to be attending the same exact classes and prayer room times, eating all our meals together and errand running and…ahhhh! I nearly freaked out before we moved; not sure that I could handle being so…together.
I just prided myself on being “independent” as if that was an accomplishment (which is valid for other people, don’t get me wrong). Heck, after college I’d moved to a foreign country and lived there for two years all on my own and then I moved to another state and lived and then across the country to another state…I mean, come on. I am woman hear me roar. Gross.
Yet all the while, I wanted to be married. There were some painful sad nights. I had some amazing roomies that kept me company in those years of singlehood. And when I graduated from college and not with an MRS. degree, I wasn’t depressed. When I lived in Central America and didn’t find latino men attractive, I wasn’t depressed. When I watched countless roommates and friends fall in love around me, I didn’t let myself stay down for long. Sure, it was a roller coaster and trust me; some I rode screaming and others calmly enjoying myself. Perhaps it’s because deep in my heart I knew God had given me the desire to be married and thus I would hold onto hope and persevere.
My favorite thing about that time was that I wrote letters- to my husband. I know, I know- sounds cheesy. And yes, some of them were. But many were prayers for him. And unbeknownst to me; my husband (who I did not know then) came to know the Lord during the last few years of my letter writing. I think I’ll write a post just about those specifics later.
To anyone single reading this: please know I don’t presume to have any answers nor do I assume there is a right path that leads to marriage. It’s different for each person. Getting married at age 26 was perfect for me because it was perfect to God.
And now, five years later, I still enjoy my alone time. But I really enjoy my Bart time.