I felt like I was dying and I guess, a part of me really was.
The part of me that longed for the honeymoon and candlelit dinners and the phone calls for no reason was left lying in my childhood room, as I left for the church.
I spent the day surrounded by my closest friends. We laughed and got our hair done and they helped me dress. I cried and they wiped my tears and whispered words of encouragement and sent me down the aisle.
We walked through the ceremony and stood in line to receive our guests. We shook hands and passed out hugs, all while we stood 5 feet apart from each other. I lost my new husband in the reception hall and we met up in time to take pictures as we left for the honeymoon.
My wedding pictures are tucked away in an album in a cabinet. I never pull them out, though my children love to look at them. I can’t. I know the heart behind the smile in every photo.
And the heart doesn’t match the smile.
This part of my story is hard to share because I’m not just telling my story. I’m telling our story, mine and Thad’s. You’re only getting one side of this story and it’s mine. He reads every post and his heart would rather erase these early years that made us, but he knows that I can’t. It would be dishonest to leave the tough parts out.
It would also rob God of the glory in our story of redemption. So I write these words this morning and I ask for grace, for him and for me.
For His redemptive grace is the reason that I write…