The Year of Yes: Thoughts on 7 Years of Marriage
On August 17, Kevin and I passed the 7 year mark of marriage.
We can tend to brush past the years Life gifts us by quickly moving on to the next thing. So to celebrate + reflect on what marriage taught me this year, here’s some thoughts.
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I remember the churning of my stomach the day he asked me to be his girlfriend.
He had always been mindful of the little things that make me smile, always extravagant with how he expressed his adoration of my beauty–the kind that can only be found in the kindred connection of souls spilling their hearts’ greatest dreams + deepest pains upon one another.
There wasn’t much time between this moment and our first introduction, and yet, he had already confidently declared to many of his closest friends that he was going to marry me; that someday, I’d be his wife. His audacity was bold yet frightening, flattering yet terrifying, because I had never encountered someone who was so sure, so willing to place their highest bet upon the present me + my potential. This wasn’t wishful thinking or some 4th period daydream for him. This was a declaration of prophetic certainty, and it scared me to death to be wanted, pursued and valued in such a way. He saw me as worthy of both having + keeping, forever.
I was standing between two tensions: a yes to the love that had awakened my heart, or a no to this audacious junior in an effort to savor my status as a popular senior. Was I willing to defy the unspoken rules of high school hierarchy and politics to be the girl on the arm of this rough-around-the-edges football player who cared nothing about the opinions of others + everything about going after what he wanted–which included me? But then, there was the handwritten card, flowers, chocolates and gigantic plush puppy he gifted me to woo me into yes.
And yet, I said no.
This 7th year of marriage to Kevin has felt a lot like those senior year tensions, where I’ve been challenged to either step into the unknown goodness of adventure, or tempted to retreat into fear.
This year, there’s been a spiritual, soul-deep shift in us, a shaking up of our world that I’m convinced God wisely orchestrated with the intention to pull us into new, uncharted territory, where the comfort of sameness + surface-level faith would no longer be our home.
Yes to Crazy
In January of this year, we made the crazy faith move from Southern California to Atlanta, Georgia. I’ve only been able to call it that because it’s the most accurate phrase that has defined this new beginning for us individually, as a couple and for our family.
2019’s summer was quickly fading into fall, and Kev + I had begun to talk through what our next move would be. The lease to our apartment was ending, and as expected with Southern California, the rent was going to move on up again on the cost of living barometer (still in the too damn high range). Though the process of moving was depressing to even think about with the labor of decluttering, packing, and relocating all with 2 littles under 4, we agreed we’d just have to suck it up and do what we have to do to live in a more affordable area so that we weren’t just getting by and living paycheck to paycheck.
One Sunday morning, we were driving to Orange County to visit The Father’s House OC, a church of a close friend who had invited us. We’d been talking all morning about our next move and how important it was to the both of us that we were on the same page and were led by God in whatever decision we made, but the conversation got interrupted by rushed hair-combing and last-minute diaper changes.
Quickly heading out the door and strapping the kids into their car seats, we were finally on our way.
“I was praying,” Kev said, continuing our futuristic discussion that was put on pause, “and i feel like God is saying.....Atlanta.”
I quickly turned in my seat to look at him, my heart quickening with surprise. He shrugged his shoulders, “That’s just what I keep getting.”
I raised my shoulders with a shrug of agreement and said something along the lines of, “Well, okay. Let’s do it.”
It made no sense. Yet it made perfect sense. This would be the definition of crazy. We’d be moving to the other side of the country. We had zero family down there and knew no one, besides a college friend of mine who moved there a few years prior. Kev had visited a few times some years ago, but I had never experienced the South beyond Real Housewives. So many questions were riddling through my mind. But in spite of all of the unknowns, something about it just felt right.
The timing was oddly perfect, and in the few months before this, we just so happened to meet some people from Atlanta who we knew would play a key part in bringing about some dreams and visions God had placed upon our hearts to pursue. I felt excited more than fearful, wondering that if Kev was really hearing God, this move would change everything.
As the car weaved with the winding lanes on the freeway and the kids’ backseat chatter and babbles were quieted with slumber, I grabbed my phone, remembering that the live broadcast of Tulsa, Oklahoma’s Transformation Church was probably online. We had been tuning in every Sunday for the last few weeks for Pastor Michael Todd’s “Crazy Faith” series, and something in me told me I needed to tune in now.
I connected my phone to the car’s Bluetooth, and noticed we were nearing the end of Pastor Mike’s message on “Maybe Faith.”
“Oh, you’re not asking me to be 100% sure,” he said, re-enacting a conversation he recently had with God about his uncertainties over the church’s future and the vision of expansion God was showing him. He transparently admitted to his doubts and innermost questions over if he was really hearing from God about the church acquiring the Spirit Bank Events Center—a multi-million dollar venue God told him to print a picture of and simply believe it would be the new home to Transformation Church.
He stood center stage. An image on the large projector screen behind him displayed the word “fear” in bold, black letters on the left and “faith” to the right, with a thick, white line down the center.
“You just want me to live in faith past the middle,” he said, taking a slight step forward toward the faith side of the stage. “As long as I’m not looking back in fear, and I’m looking forward towards faith, I can see this miracle at 51%.”
Kev and I looked at each other, a smirk of awe mirrored upon our faces. It was as if we were silently convinced it was no coincidence that we stumbled upon the sermon at this particular point. I thought, maybe this is a sign, a nudge compelling us to choose faith despite the questions of doubt and fear.
Kev said something along the lines of, “Okay God, if this is You, make it make sense,” as we pulled into the church parking lot.
Pastor Bianca Olthoff spoke a message entitled, “Nothing Just Happens,” where she spoke about the life of Ruth as an example of how God’s providence and intentionality works itself out in our lives—even in the midst of pain. That there’s no such thing as coincidence, happenstance or accidental perfection.
My heart was widening to the reality that this whole Atlanta move could actually be God’s leading rather than just some easily dismissible random thoughts.
The service ended, and just before we exited the auditorium to pick the kids up from the children’s church area, I tugged Kev’s arm.
“Let’s go get prayer about this whole Atlanta thing,” I said. He nodded, “Okay,” in a why not kind of agreement.
We pressed through the crowd of people headed for the exit, finally making it to the area just before the matte black stage. A young woman had just finished praying with someone, and now turned her attention to the stand-bys to see who was next. We approached her and she asked what we needed prayer for. I leaned in to her shoulder, slightly towering above her 4 foot-something frame, to make sure my voice didn’t get lost in the loud that still filled the auditorium. I told her about Kev’s car ride revelation and that we just wanted God to show us if this whole Atlanta thing was Him or not. I leaned back into my position next to Kev, expecting her to instantly deep dive into a power-packed intercession session, with the kind of authority that demands heaven’s attention. But instead, she stood still. Silent. The slightly blank expression on her face as she looked down at the floor made me wonder if she even heard anything I said at all. Then out of her brief trance, she looked up.
“What are your names?” she asked, with a heavy Philippine accent. When we told her, she nodded, and retreated back to her stance: quiet, and blankly looking at the floor.
She then leaned in toward us, and every word that began to come from her mouth felt otherworldly. Her eyes into the spiritual realm seemed to be wide open, and she declared what God was showing her about us and began prophetically praying over us.
There were things she said that no one other than God Himself could’ve known, things she mentioned that only Kev and I had shared with one another. I began to cry at the perfect precision of God’s presence that was with us in this moment as He made it unmistakably known that He saw us, heard us and oh so very well knows us, and that we are right in the middle of a miracle in motion. Many of the things she shared are so precious to me that I’d rather not share them all here, but one statement struck and stuck with me.
“I feel like the Lord is saying, ‘If you take the leap of faith, the provision will follow.’”
Kev and I broke our heads bowed, eyes closed stature just for a moment to glance at each other, as if to silently trip out at the curiosity of this being a confirmation to make the brave move to Atlanta.
Fast forward, two months later: it’s moving day! Since that prophetic prayer encounter, all signs were pointing to Georgia:
Like Kev’s job just so happening to open up positions in Atlanta, him landing multiple interviews, and ultimately being offered 2 positions to choose from.
Like a random run-in with an old pastor friend who testified to when God told him to move cross-country along with his wife and child, the only-God interventions that allowed that to happen with every step of their obedience, and them now walking fully in their purpose as a result.
Like the late nights and early mornings I’d spend in prayer and God would lead me to the story of Abraham, whom He told to leave his native country, his family and his comfortability to go to the land God was showing him (Genesis 12:1).
So, in an act of crazy faith, we put in our notice to vacate our apartment and packed up our lives to move into my mother-in-law’s house until we got the final word on whether Kev got the job. And within a few weeks, Kev got the call that the position was his, and the first week of 2020, we were on a plane to the Peach State.
In the Church, there’s often much talk about wives submitting to their husbands. And as I look back on all of the decisions involved in this move to ATL, I’m seeing more and more that Biblical submission is a wife simply giving her yes to her husband, because ultimately, she’s saying yes to her God.
Until this point, I don’t believe either of us had ever operated at such a high level of faith, bull-headed confidence in God and obedience to His leading, and simultaneously, there has been nothing that has put us in greater demand of having to truly trust one another.
Many of those who know us–and even at times, we ourselves–were anxious or uncertain about what kind of fruit this drastic of a decision would bear, whether it would be for our destiny or to our detriment. And while their criticism and worries seemed to be leaning toward the latter, we were growing in greater dependency upon God + each other. As a couple, our family had always been our safety net, and yet, here God was asking us to leave that + cling to one another as we jumped into the unknown, all with the assurance that His arms were wide open to catch us.
With the culture shock of being in a foreign place and the added blindsiding of being caught within a pandemic, the trajectory of this marriage year is one that I absolutely didn’t see coming. Yet I feel like this move was just what we needed to be fortified by God with strength to stand in faith + against fear together, and fashioned by Him in preparation for whatever goodness He’ll have us step into next.
This year has taught me the art of trusting my husband + his leadership, which was something that was definitely a struggle previously. Since I met him back in high school, Kev has never wavered from being a man of his word, a protector of those he loves, a thoughtful strategist who researches + seeks wisdom from others when making decisions, and one who honors me as his treasure.
Because I’d internally allow the failures and pain of the men before him–namely my father + step-father–to color my perceptions, I realized that is what was often making it so difficult for me to trust my husband, to believe he really wasn’t going to lead me off of a cliff.
This move was the catalyst to help break that mindset I had held to for so long in our previous years of marriage. I began to see my yes to him was me putting my ultimate trust in God. Because if God, as my Good Father, truly adored me as He promised, He’d absolutely make it His priority to lead my husband as he’s leading me + our family.
Yes to healing
I could not have predicted that God was going to rock our world circumstantially. So there was no way that I would’ve anticipated He’d tread into the deep, dark places of my shame to bring healing in me + my marriage.
Before this year, my heart would wrestle to embrace the sounds-too-good-to-be-true love and grace my husband constantly lavishes upon me. Sounds silly, right? Like how can you be insecure about your place in someone’s heart when they’ve consistently told you + proven to you that they’re for you + have no intentions of judging, rejecting or abandoning you?
The reality I was living was a completely different world than the narrative I was subscribing to in my mind, so I’d constantly find myself withdrawing from Kev, in fear that I’m unworthy of such good gifts because of the labels my past has attached to my name.
This year, I felt God was inviting me into healing the deep, deep wounds from my past traumas of fatherlessness, molestation + sexual shame. Not just for my own good, but for the good of my marriage. Because I’m still walking through this process (and am even leaning into the work of crafting a book about parts of it), I won’t delve into all of the details. But I can say that these mountains that have long eclipsed the light in my life + in my relationship are now being moved and crushed by God’s loving power.
I believe it’s because of my yes to walk back into these areas of my deepest pain + shame that has empowered me to confront many of the lies I had accepted as truths. And am now, I am trading them for the truth of my worthiness. I am thankful to God, but I’m also humbled by the gifts of kindness, grace, mercy + empathy He’s given me as my husband has held my hand in every step.
Marriage can’t complete us, but reveals just how broken + fragile we truly are.
A spouse, alike all things material, cannot make you whole–only God can work such miracles–but they can most definitely help usher you into wholeness by tightly clenching your trembling hand and journeying with you patiently upon the winding path God is leading you on.
But in today’s culture, there seems to be this stigma over brokenness when it comes to relationships, this idealistic ideology that no man or woman should have to deal with another’s mess. That a mate must already be healed with zero residue of the past before we give them the time of day–especially all of our days, as it comes to marriage. That someone going through their process of maturity + growing up is a metamorphosis ain’t nobody got time for. That “toxic” is anything we’re not willing to give grace for.
It seems that many who buy into this sort of logic are placing such high expectations and heavy loads on people to be something they can never achieve, even on their best day: perfection.
A spouse or partner cannot heal you. They cannot save you. Our hearts are our responsibility, and we must seek the help we need our own healing–which, for me, has been with God, my tribe and through therapy. But my husband, though he doesn’t have to, chooses to participate in my process of being made new by being a listening ear, a truth-telling voice and a judgement-free ally. So while the duration of my marriage hasn’t nearly been one of misery, I can say that it has been a bedrock of healing.
The fact that my husband + I have a space within one another to fully show up as our most authentic selves–which, truthfully, always looks like imperfection–is a gift, not a curse. It’s been the refuge for me to not be alone as I deal with, unpack and process through many of the ugly parts of my story that have affected how I see + treat Kev, how I mother, how I do friendship, how I do business and how I treat myself. There’s been a hell-of-a-lotta residue on me from back in the day, but this yes to healing has seemed to usher in a massive beauty for ashes transition, where there’s a wild burning up of the things that have been hindering us and a crowning glory of redemption as God makes us newer, stronger, wiser and even more connected than before.
I’m grateful my high school self decided to recant her no.
I’m grateful she came to say yes to this same rough-around-the-edges boy-turned-young man, looking him in the eye as he slipped diamond promises of faithfulness upon her left hand.
I’m grateful she’s making yes of regular use in her vocabulary, welcoming the warm light of joy, laughter, peace + love into the places fear and shame has tried to hide.
I’m grateful he says yes to me being the one he wants to grow with, build a legacy with, and change the world with.
This 7th year of marriage has taught me the beauty + power of saying yes, and that the yeses to the unknown, to obedient risk and even the painful process of healing are all much easier to endure when you’ve got someone by your side willing to give their yes right along with you.
