20

October 4.

The day of my wedding. When I look back on it now, I am astounded at how much I did not know. When I said I do, I thought the most stressful part of being married would be planning the wedding.

I think twenty years of marriage is something to celebrate.

My marriage has brought me romantic trips to Costa Rica and Hawaii. Long bike rides. Deep conversations. Teamwork. Someone to take care of me when I am sick or tired. Laughter. Lots of laughter. A soul mate. A different perspective. A full heart. A true companion.

Arguments that made me want to spit. Differences of opinion that seemed insurmountable. And agony that ripped the breath from me.

There have been times I was certain beyond any doubt that our marriage was over. There have been times I wished our marriage was over. But, always, there was just a little something to fight for. Sometimes that little something was no more than a small hope of friendship. Sometimes it was pure desperation and the stubborn hatred of giving up. Sometimes it was four small faces. And as we struggled and worked, that small little something would grow.

We have painted our life with the most vibrant of colors. At times, we wielded a dark crayon of hard work and tough conversations. Other times, we chose the bright crayon of playful dates. We used the pretty crayon of truthful and encouraging words, and we took the ugly crayon of harmful comments, broke it, and threw it away. But, when I step back and look at the picture we have made, the only thing I notice is an old brown cross.

The brilliance is almost blinding.