D.L. Mayfield

living in the upside-down kingdom

marriage is work

When I got engaged, my mom was worried about me. I was so stoic, chin up, accepting congratulations with a quiet dignity. No hysterics, fussiness, wild delusions of bliss for me, no. My mom took me aside and asked if I really, actually did want to be married. I was shocked. What sort of question was that? I knew I was supposed to marry this boy, no matter what. That was obvious. But did I want to?

Mom, I said, marriage is hard. Like, really hard. It's a lot of work. It's probably the most difficult thing I will ever do in my life.

I had no illusions of the lovey-dovey years: all I could see was two sinners, sharpening each other for all eternity. Romantic, right?

My mom nodded her head, a little smile creeping up her face. 

I got married, in love and grimly determined to roll up my sleeves at the enormous amount of work that a successful relationship takes.

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Six years in, and I am having the time of my life. We get to have adventures, snuggle, and make ridiculous jokes together. We share a common vision about God's dream for the world, and we are trying to live it out together. We are best friends, tag-teamers, baby wrasslers, each other's point of sanity and mirth.

We know the absolute worst and best parts of each other, and I wish I could go back 7 years and tell my serious little self: the good far outweighs the bad. 

 

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I have been surprised, in every way, just by how fun it has been to be married, to this one particular boy.

 

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Here's to another year (and decades more) of fun, adventure, crazy-times, growth, silliness, and joy.

And to work that never, ever actually feels like work.

 

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Happy anniversary, dude.

 

 

 

 

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