I Didn’t Marry My Best Friend

Eight years ago, which currently feels unbelievable, I met my husband through eharmony. Yes, that eharmony with all the algorithms.

We messaged and skyped for about four months and then met in person when he returned from his tour in Iraq. My Texan soldier flew up to Minneapolis during a blizzard and rented a room at high end French hotel.

He stood taller and more handsome than I’d known when he met me in the lobby. I walked across that marble floor in a video replay tunnel of my past 29 years. All those moments of disappointment, confusion, frustration, anger, hurt, and bewilderment replayed and dropped away. I walked across my life to him. Beginning to end. I saw it all. It was an unreal walk, but it really happened to me. And as he wrapped his arms around me in our very first hug, I was home. But he wasn’t my best friend. Not in the least.

We spent that weekend eating at the hippest restaurants we could find, playing piano at the Minneapolis public library, and generally falling in love. We left giddy and swooning, but not best friends.

We spent Christmas together that year. I flew to his family home in Houston and together we drove across the country to see his idyllic and forming grandparents. Before we left Houston, he stopped at a stop sign and turned to me. “There is just one thing I have to say before we begin this journey…” Neither of us breathed for a few seconds…”I love you.” “I love you, too.” And we knew: we knew we really loved and cared for each other. But we were not best friends.

A few more flights across the country completed our long distance dating relationship and finally, a whole 4 months from the “I love you” moment, he asked me to marry him. It was a dream proposal. I’ve no idea how he knew I always wanted a treasure hunt proposal, but that’s what he did. And I cried. And I said yes. And we were engaged. Not best friends, but engaged.

On a hot August day in Louisiana, we married. We married in the morning and enjoyed a simple lunch with our guests at a bed and breakfast. We had no dance and no special surprise reception moment like an original song or flash mob or anything trendy. But we did cut the cake with a saber and that was pretty fun. And my sister gave me a Bonsai, which I killed within six months for sure. For the most part, we were serious about the ceremony, easy going with the reception, and eager to get to our Costa Rica honeymoon. Pro tip: morning wedding equals early exit to honeymoon. But seriously? We were not best friends.

No, the best friend part? That came much later. Our “best friend” titles came after throwing up pea soup with him holding back my hair. After being forgotten at morning PT. After nearly crashing his Mercedes and surviving by the power of guardian angels. After failed dinners. Messy houses. Baby number one. Breastfeeding drama. Loneliness in a new home. Big Thanksgiving meal prep. Showing him again where the hamper is. A red shirt in his load of Army laundry. The smell of cloth diapers. A u-haul in a ditch. A move across the country with way too much stuff. New towns. Baby number two. A lot of “I miss you; you’ve been gone for weeks with the Army/at a conference/reading in the basement.” Baby number three. More moves with a little less stuff. A 910 square foot home. A shooting across the street from our 910 square foot home. More moves with less stuff. Forgetting to keep his u-haul in my sights while descending the Foggy Mountains. GPS issues. Navigators who don’t pay attention to GPS’s. Many, many fights about the GPS. Many fights about a lot of things. Disagreements. Conversations that last for days, for months, for years. Adjusting expectations. Adjusting communication styles. Meta-conversing. Proving it. Proving I am worth it. Proving he is worth it. Proving the struggle is real and the healer is, too. Healing. Work. And prayer.

These are just some of the reasons I cannot say that I married my best friend, but these are some of the reasons he is my best friend today. I’ve known no greater advocate and no greater gift.

Happy 7th Derickson Day. This is the real deal kind of marriage and I’m grateful for it.

August 4, 2019 0

Come.

Come up.
See.
From depths
I have created thee.
I tucked in
secrets to find
beneath your folds
and aging lines,

and

between your creaks
and cracks
you can hear the song
I taught you once.

Come up.
Listen.
With breath I have
created thee.
I imparted to you
Cool, fresh,
invigorating moments
of spirit

and

dreams,
to propel you
through heated wakings
in a fractured world.

Come up.
Know.
With love I have saved thee.
Mercy, even for stained–
Embraces, even for rejectors–
Renewal, even for the dead.
These are free to those, who come,
see, listen, know.

September 23, 2014 0

Settling for Less

Early on in my motherhood, I was terrified to lay my baby down for a nap. All I could think about, as I lowered him into his crib, was my plan of accomplishments as he slept. “I’ll do the dishes, no, I’ll take a nap, no I need to mop, no I’ll read a book, I’ll watch a show, ok, I’ll quick put the show on while I throw the dishes in the dishwasher and mop up the kitchen, then I’ll grab my book, lie in bed, and fall asleep reading. But I seriously need some chocolate and coffee. I am so tired. I will never have a moment to myself. Please lie down, baby. Please, take a nap. Please, don’t wake up. Oh, Lord, please let him sleep. Please, please.”

I was a nervous, pleading wreck.

I am still a nervous wreck, but I don’t plead quite as much.

Sometime in that first summer with my baby, I remembered what the nurse called to me in the delivery room. “Be brave, Mama!” She kept chanting it. She was going in and out of the room quite a bit, but upon each entrance, she would call from the door, “Be brave, Mama!”

“Yes. That’s it. I will be brave through this pain. I want to be brave. I will be brave.”

I had taken Bradley Method birthing classes for 12 weeks in preparation for giving birth. I had nervous breakdowns, mild to some standards, but alarming to my husband, during the first four sessions of class. Our teacher declared me most-improved by the end of it all. On our last day of class, I was doing so well, she even confirmed I was in labor! Yes, I sat through a two hour birthing class for my first two hours of labor. It was perfect. Contractions were regular, relatively mild, and my husband rubbed my back through each of them. Plus, one of the other mom’s was in labor at the same time, right next to me. It was all so encouraging.

Four hours later, we were at the hospital and pushing. I was not as calm, but I was handling it. It wasn’t the extreme pain or the sterile hospital environment that made me nervous. It was the realization that I was exiting the dream. No more newlywed status. No more mama-to-be status. No more planning and dreaming. No more imagining my son, what he would look like, what his temperament would be. He was coming and he was coming fast. Reality was hitting me and I needed to be brave.

I heard his lusty borning cry. A sound I will never forget. I heard him while my eyes were still closed from the final push. It was the brightest, clearest sound I had ever heard. Better than any piece of music I had loved, more reassuring than any lullaby, more convincing and propelling than any speech. He cried like someone might run out onto an empty stage yelling stubbornly, “I’m here! I’m here! I came all this way. I’m here!”

I may have been a little intimidated.

Later I stood, hovering over my son’s crib, trying desperately not to wake him, and not to get too excited about the things I might be able to start accomplishing in 30 seconds. Maybe. Possibly. If he didn’t wake up.

“Be brave, Mama.”

Deep breath. Courage. Bravery. I should tap into that.

In that moment, I recognized that my bravery would have to include acceptance of any outcome. If he woke up, change course. If he fell asleep, great.

I had to stop planning and pleading and start loving and leading.

Love the snuggles. Lead him to the crib. Love the sleepies. Lead myself to the next task. Love the wakings. Lead us both to adjust to a new activity.

He is just another person to accept and work with. Even with his great cries reminding me of his presence and his needs, he is still just a boy, not a challenge to overcome.

It’s been over a year since I began telling myself to be brave as a mom, to simply make a choice and then make another one. I still struggle, but I’m growing. I don’t fight my emotions at the crib so much anymore; I often fight them in the chair as he’s wriggling into a comfy position. I’ve stopped planning so many things. I plan maybe two and try to hold them loosely.

Today, in a step toward a more anxiety free life, I decided that I wouldn’t be devastated if all I got done during nap time was a shower. Good thing, too, because that’s all I got done. No coffee break, no reading time, no cleaning. I took a shower and talked on the phone with my sister while trying to find something to wear. And he woke up. Because he hasn’t time for a nap, no ma’am.

I will have to learn to settle for less. Less of my lists and more of my love. Bravely, letting love out. Oh God, teach me how to be content in any and every situation. I can do everything through him who strengthens me. I can even survive on less cake, less chocolate, less coffee, and less sleep.

September 9, 2014 0

Changes

My life has changed.

Where once I slept soundly and alone in my sister’s basement and woke to three of her children marching around the breakfast table singing, “I’m in the Lord’s Army!” I now sleep tossingly next to my new and also-not-sleeping husband and wake each morning to make him breakfast and send him off to work saying, “Have fun in the Army! The real Army!”

Where once I ran through canopied sidewalks in a mid-sized Minnesota town where the breeze filled my mind with new ideas and creativity, I now have no place to run and the humidity and thickness of tiny-town Louisiana stifles my drive to write, music or otherwise.

Where once I bustled through busy days teaching gads of teenagers to sing together and casting visions for them of living highly creative and personable lives, I now barely believe in art and speak with no one younger than 24. In fact, I hardly speak with anyone at all.

The quiet, married days I once longed for, I now have in abundance and they are very quiet. I am alone most days, all day. My husband works long hours and hates his job. He’s gotten leaps better at not complaining at the house. He leaves work at work most of the time now, but I feel it. I feel his remorse for being stuck in terrible position, for being put upon by unthinking leadership. He is bitter and has no other idea what to do. Not really. So I am quiet and quietly try to take care of the house and cook him meals, but it wears on me.

I wonder how other wives really feel. I wonder if they are near tears or in full deluge of tears as much as I. I wonder if it’s just my disability to adjust to these changes that makes my 5-week old marriage so difficult. I wonder if my husband hears me. I wonder if he would know what to do if he did hear me.

Do I even know what to do? I am a get-involved sort. I’m already making strides in that area, but it’s nothing. It feels like nothing. In little moments, it feels like life, but in the rest of the moments, the most of the time, it feels like not-really-me.

I feel like not me.

But in the midst of this, I tell myself that change, new things, take you out of your old shell and make a new shell around you. It is reasonable, then, to expect to feel quite vulnerable and unlike yourself in that time. The best thing I can do is let the change happen around me, with me, even through me. If I fight it, I will only end up feeling such oddity and sadness for longer.

It is okay to take a while to change, but not if its because of fighting. This only creates scars, mostly of resentment.

(*some dealings from September 2012)

August 27, 2014 0

Those Bits of Sanity

I was told
by an experienced friend
“what kept you sane outside of marriage,
will keep you sane inside of marriage.”

I have not been sane enough.

But why?

One year into my marriage,
still trying to fit in my sanity.

When do I write words?
When do I write music?
When do I sit and read and contemplate?
When do I go out for a run?

My husband tells me, “do it more.”
“Let me see that part of you.”
Oh, how I thought I was failing.
“It’s an invitation. To make you know you are safe.”

Safety. I hate the word.
Overused, misapplied, a baby blanket, an excuse for not moving forward.

Safe is not always a cozy feeling, so easily perceived.
Try a gulp of faith. Disciplined trust.

My mothering is often based on some birth coaching
I received:
“Be brave, Mama.”

Sanity comes in my courage.

(*a poem from 2013)

August 27, 2014 0

The Crafting Dilemma

I recently read that DIY weddings are out. So 2011.

I was all about that idea last week! Now, as my wedding approaches a quick 39 days, my shopping carts at etsy have begun to bulge and may soon break…the bank. My philosophy of letting others do it for me and putting it on the card is plain not going to work.

Thankfully, my mother has kindly and effectively intervened. She called on a few sweet, family friends to each make little parts of the reception decor. One’s making a ring-bearer pillow, one’s making a guest book, one is making a banner, and so on. It’s so gracious and lovely.

Of course, I’m now realizing that I’m going to have to pull my weight and make a few things, too.

My PT cruiser is now bulging with things I just “picked up” at Lowe’s today. I’m supposed to stir, sand, paint, nail, and design a bunch of intimidating buckets of paint, wood, and paper into something beautiful? Outside in the 110 degree Louisiana heat? Oh, boy.

Since I’m not a crafty gal, I’m going to have to be headstrong and determined instead. That, I am.

Here I go.

Pictures to come, if I dare.

**Note: I did, in fact, make a few crafts and order a few others for the wedding. I do, in fact, have pictures. I will post them at a later date.

June 26, 2012 0

Our 40 Day Song

It’s 40 days till our wedding and this tune was recorded close to one year before I got to celebrate B’s birthday for the first time with him. I guess I really was calling out to love.

Here’s to 40 days until our wedding, B!

June 25, 2012 0

I’m A Woman

A semi-repost with lyrics:

I’m A Woman
Naphtalia

9/22/10

I am a figure of your imagination
I have fooled you to think I really like carnations
But it’s just a web I weave

Nature, nature, nomenclature
Don’t tell me who I am
Nicked and knocked, my ticks and clocks are
Part of who I am
Mixed up, then fixed up, then mixed up again
I’m a woman

I am bold and clear and I have reservations
My emotions are more like a radio station
It’s fuzzy, then you tune in

Nature, nature, nomenclature
Don’t tell me who I am
Nicked and knocked, my ticks and clocks are
Part of who I am
Mixed up, then fixed up, then mixed up again
I’m a woman

Hear my song: beauty, beauty
I sing it all night, if I’m weeping or dancing
I don’t have one way to be
I want you to start seeing me

Nature, nature, nomenclature
Don’t tell me who I am
Nicked and knocked, my ticks and clocks are
Part of who I am
Mixed up, then fixed up, then mixed up again
Woven, then torn apart, then stitched up again
I’m a woman

I am beautiful and that’s not your imagination

June 13, 2012 0

Resting Kids

Not only do I believe in the necessity of the weekly Sabbath, I believe that being able to take a true Sabbath means that we cultivate a restful and renewable rhythm of life.

Below you’ll see quick start ideas for developing this time of mindset in children:

1. Take one minute of complete silence each day at noon (or right after lunch, right before nap time, or between morning snack and playtime). You probably don’t want to stretch your kids by making them sit in silence for a minute while they’re hungry. It’s hard enough for them to not talk.

2. Have them (each–if you don’t have too too many kids) write down an activity that they regularly LOVE doing. Think: coloring, swinging at the park, playing the piano, or reading a book with you. Write that activity down on your house calendar on the day you have designated for Sabbath. (If you don’t have a big calendar hanging in the kitchen, think about adding one.) When you reach that day, make sure you accomplish that activity with your child. Chances are this won’t be work for you because you probably enjoy doing these things with them anyway. Be sure you show the children that the day before Sabbath, you accomplished set tasks in order to be free to do their activity. Have your child choose a task to complete the day before their activity as well.

3. Write in huge letters on your calendar, or post a big sign on your refrigerator that says “NO CHORES DAY. WE ARE RESTING AND ENJOYING BEING TOGETHER. PRAISE THE LORD FOR REST.” Kids will obviously be excited to know that you have thoughtfully decided to free them of the burden of chores. They love this release. However, kids also can get overly excited and think they can then do EVERYTHING they think of doing–and they think of tons of fun activities. To help them learn to rest, have them choose only one or two activities to enjoy that day. Perhaps your 8 year old loves to read and ride bike. Tell her she can do either activity as long as she likes, but she needs to split them up between before and after lunch. (Of course she could read, bike before lunch then bike and read after lunch.)

I will keep mulling on this idea of teaching kids about the Sabbath and rest and see what else I come up with. Most of my ideas so far apply to kids ages 2.5-8. I am considering the predicament of infants in this as well, so don’t worry! Please feel free to add your ideas below.

Happy rejuvenating!

Oh yes, I also wanted to share these thoughts on sound via TED. Take note of the impact of bird songs. Why not include nature in our rhythms of rest?

March 23, 2012 0

Faith In Work Is Rest

The past week felt like a month. On Friday (or was it Saturday?) B. said, “This was a big week.” I agreed, but neither of us could quite pin down why.

Was it my disillusionment with working out and frequent cries of “This is all pointless!“? Perhaps it was the extra concert at school or the fact that B’s been working extra late this week. I did finish reading two books and start another three; that could have something to do with it. Or maybe my senses are all awakened now that Spring finally broke upon us. My ambitions are no longer hibernating in the freeze of winter and I’m all aware of my shortcomings and tiredness.

Of course, it’s all of those things that have contributed to my sense of “so much” this week. We know that life is life and often it feels like quite a pile of busyness–and often it IS a pile of busyness. Work, meetings, Bible studies, rehearsals, readings, exercising, house projects, etc.

We are working forward, ever striving. We are building ourselves up while hopefully not tearing ourselves down in the process. Oh we hope, we hope.

Instead of striving, I want to stride in meaningful, efficient, effective, rhythmic strides. Instead of only hoping, I want to have faith that my work is paying off. (Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1 NKJ)

How can I do this? How can I boost my faith to a place of knowing that my work is beneficial and long-lasting?

By keeping the Sabbath holy. (Exodus 20:8-11)

Yes, as I was finishing my third book of the month today, Emotionally Healthy Spirituality (Peter Scazzero), I was impressed once more how completely necessary a consistent and true Sabbath is for mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual health. I have always enjoyed taking Sabbath and have usually seen little need to work on my days off. However, I have a lot to learn yet about taking a meaningful and impacting Sabbath, where its very pattern makes a difference in my life.

Here’s what Scazzero says about a true (Biblical) Sabbath, along with my own interpretation and application:

1. It should include STOPPING. No running around, no big errands, no to-do list, no bill-paying, no chores, no work, no work e-mail, and maybe even no smart phone, or regular phone for that matter.

This provides a release for us in obligations. By setting the boundary of communication and activity, we lessen the busy feeling and increase the “free to do whatever we want” feeling.

2. It should include CENTERING. Stillness, deep breathing, closed eyes. Attentive hearts, ears, and eyes to the good things of the Lord and what he says to us. Praise and thanksgiving.

This allows our hearts to commune with God and our emotions to stabilize. This is what makes our hearts feel calm and balanced.

3. It should include SILENCE. No chattering, no music, no internet, no TV, no traffic jams, only a select number of long conversations and only after a time a silence with the Lord has been had.

This allows our minds to move to the back of our consciousness, while our spirits to move to the forefront. Our real selves, our spirits, can then hear the whispers of the Lord without distraction and disruption.

4. It should include SCRIPTURE. Reading The Word of God, meditating on it, memorizing it, even speaking it out loud.

This allows us to know God both spiritually and intellectually. We study so that we know God’s character, thoughts, desires, ambitions, and work for us–both what He has done and what He wants us to do.

Doesn’t that all sound lovely? Don’t you want to have a full day to just be, to do what you want and enjoy? A day where your spirit feels lifted and centered and whole?

You can have this day; take it and guard it. It is your Sabbath. Take its rhythm and live in it–each week.

In this way, in allowing the mind, heart, spirit, and emotions to be free from the burden of busyness, we find true rest and rejuvenation.

Scazzero re-tells a story of a group of pioneers traveling west by wagon. They were devout Christians and stopped each Sunday to rest, remembering the Sabbath. However, as winter approached a group of the travelers decided to give up Sabbath rest in effort to beat the snow to Oregon. Despite their humanly efforts, they did not reach the west first. No, the group who continued to rest each Sabbath was stronger and moved more efficiently the rest of the week. They arrived at their destination first.

This is how we can be full of faith that the rest of the week will be fruitful and produce the desired results, by the strengthening power of rest and holiness.

*In order to notice a difference, a weekly Sabbath must be kept regularly, with diligence and intent.

March 19, 2012 0