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.

To Joey, on Your Birthday

Today is your 34th birthday! Happy birthday to my friend, my heart, my home.

Tonight we’re having a very short notice birthday party for you. I sent you the Evite I sent to our friends so that you would see who was coming and all the other details of the party I’d planned for you at the last minute. To my surprise, you submitted an RSVP for your own birthday party, you said (about yourself), “I think he's kind of a tool, but I also think his wife is hot and I'll show up just so I can flirt with her all night.” I, of course, laughed at this remark and told you you make me laugh. But deep down, I actually think you're right—you are a tool. Let me explain.

Tools help us build things, they help us fix things, they help us create things. Tools are meant to be used. They are built for hard work. They provide the help that’s needed when something needs to get done. They are strong, substantial, and are not easily broken. Paradoxical as it seems, though they can be dangerous, they are actually designed to be quite safe. In a nutshell, that is you.

You're much more than that, of course, and I could go on and on about how I feel about you and how much you've changed my life and how I can’t imagine my life without you in it (all of which would be very true). But today, I can’t help but think of you as a tool. You build things, fix things, and create things, in a very literal sense. But you also do so on another level in the lives of so many people besides me. You build trust and relationships; you fix broken bones and broken spirits; you create fun, happiness and joy. Although I thought getting close to you was dangerous (at first), I have discovered that with you, I am safe.

But more than all that, I believe you are a tool that God uses over and over again. In fact, sometimes I think you might just be one of God’s favorite tools in His toolbox.

So Joey, today I honor you for the tool you are. Thank you for being willing to be used in my life, and in the lives of so many others. May God use you this year in ways you have been praying to be used. May He give you new opportunities to build, to fix, and to create.

Happy birthday, my love.

Sometimes No Words Are the Best Words

I fell in love with my husband a little bit more deeply the other night.

Four more days until I have to go back to work. Just when I think I've gotten to the point of being okay with it, of feeling like the situation we've got set up is an ideal scenario in a less than ideal situation, I get a wave of sadness pass through me, knocking me off my feet and making my head spin. Then, I dig my feet into the ground, stubbornly refusing to believe it's actually happening. And then I realize that the arrangement we have is a very good one, considering the fact that I have to go back to work at all, and I'm thankful for it.

But two nights ago, I was hit hard with the realization that this is really happening, that I'm really going back to work, and I really will be taking Addie to daycare. It's not that I have anything against daycare; it's necessary for so many people, and I know there are some amazingly wonderful folks who spend their lives caring for children such as mine. But it breaks my heart that I won't be the one to care for, nurture, and play with Addie. It's watching the death of my lifelong dream, in some ways.

And as I rocked my little girl to sleep, tears began to pour down my cheeks. Her little eyes locked on mine, smiling at me just moments before, suddenly looked worried, like she knew something was wrong with me. Where did your smiles go, Mama? I could hear her asking through those deep blue eyes. And in those deep blue eyes I saw my sadness welled up, as if my tears collected in them like little puddles on the sidewalk.

Perhaps my preoccupation was contagious that night; Addie wouldn't go to sleep easily, her quizzical look frozen on her face as I swayed back and forth beside her crib. My back began to ache, so I pulled myself together, wiped my tears onto the shoulder of my sweatshirt, and went out to the living room to rock her in the rocking chair. I sat down, feeling my body fold within itself, trying to keep the tears from bubbling up to the surface again. Joey asked if I was ok, to which I responded that I didn't want to talk about it right then. Tears feel private to me, and my dad and brother were in the room just then. And yet, Joey knew.

A few minutes later, the tears wouldn't wait. I excused myself to our room, Addie in tow, and broke down as soon as I was behind the safety of our door. Silent tears are the most intense for me, and a silent cry it was. Moments later I felt Joey behind me; he put his hands on my shoulders and asked if I was upset about Monday, the day I'd have to go back to work. All I did was nod and cry just a little bit harder as I swayed back and forth, rocking my baby to sleep.

He rubbed my shoulders, let me cry, and somehow made me feel a little bit better, just by being there with me. Nothing changed. Nothing will change. But in that moment, I felt seen, and I felt like my feelings were recognized. Sometimes Joey's had the attitude of "we've got to make the best of it, even though it sucks." It's true, and I've been trying to do just that. But there's a deep sadness that makes my bones ache, a sadness that I'm not sure he understood before now. He may not feel exactly the way I feel, but that night told me that he understands how real it is to me. And that's enough, for now.

He pulled me close when we went to bed that night, stroked my hair as I laid on his chest, tears silently sliding down my nose and cheeks. Sometimes saying nothing is better than saying something. Sometimes just holding someone close and letting them cry validates their feelings better than words ever   could. It says, I see you, and how you feel matters. I don't know how to fix it, but I will be here with you while your heart hurts like this. I will comfort and protect you.

Nothing changed that night. My heart didn't change, the situation didn't change, my outlook didn't change. I'm still sad, a kind of sad I've never known before. But somehow, I know it'll be ok. Somehow.

When Things Turn Upside Down

Joey's got Vertigo. It came upon him suddenly yesterday afternoon as soon as we got home from Montera Beach. It was awful to watch him spiral downward into a shell of who he normally is. Selfishly, I was upset that he "had to get this" on our Anniversary. But then, after a quick check of the spirit, I realized that we had just gotten back from a wonderful weekend full of fun anniversary stuff, and that we were, essentially, done with our celebration by the time we got home. The only thing left was to have a slice of our anniversary cake (which I had been looking forward to intensely!).

In a split second, I went from feeling frustrated with him for feeling sick to being relieved and thankful we were home before it all hit him. Then, before I knew what hit me, I was scared. Terrified. Even though Joey was pretty sure it was Vertigo, my mind played games on itself and I had big scary scenarios all lined up in my mind (like heat stroke, a brain tumor, a head injury, etc). Watching him struggle to walk just a few steps, not being able to do anything to cool our room down (it was intensely hot last night), and feeling powerless to do anything but simply tell him that I'm there if he needs anything... it made me realize how truly out of control I am over so much. And even though our first year of marriage hasn't been difficult, or perhaps because our first year has been so good, I felt in control of things. But last night I felt completely out of control. Even though my head knows that ultimately we aren't in control, I realized in a profound way last night that things can change in an instant, and our whole world can be thrown off balance.

I spent the evening watching a bad movie, eating good ice cream, and wondering what would happen next. When I finally went to bed, I watched him intensely for several minutes to make sure he was still breathing. I was afraid that something more severe was going on and that we should have rushed him to the emergency room. Instead, I had to lay there next to my husband on our first anniversary willing myself not to worry about him, but to trust that not only was Joey right, but that God was in control.

Today, he's better. Not great, but better. We were able to get him in to see a doctor first thing this morning, but she didn't do a whole lot for him, except for perhaps allay our fears that something more serious was going on. Today? Today I'm realizing that perhaps I overreact to things, even though my heart is in the right place. Having my heart in the right place doesn't really do a whole lot to help the situation except to reassure Joey that I'm here for him. Today I wonder how I'll grapple with things that are more serious. I cried last night when Joey fell asleep, not because I was upset he was sick on our anniversary, but because I was scared of the unknown. Today I realize that every day is an unknown. And adding a baby to the mix makes things even more of an unknown. Someone new to worry about, right?

But the kicker is that worrying doesn't accomplish anything. It's hard not to worry, and it's difficult to take thoughts captive and not allow our imaginations to run away with us, but seriously, it's something I am choosing to do because I cannot live life in fear. It's debilitating. Living a life of worry or fear simply isn't living.
Anyway, I think I'm starting to ramble. The good news? Joey's trying to type along with me as I write this. I think he's getting bored of laying around feeling dizzy. Or perhaps he's feeling a little bit better. I think it's a combination of both.

Happy first anniversary to us!

"The 'scratch' that satisfies my itch"

I feel so silly. Moments before starting this post, tears were running down my face, my nose began to fill up, and my face turned red from the strain of it all. It's been four hours. That's it. Four hours since I dropped Joey off at the airport. And somehow all I can do is think about how much I miss him. Already. After only four hours.

We've only been married for seven months, but somehow in that short span of time we have created a new standard of peace, comfort, and normalcy. Without him around, I feel sort of incomplete, like something essential for survival has been taken from me, like I can't quite catch my breath.

After trying to distract myself in the living room for a few hours, I finally resigned myself to the fact that it was ok to go to bed at 9:00. When I pulled down the sheets, I saw a note waiting for me. It said, "I love you. I miss you. You're the "scratch" that satisfies my itch." The note was made twice as sweet by the double meaning of "scratch." We may be the only couple on the face of the earth that don't call each other babe, honey, hun, sweetie, or anything remotely similar. But Joey does call me Scratch. Why? Somehow he derived it from Rachel (Rach ... Ratchet ... Scratchel ... Scratch. Ah, the evolution.) Anyway, I give him a hard time about pet names sometimes because I feel the urge to call him something special, something other than what everyone else in the world calls him. Joey is great; it's his name, and I'm happy to call him that, but it's not anything special. Having him call me Rach is fine, too. I don't mind at all. But again, it's nothing special. For him to call me Scratch and to make it meaningful instead of just playful touched my heart. I needed that.

It's pretty easy for me to be distracted by things, to become preoccupied with something and let my mind dwell on it. Tonight? My mind was dwelling on the fact that I missed Joey, and feeling insecure about it. I felt silly for missing him so much, silly because I was sure he didn't miss me even half as much, and frustrated that I couldn't just ignore my feelings and get on with my evening. After I found the note, I realized that my heart needs a tender reminder that there is a love that is constant no matter what crazy emotion I may feel on a given day. In a way, he is the scratch that satisfies my itch, too. We all have itches. We all have needs and desires that can become irritants in our lives, feelings that we cannot seem to shake or get rid of no matter what we do on our own. To have someone who helps satisfy those itches? Priceless.