Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Being Married

I've been married for six months. My husband and I are deep in the warm embrace of wedded bliss. We live far away from most of our friends and family. They rarely see us together, and understandibly, have no idea what our relationship is like. Everyone wants to know how we like being married. I used to think I would hate this question. It's like someone asking you how it feels to be twelve on your twelfth birthday. "It feels...a little squishy." What kind of a question is that?!

Anyone can ask me how I like being married any time they want. I love answering that question. To say that we are happy is an understatement. To say that we enjoy marriage would not be doing justice to the institute of holy matrimony. Being married is the best thing in the world. I highly recommend it to anyone and everyone if they can find someone who fits them as well as my husband fits me. We are glowing. We can't get enough of each other. We want to spend every second of every minute of every day just being together. We share everything. We never fight. We speak the same love language*. I will tell anyone who asks how amazing my marriage is, and I will say it with a smile that covers my whole body.

It never fails. After I've given my dissertation on happy marriage I get the same all-knowing look and similar condescending words that usually sound something like this:

"I remember those days."
"Yeah, the first year is like that."
"It won't last."

Who says these things? Who looks a happy couple in the face and, in the midst of their bilss, assures them that things are about to get REALLY BAD? Perhaps I am a little niave. Perhaps. Maybe things will explode into a firey heap any day now and I'll be wishing that I had never met this man I'm now handcuffed to. Maybe my first year will be as bad as yours was. But maybe, just maybe...it won't. Maybe Nick and I were so perfect for each other that God put a strength in us to withstand the first year hardships. Maybe we're a stronger couple than most are. Maybe we've been through enough already to make us understand that it doesn't matter if the dishes are in the skink or the socks in the laundry. Maybe we don't fight because we've learned to talk about our disagreements. Maybe we have so much trust because neither of us can imagine life without the other. Maybe we have a love that's been through the fire and come out golden.


*The Five Languages of Love, By Gary Chapman

Thursday, June 02, 2005

A Room of My Own...

I've been reading The Writer's Desk by Jill Krementz--it's a thin book full of black and white photos of famous writers in their elements, presumably, as they write. They all have a short blurb of encouragement or a brief description of their methods--it's all very motivating. In fact, I've done more writing this week than in the past month, probably. Amidst all of the chaos, I wonder why I don't have more time to write. I truly believe it's mostly that I don't have a good place to go. Excuses excuses! I know, but it is most definitly part of my problem. So, I start to day dream. What would my picture look like if I were in this book?

I'd have a large bay window with thick heavy curtains that would let in or keep out the light. My back would be to the window as I write at my mahogany desk that has a computer but plenty of room for free writing by hand as well. Shelves line the walls and they're completely full of books. In one corner is an overstuffed chair with an ottoman, an end table and a floor lamp. This is where I'll do my research. Somewhere within reach is a coffee pot.

There is no phone, no radio or tv. I might have a few candles for atmosphere, but everything else comes from the story. Now, if I could just get this room, I'd have a bestseller, right?