Johnny Depth.

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO. I DO WHAT I WANT."

:cue eyeroll:

This continual cycle of stubborn independence has run its course throughout my marriage, with my husband telling me to take a Tylenol for my headache, or to take a breather and sit down while Tasmanian deviling my house with Windex and a Swiffer, or to stay in bed and rest a few more minutes before I start my day. He is met with a petulant infant woman-child (me) taking a stance in favor of being in control of her own destiny and not listening to anything anyone tells her ever.

I blame my strict Christian upbringing for this attitude, and the fact that I didn't sow many wild oats, so my husband is left now to reap the glorious benefits of my new onset mid-life crisis rebellion.



I have never truly cared for recommendations or rules, though deep down we all know they're usually for the best.

I went on a cruise several years ago. Best days. Long days. Sunny days. Seafood. So much seafood. All the seafood. A soda on every corner. Philly Cheesesteaks at 2 a.m.

Basically the "I do what I want when I want" person's dream.

Unless you do an excursion.

I snorkeled.

Snorked? Went snorking? Snorkeling? Snorkeling. There it is.

I did that.

We were given snorkeling equipment, a large area of water that was connected to our private beach, and instructed that we could snorkel old shipwrecks and abandoned antiques left to remain in their shallow watery grave, which was totally staged by the genius creators of the Royal Caribbean Snorkeling Embassy.

I don't trust staged shipwrecks.

"Now, you are able to cross the reef into the abyss of the ocean, but we must tell you that we do not recommend this, as when you do, you are no longer under our protection- Royal Caribbean is no longer held liable, and you are responsible for your own safety. So again, we would not recommend this."

BEHOLD! You caught my attention. All of a sudden, crossing that reef sounded like the very best thing that this young gal could do in CocoCay Bay.

I checked out the shipwreck. Great. The two year old swimming with me enjoyed it as well. Too juvenile.

I checked out the old antiques. There was a Seal Team of Red Hat Ladies already there. I don't need that type of Crimson in my life.

Then.

I looked to my left.

And there it was, the darkness before me. Across the scaly reef wall was a pure void of unknown waters. I was just half a football field away from Ariel, Sebastian, Flounder, and King Triton. Praise the Lord for His bountiful blessings.

I glided over the reef partition. Breathe McBee, Breathe. My heart seemed like it was beating faster, but I was certain that this was simply due to the fact that I was about to experience a saltwater epiphany.

Closer......closer.....you're almost over this barrier of coral aaaaaaaand.....

Pitch black.

Turn to the left.

Pitch black.

Turn to the right.

Pitch black.

Now back to the reef, I can see the snorkelers swimming.

Now back to the front.

Pitch black.

I lay floating in an inky cave of nothing.

It.

Was.

Terrifying.

I hyperventilated immediately.

This was a TERRIBLE decision.

I began taking in gulps of air and water too quickly as I flapped-ironically like a fish on land-and awkwardly stumbled, with extremities convulsing, back over the reef and into the safety of the shallow water.

I can't believe I'm alive today.

While this was just one soft example of my hard-headedness, it reveals a hidden truth. I am consistently bored with the "shallow part" of my life, but I am terrified when it reveals any depth, any unknown.

I have always been bored with friendships that simply exist based on "How are you doing?" Great, you?" Great! Let's go get coffee" and that lack the luster of true life, with its hardship, awesomeness, discouragement, encouragements, and devastation. Don't get me wrong, I love coffee, and I love friends, but I am also guilty of straying from sharing my struggles with those I am closest with, in an effort to maintain my "Facebook profile life," where the truth of hurts I've experienced and hopes I've held onto remain in the abyss of an area I am sometimes too scared to travel to, as they are no longer under the confines of the perfection of Facebook and leave me liable to honesty and sharing heartaches.

Please take the opportunity the next time you are speaking with a family member, sharing with your partner, or sitting with a friend, to take your relationship to a deeper level of connection and share the things you keep pushing back on. Hopefully you won't hyperventilate...but instead you will see the good things that await when you push into the depth.

Little is much when God is in it...

Marriage.

If you didn't hear the infamous line from the Princess Bride in your head when you read that word, we can't be friends.

The hardest guttural laughs I have ever had in my life have been while married. Let's talk about some, shall we?

An absolute favorite memory of mine was the file cabinet. Jeremey had been wanting a nice, pristine file cabinet for so long to file his nerdy things. We had been shopping for some in store and on-line, but guess what? Apparently they line file cabinets with gold and precious stones, because they are as expensive as all get out these days.

So our go-to? Everyone's go-to: the "For Sale" sites on-line. We were checking Facebook and Craigslist everyday to fulfill his filing joy, hoping that we could come across something that didn't lead us to the dungeon of a serial killer.

Behold, our prayers were answered. A gentleman just a few miles away was selling a "like-new" file cabinet FOR JUST $10. We scrolled through the pictures depicting this curvaceous cabinet that met the hopes and dreams of my organized husband. Why this man was tossing this puppy for ten bucks, I didn't know, nor did I care, all I knew is that we were saving money, which meant we could afford to get the 80/20 ground beef at Aldi this week instead of the lower middle class 70/30. (This is a joke, please don't e-mail me about this, I won't respond.)

So we made a date of it. We would pick up our metallic beast on a breezy Tuesday night, and celebrate our Craigslist treasure with a drive-thru at a blessed Dairy Queen. Thank the Lord again for His gracious gift to our precious family.

We pulled in the driveway of this stranger's beautiful home. "Do you need help, babe?" I asked, like the adoring wife I am. "No, I bet he'll help me carry it to the car, you just wait here." How exciting! I waited a few minutes for my dear husband to join me back in our Equinox, with our soon-to-be own cabinet of the filing kind.

A few minutes passed.

I noted a shadow emerging forth out of the garage. The first feature I saw was of despair and disappointment, as Jeremey came forth holding a small, miniature filing cabinet. It was beautiful, it was like-new, but it was sooooooo compact.

I tried to hold back my loud, obnoxious guffaws, but as Jeremey opened the passenger door, because we CERTAINLY no longer needed the entire trunk for this tiny, tiny filing cabinet, I cried out in screeches of laughter, with tears streaming down my cheeks. "Don't-" Jeremey said as he opened his car door and slid inside. "Why...did you..." I tried to blurt out through my cackles, "pay...for this..."  "BECAUSE I WAS TOO EMBARRASSED TO TELL HIM THAT HIS DISHONEST PHOTOGRAPHY MADE THIS LOOK LIKE A NORMAL-SIZED FILING CABINET, BABE. THIS IS FOR INDEX CARDS!"

That was the best night ever. That filing cabinet is still in our garage. It's empty, as we haven't found anything small enough to file in it.

I love that memory. Don't mention it to my husband, he doesn't love it as much.

A few weeks ago, Jeremey burst through the door of our home. "Babe, babe, babe......TAKE A LOOK AT THIS." Jeremey had a new-found love for copper kitchen items, and had been eyeing a few sets of copper pans to add to our home collection for a while now, but again, being the Goodwill psychopath that I am, was trying to find what I like to call, "a real steal of a deal."

There, in the light of his iPhone, lay a set of gorgeous copper pans on a daily deal site-

-everything he had been hoping for, at his fingertips, for the low, low price of just $30. "Shall we get them? We can replace all of our pans once they come with these beauties." Sure! Why not? That's amazing, and I'm a woman who knows her place, so new kitchen equipment is always welcome. (This is a joke, please don't e-mail me about it, I won't respond.)

A few days later, it came. Jeremey walked in the door with the package of copper prizes. The box seemed a little small, but with advanced shipping technologies these days, you just never know.

We opened the box, and behold, itsy bitsy teeny tiny copper pans emerged from their indwelling cardboard cave. I gotta admit, they were beautiful, and if we ate portions small enough to feed a family of ants, they would have been absolute perfection.

I tried.

I did.

I swallowed it back.

But it still came out.

"Do you still want to replace all of the pans in our house with these? As well as.....OUR FILE CABINET?!?!"

Don't laugh that hard after giving birth. You may experience an incontinence episode.

I love that memory.

Don't mention it to Jeremey, he doesn't love it as much.

Our expectations really got the best of us during those moments. We were expecting something to complete some of our heartfelt desires, only to be disappointed by the fact that they fell very, very short. Literally.

This happens so often in my own life. In marriage, motherhood, friendships- having too-good-to-be-true expectations that often can't be met, or are nearly impossible for other people to meet, and being disappointed almost every time. Why do we do this to ourselves? We are so busy imagining the perfect life, the perfect job, the perfect family, the perfect EVERYTHING- we forget that we are involved in the equation- you don't get what you want or what you imagine in your head- YOU GET WHAT YOU CHOOSE.

Choose joy, choose fulfillment- laugh at the disappointments, they become memories later.

Diners, drive-ins, and diapers.

“Why does my newborn dislike me?”

“What should a baby’s poop look like?”

“Are you sure that the poop should look like that?”

“Why is there so much poop?”

“Are you sure my newborn doesn’t like me?”

My Google search has been ridiculous these past two months. Not only do they send you home after an anatomical trainwreck with a child whose language you do not speak, have never spoken, and will have to learn immediately, but the nurses and doctors prepare you for nothing at the hospital when it comes to parenthood.

“Can I bring you breakfast?”

“Would you like me to refill your water?”

“She’s crying….how about I take her to the nursery so you can get some rest?”

DO YOU KNOW THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN WHEN YOU GO HOME? MY WATER WENT UNREFILLED FOR 72 HOURS BEFORE I REALIZED THIS.

Then, there’s this adorable little torture expert. She believes that the moment she enters the world, her job is to sleep deprive you, Guatanamo Bay style, as well as sleep deprive the husband, the dog, and anyone within a 50-foot radius of her living quarters for at least the first week. My sweet angel went from sleeping soundly to a pterodactyl’s cry within 2 seconds. My hearing still hasn’t fully returned.

But then there’s this moment where you look at this kid and you are overwhelmed by the fact that you would all of the sudden risk your life, risk everyone else’s life, jump off a building, hijack an airplane, not sleep for days or weeks in order to protect this little eating, sleeping, pooping human. This human that coos at daddy, grandma, and grandpa, but takes one look at you and all of the sudden she’s this hangry beast who is consumed by a voracious lust for formula, despite having a stomach the size of a Jelly Belly.

I’m so grateful, every day, for this creature. A newborn makes the beauty of having a Creator come alive, while at the same time stirring within a new mom the desire to curse like an inappropriately eloquent sailor 20 hours out of the day. I love it, it’s frustrating, it’s awesome. It feels amazing! It hurts.

I was talking to a friend a few weeks ago about the insanity of my birth story, and she said something I won’t forget—

“Wow! It was not at all like you planned! Have you had time to grieve?”

What? What does she mean grieve? I’m a new mom, I’m supposed to be singing on a mountain like Julie Andrews before the Nazis come!

“Grieving that your birth story wasn’t like you had in mind. It’s still a beautiful thing, but it’s hard when you had this amazing expectation and it becomes a traumatic moment, even though the end result is your awesome baby.”

I loved that.

That’s not something to be ashamed of.

I’m not talking about a “snowflake” grief, where everything is a sob story and I need some “safe space” to give my emotions a gentle pat on the back because “life is hard and people are mean,” but grieving moments in your life, making sure you take the time to grieve those situations and indulge in a profound loss in order to embrace what came from the agony.

I don’t think Christians, or people in general, discuss grief, or dare I say, accept it.

Our view is often that it is a short time in our lives following a tragedy…where you wake up after no more than 6 hours of grief and everything is fixed and better because time heals all wounds and life goes on, and you are completely done with the sadness, with that “chapter” in your life.

Yeah right.

I have talked to so many people who have experienced tragedy or hardship in some way:

The loss of a parent.

The loss of a child.

The loss of a spouse.

Facing unemployment.

Domestic abuse.

Sexual abuse.

Be it present or be it past, these people have expressed the pressure to “put it all behind them” and “move on.” It’s not that easy, and it shouldn’t be shameful.

I miscarried last year.

I haven’t told a lot of people the story about my miscarriage. In my head I pushed it away because so many other women have experienced it. Or worse. I didn’t want to wallow in something when other people have suffered what I have or more than I have. So I tried to move on quickly.

We found out we were pregnant (for the first time, ahhhhhh!) shortly after Thanksgiving. It was early,  and we knew people recommend waiting until the first trimester is over, but we were shocked and ecstatic. It was Christmastime, and it was the perfect time to tell our families for Christmas. The greatest gift! 

Christmas was exceptional. Every surprise was perfection, the grandparents, the aunts, the uncles, they were all excited for us. This child came at the perfect time, and its due date was our anniversary. God did this. Perfect timing, as always.

Our first ultrasound, I remember little one popping up on the screen. My stomach dropped. There was no movement, just this tiny floating being in darkness. My husband squeezed my hand, I could feel him crying tears of joy. I knew what this meant, he did not. I cursed my medical background in my head. I couldn’t look at him. I knew what was coming. I let a tear slip down my cheek….my baby! Our first baby.

The tech was gracious and kind. She brought the radiologist into the room, who explained that no movement and no signs of life were there. Our baby was not alive.

My OB was empathetic. He said she was probably a girl as her heart did not fully develop, which statistically happens to females more, and he thought we should name her. So we did. Lillianna. I loved the name. I said it over and over and over in my head. Lillianna, my sweet baby that left us here with so small a memory of her.

I couldn’t do the procedure. I couldn’t. Doesn’t make it wrong, doesn’t make me right, I just couldn’t. I told my OB that I would pass her naturally. He told me what I already knew- Ibuprofen for pain, it can happen in a week, it can happen in four, we just don’t know, just try and go about things normally, but “rest in my distress.” Sure. Whatever you say.

My grandma passed away the following week. I drove out to Danville for her funeral. I sat there in my seat with my husband next to me, overwhelmed with shock. I just couldn’t stop the thoughts from flooding my head and breaking my heart-my grandmother lay dead in front of me, and my baby lay dead inside of me. I didn’t know how to express it, I didn’t want anyone to know that I was trying my best not to feel anything.

A few weeks later I went into labor on a Sunday morning. It was just as I’d imagined, the painful contractions. They lasted all day. I sat in church, in my Lifegroup, timing them. Tears occasionally slipping down my cheek. I went home. Tried to eat. The contractions grew strong and I passed what I was supposed to. When they ended, I went to bed. Woke up, went to work. You’ve got to move on, you can’t grieve someone you didn’t even know.

Tuesday afternoon, I got off of work, went home. I was standing in my kitchen when I felt a downward pressure. I ran to the bathroom and it happened.

I thought I had passed her on Sunday.

But there she was.

This tiny little creature.

To anyone else, she might’ve looked like an alien. To me, she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I was devastated. She lay there on a tissue, and I just sat there. My husband was upstairs working, having no idea what was taking place down below. I just held her. I couldn’t stop holding her. The tiles of the bathroom floor were so cold. I wanted to get up, but I couldn’t. At the same time I never wanted to move, because I knew I would have to stop holding her forever.

The months that followed were hard. I threw myself back into work, picking up overtime. I didn’t want to talk about it with my husband. I was desperate for friendship or for someone to reach out, but anytime someone did I told them I was fine. Why would I grieve something that happens to so many women? Why would my heart ache when my friends have had stillbirths, or have buried their child at a young age? My tragedy is mild compared to some, therefore my grief must be as well. God has a plan, yada yada yada…He knows our future, blah blah blah…I continued to tell myself these beautiful truths, but in a way that caused them to mask my aching heart.

How sad that we deprive ourselves of an emotion so important! This depth of our grief depicts the very depth of our love. It is not a feeling to run from, but to hasten towards! As a hospice nurse I made the unfortunate mistake of not following my own advice- to allow myself to embrace that death, for this grief accompanies the unfathomable bond of a relationship, and its complexity that is not easily consumed or left behind is a sign of strength therein.

There is nothing that can withhold our healing or bolster the joy that comes alongside of it than denying ourselves the opportunity to mourn something or someone. You are not weak, you are not wrong, you don’t have to be ok. Grieve.

I encourage you to embrace grief in your life. Yes, the Lord has brought me beauty from ashes. I love my child whom I held when I lost her, I love my child now whom I smile at when I hold her. One depicts a sorrow, the other depicts a miracle, but both have made me a mom. 

Up, up, and, uh.....down.

“LET’S DO IT!”

You know that moment in a movie where someone makes a daring statement and then there’s this long moment where you know that the writer of this film planned on building up this incredible hype that either something awesome or disastrous is going to happen after that frozen millisecond?

That happened.

Then the ceiling fell on top of me.

The whole ceiling.

All of the tiles.

All of the things.

Boards.

Dust.

Spiders.

Asbestos.

My husband and I had been discussing caving in (ironically) and getting a large flat screen TV. After looking desperately for a projector set-up that would have the mounting ability in our basement (DESPITE THE STRANGE LAYOUT OF THE CEILING, HARDY HAR HAR) we decided that not only would it be cheaper, but also a lot less stress to purchase instead a glorious Smart TV, because people who do that are just that: SMART.

When I say we decided, I don’t mean at the same time.

As usual my husband responded with a large purchase with his familiar “THE TRIBE HAS SPOKEN LET US DO THIS THING WHILST HENCE THE LORD HAS BLEST US THIS THINE CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM” while I sat in the background with eighteen calculators, our W-2’s, the Wall Street Journal, and a bowl of cereal (cereal is not relevant here, but you need to understand how I work) to make sure everything in the budget lined up A-ok.

After weeks, nay, MONTHS of mulling over numbers, discussing pros, cons, benefits, repercussions, endless Netflix and Hulu Plus possibilities, I came to the epiphanous conclusion that if the time to do it was near, then the time to do it was NOW. This moment happened right before that magical millisecond, and to be even more detailed, the moment happened as I had a full plate of baked fajitas and a glass of tea and had just plopped down on the couch in our basement.

“LET’S DO IT!”

There’s always a creak. A creak happens in films, books, life-changing moments when everything you love, the foundation of the building in which you sit/stand, is about to self-annihilate.

<CREAK>

I had barely that millisecond to look up as 35 12x12 inch tiles came crashing from the ceiling and on my head.

It was sad that the moment following was me wondering how much drywall I could consume with my fajitas that didn’t require a hospitalization.

“You ok?” -My husband, so sweet, calls from upstairs.

“Oh yes….though the Lord has spoken my dear.”

It took a few hours of my husband drilling those tiles back into our ceiling fixtures while convincing me that this was not a sign from our dear Lord and Saviour that we should not get a television because Jesus doesn’t do that and Jesus probably likes video streaming and I need to not make every instance such as this spiritual because the decision to trot to Wal-Mart or Best Buy for our next electronic escapade is not priority under the hand of our Father.

It was hard for me to separate. I always try to look for a sign. A huge, ceiling explosion kind of sign for the Lord to tell me what is a good idea and what is a bad idea. If I can blame it on God anyway, then I really haven’t made a good or bad decision either way, right? Responsibility is off of me, what could be better?

That’s unfair, expecting God to come through the clouds and point us in the direction of our next Amazon purchase, instead of assuming rightfully that we were given the discernment and critical thinking we need for our day to day decisions…..or do we just not want that responsibility?

The Lord guides our paths, speaks to us in ways we don’t expect, but don’t blame Him for your lack of discernment or for your forgetfulness that sometimes He is just a still, small voice.

He doesn’t always fall through the ceiling, and we shouldn’t expect Him too.

Puppy Love....

“Look! There’s a Great Dane!”

“What?”

“The humane society. They just got a Great Dane mix! His name is Hershel! Oh he is SOOO cute! Wanna check him out???”

“Yes please.”

The conversation that changed our lives.

We stumbled into the humane society, ignorantly blissful as we awaited the presence of the world’s most photogenic Great Dane mutt. He pranced into the waiting room we were sitting in and jumped on my lap. It hurt….he was huge….but how sweet! He held onto me in a canine embrace for almost twenty minutes. Wow….WHAT A BLESSING FROM THE LORD THIS MUST BE….he was beginning hospice therapy dog training…..I’m a hospice nurse….he’s house trained…..hooray for that…..he’s a Great Dane mix…..we wanted ANOTHER Great Dane mix….he’s wonderful with children and other dogs….we wanted a playmate for Tank! This must be God! This must be Jesus! He has led us here! He has given us this gift!

“WE’LL TAKE HIM.”

The single solitary action that changed our lives.

Hershel collided with our home life like a mad hurricane with a vengeance. We thought he was about to turn three. The vet told us in fact HE HAD JUST TURNED ONE AND WAS ALREADY SEVENTY POUNDS. “He’s going to get bigger!” Yay! Also, Hershel likes to jump fences. Any fences! Even fences you thought he couldn’t hurdle over! He also likes to tear things apart! Rugs! Shoes! Toys! Clothing! Door mats! And guess what??? He’s not house trained! Hershel seemed to have an underdeveloped, overexcited, highly anxious, miniature bladder that lets out small liquid explosions during times of stress, duress, happiness, when a walk was mentioned, when a walk was NOT mentioned, while he was eating, while he was sleeping, while we were eating, while WE were sleeping and anytime in between! He also is unable to urinate outside without the help of one of my plants being underneath him! We now have beautiful yellowish-brown shrubbery in our front yard! In two weeks I had 54 pounds of dog poop to pooper scoop! 54 pounds! Did I mention Hershel has gas that made me wish I was born in Chernobyl??? DID I? I should! Because he does!

Hershel loves to cuddle. What he also loves is to springboard off the person he’s cuddling if he’s done! My abdomen and thighs look like I’m part of Fight Club!

Did I mention he’s crate trained? And by that I mean he wales like an Irish siren when he’s cooped in his cage, until he figures out how to use his tongue to unhinge the cage and let himself out! What a blessing! This must be God! This must be Jesus! He has led us here! He has given us this gift!

The biggest problem with Hershel is he is the most adorable creature I have ever laid eyes upon secondary to my husband and also to Tank, our dear furry, white best friend who now shines as the greatest, most behaved dog this side of the Mississippi, and is now spoiled because of it. Hershel however is gentle, plays well with Tank, he’s now a part of the family.

I have said every night to Jeremey, “It’s time to Old Yeller him or sell him for parts.”

Jeremey has been patient and loving with Hershel. “He’s just a puppy, we’ll take him to training, he’s going to be ok, we just have to be patient.”

His kindness frustrated, nay MADE ME VEHEMENTLY INFURIATED at the fact that my husband continued to show compassion as the Devil’s advocate…UNTIL that glorious moment whilst I was having an emotional breakdown from him urinating on my favorite comforter that it happened.

He did it.

He crossed that line.

He overstepped his boundaries.

He peed in Jeremey’s peanut butter milkshake from Sonic.

Even with my prodding, Jeremey wouldn’t finish the milkshake.

HE HAD TO THROW IT AWAY.

YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO JUST THROW SONIC MILKSHAKES AWAY.

IT IS ILLEGAL IN THREE OUT OF FIFTY STATES.

Jeremey cracked at that moment. The color drained from his face. His vision blurred, his blood pressure rose, his heart rate dropped. Hatred stirred in his eyes.

“We’re going to take him back.”

I replied with,

“I CANNOT HEAR WHAT YOU ARE SAYING. I’M SHOWERING WITH MY CLOTHES ON BECAUSE HE PEED ON MY YOGA PANTS.”

We still have him.

Hershel’s still here.

He’s actually in his kennel right now, because he just ate an Xbox One controller.

Hershel had been giving me a rough time for awhile, Jeremey knew that, but it was only when it became personal that Jeremey saw the problem and dealt with it, waiting until the problem (aka the adorable mutt) had spilled over into his realm, into his life, that he wanted to deal with it.

Sin is kind of the same way. We let it happen all around us, we bask in its environment, we thrive in its atmosphere, but we only wait until it’s infiltrated in our personal lives that we decide we need to get rid of it.

By that time, it’s become a part of your family.

It’s a lot harder to get rid of.

Yeah, I did it. I equated my dog to sin. Idolatry. Gluttony. Lust.

Maybe we should have named him Seven.

Anyway, think about it kids. Nip that junk in the butt before it takes over.

We’re gonna keep him. Calm the heck down.

Let’s take a moment of silence for the things that have lost their lives under the grasp of the urinating beast: (Starting with most recent)

-The $60 Xbox One Controller

-My welcome mat

-My guest room comforter

-Jeremey’s Milkshake that didn’t bring all the boys, just a bladder-ridden dog, to the yard

-That pair of shoes

-That other pair of shoes

-The pair of shoes that were remotely close to that other pair of shoes

-Those slippers

-That dog bowl

-Anything we’ve ever loved

Peace out, my friends.

Matrimonial mischief.

If only people could hear…

“Kendra, are you in there?”

“OF COURSE I AM THERE ARE ONLY TWO OF US IN THE HOUSE WHO DO YOU THINK IS VACATING THE BATHROOM RIGHT NOW???”

:silence:

…

…

…

“Are you sitting squatty potty style? ‘Cause I saw you watching that Facebook video!”

End scene.

“I think I could’ve done better on the smoked chicken…I was going to add a barbecue glaze to it  and-“

“NO. NO. NO. STOP EVERYTHING YOU ARE SAYING.”

“What?”

“You don’t put barbecue sauce on chicken EVER. That’s offensive. You need to have a more sensitive pallet. You always add something sweet and savory like mango salsa or—“

“Says the woman who covered her chicken in ketchup.”

“It’s the golden brick of all things condiment. Shut your male mouth.”

End scene.

I feel if people heard our “marriage banter” they may worry for the mental safety of both of us as individuals. But it’s entertaining at best.

“Dang it! I forgot my ring.”

“Oh wow….I remembered a certain “til death us do part” in the wedding vows that APPARENTLY is probably going to go out the window when some Home Depot chickie starts to hit on whom she THINKS is a single dude walking around with his homely sister.”

“Babe you don’t have your ring on either.”

“Yes I do.” :covers naked ring finger:

“Now you’re just covering it and saying you have it on when you don’t.”

“I do have it on, I’m just holding it tightly because I am so in love with the visualization of our marriage that it looks like I’m covering it up but I’m not so focus on the road and stop judging your sweet wife.”

Then we grab each other by the hand and drive in sweet silence as we quietly judge the other for not grabbing the single simple significant piece of wearable equipment in the house symbolizing our unity.

End scene.

I always forget my wedding ring.

In the mornings, I wake up, and drink a pot of coffee.

It’s a small pot, so hush up and just listen to me for heaven’s sake.

Then I stare at the sink. If there’s anything in the sink, I do not rinse it, I take my ring off and throw it in the spatula holder and proceed to throw everything in the sink into the dishwasher after I let the dogs lick the plates clean.

ARE YOU STILL WITH ME? Because I’m just kidding. That’s disgusting.

I don’t put my ring in a spatula holder.

Haha! Again just kidding. I don’t eat on the same plates as the dogs. I know where they’ve been. I know what else they lick.

And then! I walk away with pride in knowing that I have accomplished one single wifely duty for the day.

And I leave the ring.

E’ertime.

E’er.

Time.

I love my ring, I just have attention deficit disorder and can never REMEMBER IT.

My husband is a genius and bought me a silicone ring that can withstand dishwater and is great for putting on gloves during nurse time.

It was fantastic. 

Wore it for several days straight.

When I took it off though, the skin underneath the ring looked like hamburger meat.

Not my finest hour.

Gotta space it out now.

At the beginning of our marriage, this was a big topic of conversation. I didn’t understand why it was so important to my husband when I forgot my ring, when he was lucky enough that I remembered to put pants on before leaving the house.

“It’s not about the ring or the cost, it’s what it signifies. How are people going to know if you don’t show it? If there’s not something they can see, then to those who don’t know you, it’s like it doesn’t even exist.”

Wow. Great thought.

See where I’m going? 

Of course you do.

This is Not-So-Single, Nursing, and Jesus blog now.

There’s got to be some of the Jesus in there.

My ring means a lot to me. What it stands for means everything to me. But he was right, if there isn’t something that people can visually see, to them it’s like that marriage doesn’t exist, unless I tell them about it.

The same is true for knowing Christ. I think most of us who have been in church have heard some type of analogy of the wedding ring signifying marriage and other things signifying our relationship with Christ, but let’s just talk about what people see in us, on a day to day basis, whether they be friends, acquaintances, or absolute strangers. If they can’t see anything in us, it’s like it doesn’t even exist my friends.

We’re missing out on a great opportunity.

Don’t leave Jesus in the spatula holder. :)