I (Still) Do

Image by AGB Photographics

Two years ago today, I traded my name for a new one, a name representative of a family I am proud to call my own. Oh, I'm still a Guzman deep down; I always will be, in part. But being a Maier has enriched my life in ways I wasn't able to foresee when we said these words to each other two years ago. When we wrote them, we were full of the romantic optimism that accompanies young love. Now, even though the "newlywed" bliss has faded into a new sort of romance, these vows mean even more to me than they did the day we exchanged them. 

For two years, we've lived our promises every day. And I found that it's true what they say: it does take work. We've learned that we must be purposeful, deliberate, mindful, sincere, otherwise we'd run the risk of settling into complacency, forgetting to be thankful for the blessing we have in each other. It's not to say we'd forget to love each other, but we could forget just how rare and how beautiful our story is: how taking a risk and opening ourselves up to loving each other made our lives richer and more meaningful.

Today, I'm saying these words to you again, Joey, because "I (still) do." In my heart, in my actions, in my choices, and in my dreams for our future. And I'm including your words to me as well because they mirror mine so perfectly, and today is the best day of the year to remember the way the two declarations fit together so well. By God's grace, may we uphold them as the years continue to slip by. Happy anniversary, my love!

Image by AGB Photographics

I, Josef, gladly choose you Rachel, to be my wife, to join with you in the journey God has set before us. I promise to guard and protect you and the love we share, always giving thanks to God for who you are. My love for you will remain steadfast through triumph and tribulation. I will remain true to you in both times of prosperity, and times of meagerness and want. I will celebrate health and vitality with you, and when your body is broken and your health has failed, I will be there to comfort and care for you. Forsaking all others. I will remain faithful to you always. I promise to look after you with a relentless love and a fervent joy until by death we are parted. Unto you, by God’s grace, I promise to faithfully uphold this declaration.
 

Image by AGB Photographics

I, Rachel, freely choose you, Josef, to be my husband, to join with you on the journey that God has set before us. I promise to nurture and sustain you, and the love we share, providing a safe place where that love may flourish. I promise to remain devoted to you through our successes and sorrows, to delight with you when there is plenty, and to persevere with you when there is not. I will celebrate health and vitality with you, and when your body is broken and your health has failed, I will be there to comfort and care for you. Forsaking all others. I will remain faithful to you always. I will respect and obey you, selflessly loving you until by death we are parted. Unto you by God’s grace, I promise to faithfully uphold this declaration.

I'm back and (perhaps) better than ever.

Well, I’m back.

And to my frustration, none of the things I thought I’d be saying today are coming out at the moment. I have been sitting here tinkering with the keys on this keyboard for the past several minutes, and I have ended up deleting much of what I’ve written because this morning, nothing seems to really communicate the things I want to say.

So, instead of over-analyzing this setback and beating myself up over it, I’m letting it go and letting my hands loose. Sometimes when I let them do the work, they just go, clicking away so fast that I lose track of them, and before I know it, there are things on the page I hadn’t planned to put there.

In the end, those are the moments I relish, the moments when something comes out of me that I did not know was there, and when confronted with a blinking cursor the next time around, I remind myself that it is not a writer’s curse. A blinking cursor doesn’t mean the words have run out; it is a signal that something is in progress. It is a signal that when the next thought is formed, it will be ready to act. A blinking cursor is not a curse. It is a patient friend.

I have realized over the past few weeks (in large part to those of you who were so kind to encourage me) that the words I write are important because they are mine. Shocking, isn’t it? One would think I’m a little nutty if I am only now figuring that out. But I can’t help it—it was revealing to me. These words represent thoughts all my own, thoughts that are unique and meaningful because they represent something real—they represent me, my thoughts, my life, my interests, my choices, my perspective.

But in a world obsessed with self, I sort of panicked that if I continued to write about my own little world that I would seem self-involved to the outside observer. In a celebrity-obsessed world where ordinary folks are vying for a moment in the spotlight, I find myself questioning how much of what I see of them is real. Even on blogs, I am left wondering how much of it is for show and how much of it is real. I don’t want to leave anyone wondering if what I post here is real or not. I don’t want to create a façade, or make my life seem more perfect than it actually is. I don’t want to seem like I think I am more important than I actually am, and yet, I found myself long for significance. How do you marry those two thoughts? Not wanting to seem self-important and wanting to be significant at the same time?

In the end, I realized this: what I say matters, not because I am something important on my own, but because Jesus made me something special, and he has called me to do exactly the thing I fear most: bring Him glory by being who He created me to be.

Here is my pledge: I won’t pretend here. What you read, what you see—it will all be a real taste of who I am as I learn to live out the gifts He’s given me.

So here I am, an open book. Feel free to read.

The Demon of Comparison

Do you ever have those moments in which everything you do seems so...unoriginal? I do.

I've battled with this for as long as I can remember, the feeling that whatever it is I'm good at, whatever it is I love doing, whatever it is that I am , shrinks down to nothing when I open myself up to the demon of comparison.

Do you ever do that?

It's the thing that kept me from trying out for the soccer team in high school.

It's the thing that kept me from taking a creative writing class in college.

It's the thing that made me overly self-conscious for most of my life.

It's the thing that kept me from admitting that I'm good at something. Anything.

It's the thing that kept me prisoner from my true self.

It's the thing that stole the freedom to be myself quite awhile ago, the thing from which I escaped, and the thing which I'm discovering has found a new way to hold me captive. 

I've been absent from this little blog for awhile now. Sort of intentionally. Sort of coincidentally. Wrapping things up at work has taken a lot of my mental energy over the past few weeks, so I haven't had the will or the energy to put much thought into writing. I've missed it. There are many things pent up inside of me, and I'm (sort of) excited to get back to it.

But before I do in earnest, I'm doing some soul searching. I'm trying to figure out what it is I write about. I feel scattered and disorganized and full of excitement and passion, but no focus. I've been reading a lot of really wonderful blogs over the past few months, some that are inspiring, and some that just plain make me feel bad about myself. (A problem of my own, I admit.) The blogs I've been reading don't try to make me feel bad. They're just out there doing their thing, right? But when I read them, all I hear inside is, "And what is it you think you're doing? Why would anyone want to read what you have to say? What is it you have to say, anyway?" The little demon of comparison. At least I know it for what it is.

And yet, I'm still left reeling, trying to figure out what I'm doing. Or what I want to do. Why can't I just do my thing? What do I have to say? What do I have to offer? And why do I compare myself with the other bloggers out there (who seem to do it so easily), when deep down, I know that who I am and what I do matters?

I know there aren't a lot of you out there, but for those of you who happen to see this, can you answer a question for me? Why do you read what I write? What keeps you coming back? Why do you choose to spend any of your precious time sorting through these (somewhat scattered) posts?

I'm not asking because I want accolades or affirmation. I'm asking because I need perspective. And you, the people who read what I write, you are people I trust.

I'll be back soon. In what capacity? I'm not quite sure yet. But I promise that I'll be back. Until then, big hugs.