On Ann Voskamp. And Our Twelfth Anniversary.

I have a confession. I don't like to read Ann Voskamp.


I know, I know. I can almost hear the chorus of Christian friends who are right now raising eyebrows and saying "I don't know why not!". It's really nothing personal. I love, love, love her heart, but her writing is a bit on the fluffy side for me. Recently, though, my arm was twisted. On a regular Tuesday afternoon I was scrolling my Facebook feed and I could not get past the fifteen or so friends who shared one of her blog posts. The topic was boring men. I couldn't resist. 


So, I'm reading the post and I'm generally agreeing with her words and then I read this:
How a man proposes isn’t what makes him romantic. It’s how a man purposes to lay down his life that makes him romantic.
Her words hit me in the gut and hot tears welled up behind my eyes, because this is such a basic truth but I don't know that I have ever seen it written in black and white, the way that it should be written, on paper and electronic page and on our lives.


In a few short hours the alarm in my room will start to squawk, or a small child will climb into my bed with the first words of the day, or an even smaller child will cry out with hunger needs, and our day will start. This day will mark the 12th anniversary of vows intermingled with tears and laughter, of glasses not breaking, of music gone wrong and speeches going awry. The beginning of our marriage covenant. And at year 12 I am sure that Ann Voskamp's words are true because I have seen what it looks like for a man to propose marriage, and to propose to lay down his life, and to actually do it.


Given, 12 years is a drop in the proverbial bucket, and I am praying for so many more years with the man who proposed on a hilltop in Italy, with shaky knees and a ring that almost wasn't. But 12 years has proven long enough to see that when his voice cracked and he asked me to be his wife, and when he vowed to love me for better or worse, in richer or poorer, he was telling the truth.


And I know this because it has been twelve years of concessions made, and pride swallowed, and arguments until the sun comes up because he will not let us go to bed angry.


And I know that romance does not always sound like the soundtrack to a romantic comedy, but that it sounds like a grown man singing a lullaby to a restless baby, or the ABC song to the kid potty training. And it's not in late nights at fancy restaurants, but in late night feedings, and nightmare soothing, and holding hair back for puking.


Don't get me wrong, we certainly squeeze in the occasional date night and alone time, and they are enjoyed and treasured. But so much more important are the Sunday morning dates in the fifth pew, balancing my Bible on his leg, and him reaching for my hand each time we bow our heads to pray.


Our marriage will never inspire a song, or a movie, but this guy of mine - oh, he is so good to me. Monthly he pays on my tens of thousands of dollars of student loan debt and never does he ask me when my degrees will do anything more than collect dust on a messy bookshelf in the backroom.


And this guy of mine, he puts his money where his mouth is, and in his selflessness he loads bags, and kids, and moves our family from state to state, house to house. And then he loads bags, and equipment, and he moves soldiers from country to country, from FOB to FOB, and keeps the enemy at bay. And he writes, and he Skypes, and he suffers and he sacrifices, because really, on that hilltop, that is what he was proposing to do.


Who knows what romance will look like by the time our kids begin to conceptualize what it should look like. But, just like AV, when my kids ask me I will tell them that there was no lip dub marriage proposal or choreographed dance down the aisle that went viral on YouTube, but there was my guy at PX, in his uniform, at lunch, buying Playtex products, and not blinking an eye when someone from his unit came over to talk to him. And there was slowing dancing in kitchen, uniform meets apron, with baby on the hip and toddler around the leg. And there were cross words in the middle of the night, when field problems and staff duty and baby duty collided, but in the morning there were soft words and soft kisses and forgiveness.


So, I know that Ann's words are true. I know what she's talking about. I know the romance that is lived out when a man proposes to lay down his life because I've been on the receiving end of such a proposal for the last 12 years, and I am so deeply and eternally grateful for this husband, for this marriage, for this life that we are building together. And while I know that there is nothing glamorous about it, there is something glorious about, and that is this: that more than I am dedicated to the one who stole my heart, I am dedicated to the One who saved my soul, and I know that we together are dedicated to living out a marriage covenant that reflects His covenant, not for our glory, but for His.


Happy anniversary, John. I can't wait for the next 12, and the 12 after that, and every 12 after that.






P.S. If you happen to be single and reading this blog, I am praying for you to find a husband who is willing to lay down his life, just like I have been blessed with, and you should be too!


P.P.S. If, by chance, you haven't read Ann Voskamp's post on boring men, you can find it here:
http://www.aholyexperience.com/2013/11/the-real-truth-about-boring-men-and-the-women-who-live-with-them-redefining-boring/