by Sandy McKeown

“Teach us to fly, Momma!” my grandchildren plead when they are seeking attention. I am engrossed as my daughter-in-law begins the familiar routine.

“Hold out your arms,” she gently coaches. “Now, wave them up and down.” She watches as their little arms begin flapping. “Good! Now faster, faster!” And my grandchildren, with their arms flapping ever faster and faster, run away from their mother, their arms flapping as fast as they can go. Then my daughter-in-law calls out, “You did it! You’re flying! You’re free!”

At this point she turns back to whatever she was doing, and the kids usually come back for more attention, but that’s okay—it was just a game.

Realistically, we expected the kids to leave and “be free” on their own. After graduation, we would help them pack, show them the way to a job or college, and say, “You did it! You’re on your own! You’re free!” We also expected them to never move back home again.

This economy has changed that.

We recently moved almost five hours from where we raised our kids. We bought a bigger house. Three of the four kids who had moved out previously are back.  Did we buy too big? Some may think so. I’m not there—yet.

I consider it an absolute privilege to help our grown children when the world has not treated them kindly. My opinion may be different if they were doing little to help themselves. If that were the case, my husband and I would, obviously, be deploying some tough love stances. However, if their wings are clipped due to rough winds, who else will step in and help them recover? The government?

Yes, this is a sacrifice we make, not only financially, but as a couple as well. Grown kids don’t go to bed at 8 p.m. There is always someone roving about the house. Privacy is something we have lost, but, hopefully, it’s not permanent. (I believe. I believe.)

There was another day, another time, when there was wide-spread economic suffering. And Joseph did something about it. “Joseph also provided his father and his brothers and all his father’s household with food, according to the number of their children.” [Genesis 47:12]

Yes, there were other things going on there, but to simplify, Joseph had the means. He helped his family.

I wonder if our ever-burgeoning government would be a little smaller if we, as a society, had practiced that concept in our communities over the last century or two.

While my focus of late has been keeping up with the extra housework, buying groceries, and buying more groceries, something else has been happening. My grown children are learning to appreciate each other.

My 29 year old, 22 year old, 21 year old and 13 year old were playing cards at the kitchen table one recent, hot summer evening. There were raucous cheers, aahs, ohs, and slapping of the table in appropriate response to the evolving events of the game. Then suddenly, at nine o’clock at night, there was a mad scramble for a car.

Confused, I popped my head up from a book and asked, “What are you guys doing?”

“We played for Popsicles!” one of them called out, “The losers have to buy the winners Popsicles. We’re all going to the grocery store to pick them out.”

Playing for Popsicles—this mother hadn’t taught them that game. They came up with that on their own.

What a joy it is to have my children home again for the economic duration. I get to watch my children get better at flying.



I don’t remember meeting my husband. Is that weird? It’s probable my brother, my future husband’s best friend, may have initially gestured into the living room one day and said something like, “they’re my four sisters,” as he introduced us…sort of. And we most likely turned away from the TV for a Gilligan’s Island-second, acknowledged the intrusion, and returned to our regularly scheduled after school routine. I estimate I was around ten years old at the time. I couldn’t have cared less about the guy I had just glanced at. I wasn’t exactly dreaming of a way off the island…or farm…yet.

It took a while for this guy to morph from my brother’s friend to mine. He was an “enemy of the sisters.” He would show up unannounced, often dressed in his railroad bibs with his 1970’s long, curly hair and his quick wit, and annoy us with his brotherly antics. I didn’t like him very much! Somewhere along the way, however, rivalries eased, attraction sparked, and a relationship was pursued. Feelings changed. My heart would actually skip a beat when I spotted him.

Gilligan and the Skipper started out on a journey they planned would be smooth sailing. It didn’t turn out how they had planned. Forced by circumstances beyond their control, they had to learn to live together and rely on each other despite their apparent differences. Of course, it was a show for kids, but what observant adult couldn’t learn something by watching the Skipper and Gilligan have regular miscommunication? Have days they didn’t appreciate each other? Learn to live a life of adventure together as a team within their new, limited boundaries?

I, too, had a recent three-hour trip. I was driving home, back to the farm, to visit my parents. My husband had told me he’d be coming back our way on the train. Watch for him on the tracks beside the highway, he advised. However, we had seen several trains. None of them were his. We were now several hours past the time he had estimated we would see him, and I no longer was expecting to get that glimpse.

We had stopped for a little shopping and lunch midway in our trip, and my daughter pointed out another train coming our way, adjacent to the highway. I immediately tried to dissuade her. I didn’t want her disappointed her daddy wouldn’t be on this one, either. So…I wasn’t even looking…when the engine horn sounded a soft ‘toot toot’ and the cab window flew open. My husband, with his now graying hair flying in the wind, his unshaven jaw broadened into a huge grin, waved enthusiastically at me as I continued down the highway. Surprised, my heart momentarily pounded faster and I had that old butterfly feeling from within. Huh! He still makes me happy to see him. Imagine that.

The reaction I had that day reminded me of life when we were dating. Our relationship then wasn’t burdened with disciplining kids, house repairs, college payments, and worn out fatigue from another decade of work. Feelings have continued to change. Sometimes I’m pretty frustrated with this man I promised to honor and cherish, respect and love. I’m sure it goes both ways. But Proverbs encourages man to “rejoice in the wife of your youth” (5:18b). I think that goes both ways. Wives, rejoice in the husband of your youth.

As mature adults, we have hopefully learned to function in our marriages not based on ever changing feelings. With some hard work and perseverance, we’ve learned to appreciate each other despite the mind-set of the day. With prayer, your marriage and mine can be based on a commitment that doesn’t change with our frequently changing emotions. It almost makes my heart skip a beat.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Sandy McKeown is a contributing author to Laundry Tales to Lighten Your Load, One Year Life Verse Devotional, and Chicken Soup for the Chocolate Lover’s Soul. She is a columnist for Christian Work At Home Moms, is a Mentor of Many (M.O.M.), and speaks to a variety of audiences; helping others discover today’s difficulties aren’t a life sentence, just a season of life. Sandy can be reached through her website at www.sandymckeown.com.

When my five kids were younger, I could talk on the phone, cook supper, feed the baby, pick up the toy that just squeaked under my foot, check on the kids playing in the back yard, and spell indefatigable for my oldest son doing his homework at the kitchen table—all at the same time.

Now, when there’s only one child left at home, I don’t seem to have any energy. I drag myself out of bed each morning. I wander from room to room, trying to remember what I was trying to accomplish. What’s happened to my world?

When I Google the word depression, two different types of sites pop up, some refer to “The” Great Depression and the others, symptoms and cures for “a” depression. One of the dictionary’s entries for an economic depression refers to dullness and inactivity, which I think describes both types appropriately.

Webster also states an economical depression is a period during which business, employment, and stock-market values decline severely or remain at a very low level of activity. Hmmm. Has the government just not announced how bad it is yet?

I watch the evening news regularly. Partly out of habit, part out of desire to know what is going on in the big world, which will, in turn, affect my small world. Regardless, the repetitive reporting of high unemployment, falling stock prices, and repeated government intervention into private business matters is no longer just feeding an economical depression—it’s contributing to some serious emotional depression as well.

I am, after all, familiar with the emotional kind.

My family has some great genes. We inherit longevity, great skin, and overall good health, but our eyesight is poor and most of the women with my genes suffer from some form of depression. It is a fact of life. And it’s not an easy one.

An emotional depression is defined as a condition of general emotional dejection and withdrawal; sadness greater and more prolonged than that warranted by an objective reason. Huh? If I weren’t so dull minded and depressed, I might be able to understand that.

Feeling depressed is like what I would imagine it would feel like to try running in waist-high mud while it’s foggy. My body is constantly tired, and I can’t seem to acquire clarity of thought.

I know I’m not alone. Just as the current economy reminds us we are all connected by our wallets, my sisters’ struggles with their emotional health remind me we are connected by our genes.

Whether facing “The” or “a” depression, it doesn’t really matter. The solution to the problem is the same. David’s song in Psalms 13:1 reminds us he felt lost and alone, too:

“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?

How long will you hide your face from me?”

A few chapters later in Psalm 34:4 his tone changes:

“I sought the Lord, and he answered me;

He delivered me from all my fears.”

Depressions, whether economical or emotional, will come and go. They aren’t a life sentence, just a season of life. Just like the other four seasons, we just have to get through them. Hang on. We’ll make it through this season, too.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Sandy McKeown is a contributing author to Laundry Tales to Lighten Your Load, One Year Life Verse Devotional, and Chicken Soup for the Chocolate Lover’s Soul. She is a regular columnist for Christian Work At Home Moms and speaks frequently to audiences, helping them discover today’s difficulties aren’t a life sentence, just a season of life. Sandy can be reached through her website at www.sandymckeown.com.

Several years ago I offered to take the checkbook back from my husband. Twelve months earlier our youngest son had been experiencing countless sleepless nights, along with numerous other challenges. Realizing I was overwhelmed, my husband had taken over the checkbook and all of its correlating duties to relieve me of some stress.

A year later our son had begun sleeping much better and, consequently, so was I.

I felt better able to take back the responsibility of bookkeeper of the family. On this particular day when I suggested the transition, my husband hesitated and said, “Just a minute.”

I watched him sit down at the dining room table, grab a calculator and start tapping on the buttons. He would look quietly at the checkbook register, scratch his head, mumble something meant only for his ears, and begin tapping on the various buttons again. After witnessing this disturbing scene for a while, I asked him, “Is there something wrong?”

“Well, the balance doesn’t seem to be coming out right,” he replied.

Remaining calm, I inquired, “When was the last time you balanced it?”

“Balanced it?” he questioned.

With growing concern, I explained, “We get a statement from the bank, with their name in the upper lefthand corner, every month. When was the last time you balanced the checkbook with the monthly bank statement?”

Now seeming to understand what I was talking about, he said, “Oh, those! I never opened them. They’re all in your file labeled Bank Statements.”

With that declaration, I was no longer sitting quietly in the next room. I entered the dining room and stared in amazement at my husband, and I slipped down into one of the nearby chairs. He quickly came around the table and knelt at my feet, his hands clasped together in prayerful pleading, “Tell me what to do. I’ll do anything you want. I’m sorry.”

No longer feeling sympathetic, I demanded, “Go borrow me a calculator with tape…and bring me some chocolate!”

So, why did this shock me to such a degree? First of all, I was astounded (and grateful) we hadn’t bounced any checks for the year. Second, it cemented my thinking that my husband, who typically doesn’t pay attention to detail, is not naturally suited to the day-to-day financial aspect of our lives. Third, something was niggling at the back of my mind, did I have the right to demand actions from my husband? Traditionally, isn’t he supposed to be the one in charge? Isn’t he supposed to be the one who has the final say, who wins out, so to speak, in these circumstances?

Part of the process of melding two lives together is not easy. “The two shall become one” does not mean one individual calls all the shots and has all the control in the relationship. For us, that melding process involves constantly discovering strengths and weaknesses and assigning roles in the marriage accordingly. It really shouldn’t be about whose ideas or actions wins.

My husband is a patient, proficient painter. I have never painted a room in my life. Probably never will. Do I feel bad about that? Not in this lifetime. He’s also good at fixing cars, working on household projects, landscaping, and being a fantastic father to our five children. Likewise, my husband doesn’t feel too badly about me paying the bills and working the budget.

At the time of our Checkbook Incident No. 593, we were in a unique situation because of the stress on us at the time. I had relinquished control in an area that was naturally my strength. I also gave it to him without any guidelines or instructions. If ever allowed, I doubt I would ever be able to paint a wall without explicit instructions in this house. My husband’s lack of attention to handling of the checkbook wasn’t totally on his shoulders. I had a part in it, too.

Life is constantly changing and shifting. We need to be able to adapt and change our roles accordingly.

It took me most of the day, but I did get that year’s entire checkbook register gone over and eventually balanced. I think I was off by $2.38. Previous to this incident, I had always insisted on finding every error—even if only a nickel—but this time, I decided it could have been a whole lot worse, and wrote it off. Of course, my husband offered to pay me the $2.38 difference in cash. I tried to explain to him it just wasn’t the same.

If nothing else, I have learned to be less of a dictator with the checkbook in all this. In the whole scheme of things, did a nickel really matter? I was learning to keep the role of bookkeeper, but I was also changing. I was learning to be compassionate. I guess my husband did win out in this after all.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Sandy McKeown is a contributing author to Laundry Tales to Lighten Your Load, One Year Life Verse Devotional, and Chicken Soup for the Chocolate Lover’s Soul. She is a regular columnist for Christian Work At Home Moms and speaks frequently to audiences, helping them discover today’s difficulties aren’t a life sentence, just a season of life. Sandy can be reached through her website at www.sandymckeown.com.

The good news? Lately, I’ve been lunching at restaurants with friends almost every weekday. The bad news? I have dined with more women that have “just had it” with their husbands than I would care to.

How does a marriage deteriorate to such a low point a teammate no longer wants to play? There are several reasons, of course, but various marriage experts tell us the number one reason for failure in marriage is selfishness. Philippians 2:3 admonishes us to do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than ourselves. What does that look like? Where do we find an example of unselfishness in a very selfish world?

Many years ago a supreme, omnipotent being sent the most precious gift possible, an only child, down to earth to help a planet full of people in trouble. He didn’t have a houseful of children, He only had one, a son, and He sent him down to earth to help us overcome life and death. First, life—while we are on this planet; and, second, death—our inevitable and final destination.

The unselfishness of that act is incomprehensible to me. My husband and I are blessed to have five children. We are not (as of yet, anyway) willing to sacrifice any of them. Yes, I am a very naturally selfish person. (I could give you a long list of examples of just how selfish I am, but my editor has limited my available space.) So…I know I am selfish and God is not. How do I acquire this great trait of His to make it mine?

Biblical commentator Matthew Henry writes, “The sweetness we have found in the doctrine of Christ should sweeten our spirits.” Can it be that simple? Reading our Bibles will change us to make us more like Christ? Sweeter and, ultimately, less selfish?

Another marriage expert, Gary Thomas, claims most people want out of a marriage because they don’t like who they have become while in that union. How do I impart on my lunch mates the desire to stay in their marriage and work on their own issues and not worry about their spouse’s? I can encourage them to read their Bible, pursuing God rather than their escape. Simple, right?

A few years ago, my husband and I and our three youngest children traveled to Denver to visit our oldest son and his family for the Thanksgiving holiday. They had just moved into their first home the day before and we were coming out to help them settle in as well as celebrate being together. While there, the engine on our caravan died. We opted to rent a vehicle to drive back to Iowa. The drive home involved a snow storm (icy roads, several cars in ditches), our youngest with the flu (me holding a bucket for her in the back seat), a compact car that accommodated four people comfortably (five people uncomfortably), and a deadline to get home for my husband’s job, by 11 p.m. at the time.

While we were driving, we called my brother in South Dakota and asked him to go online to find out how far the storm spanned. Were we going to be in it the entire way? How bad was it?

He called back and said, “You are in the worst of it. Keep going. You should be through it in an hour or two.”

That’s what we should be doing for others in marital trouble. Keep going. Yes, you may be in the worst of it, but you can get through it. There is great comfort in receiving encouragement from a like-minded, trusted brother.

God sent his only son in the ultimate unselfish act. I may not be able to live up to such standards, but I can certainly strive to become sweeter and less selfish on a daily basis. It should be a goal not just for the season, but for life.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Sandy McKeown is a contributing author to Laundry Tales to Lighten Your Load, One Year Life Verse Devotional, and Chicken Soup for the Chocolate Lover’s Soul. She is a regular columnist for Christian Work At Home Moms and speaks frequently to audiences, helping them discover today’s difficulties aren’t a life sentence, just a season of life. Sandy can be reached through her website at www.sandymckeown.com.

Read any headlines lately? Seen the newest Halloween masks in the stores? Walk down the street alone in the dark? Yikes. It’s scary out there.

We live in a world that is frightening. War, greed, violence, selfishness, shortages…there seems to be plenty of that in this world.

What or who makes you feel safe?

Women’s libbers, sorry to burst your I-can-do-it-by-myself bubble, but my husband is my protector. I like it when my man opens my door for me. I like it when, as we walk, he gently places a protective hand at the small of my back to guide me around an obstacle in my path. I like it when, as we walk along a street, he walks closest to the traffic, providing me a barrier from possible danger and pot hole splashes.

Before our fourth son moved out, I was spending some extra time with him watching some sci-fi in the middle of a lazy summer day. We were the only two at home at the time. I was on the couch in our family room; he sat across the room in his father’s chair. While we were watching the fictional episode, I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look, and witnessed a snake crawling out from under the couch I was sitting on. It was sticking its forked-tongue out, slithering non-chalantly across my new carpet!

I didn’t even communicate my shocking discovery with my son. I reacted by standing on the couch and in a panicked yell prayed, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!!!”

My son later told me he thought I had somehow hurt myself. But as I continued to scream, the sound waves must have reached the snake because his speed of slither increased greatly. This attracted my son’s attention. Now realizing what his mom was yelling about, he sprung out of his chair and reached for his guitar from his Guitar Hero game and used it as a weapon to stun the intruder. While he was reaching for the guitar, though, he boldly, calmly, and repeatedly told me, “Stop, Mom. Stop!” He wanted the hysterics to stop, I guess, so he could concentrate on stopping the snake.

He did whack the snake enough to stun it. He held it up to show me the now limp scaly pest was in deed no longer a threat. I squeaked at him to please take it outside. My guitar hero complied.

Afterwards, I sat on the couch, with my feet curled up protectively under me for the next 20 minutes until my husband came home from work. As he descended the basement stairs, I yelled, “We have to sell the house!”

Of course, I had to explain why the urge to sell was suddenly so strong. He just chuckled and asked our son to show him where he had thrown the snake. The two of them discovered the once stunned snake had woke from its daze and crawled away. Yuck. For his sake, that snake better not head back to my house.

When my husband returned to the basement where I was still curled up in a protective ball, my husband came over, sat beside me, wrapped his arms around me and held me. Even though his blue eyes twinkled with amusement at my lack of tolerance for snakes in my home, he still sympathized with my discomfort. After the warmth from his embrace had sufficed to ease my trauma, while still in his arms I voiced my ‘fix-it’ plan.

“I want every piece of furniture moved and vacuumed under. I want the walls checked to make sure there are no holes that have allowed the snake to get through.” And then I demanded, “Where do you think it came from?”

He reminded me our son had just been camping with his friends a few days prior and had brought all his gear to his basement bedroom just off the family room after the trip. The snake most likely had taken a free ride from the camp site to our home site.

Suspiciously I asked, “Do you really think that or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

He smiled and calmly replied, “It makes the most sense. We haven’t had any snakes before.” Or since, I am grateful to report.

I’m still not sure he isn’t just trying to comfort me. It is part of his job, after all, to keep me safe and help me to feel safe.

Yes, God is our ultimate Protector, the One we can look to for answers in scary times. Sometimes, though, I need someone with skin on right beside me to protect me. My husband makes me feel safe in a scary world. Thanks, Honey, I need that.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Sandy McKeown is a contributing author to Laundry Tales to Lighten Your Load, One Year Life Verse Devotional, and Chicken Soup for the Chocolate Lover’s Soul. She is a regular columnist for Christian Work At Home Moms and speaks frequently to audiences, helping them discover today’s difficulties aren’t a life sentence, just a season of life. Sandy can be reached through her website at www.sandymckeown.com.

We watched him walk away. Quietly, unhurriedly and looking straight ahead. He didn’t even look back. My husband and I watched until we couldn’t see him any longer and then we drove away in silence, feeling the ache of leaving part of our hearts behind. Our beloved child walked away from us toward his new life. College.

Yes, we had already helped him move into his dorm. We had attended the parent orientation sessions, paid all the (yikes!) necessary bills, and now the schedule for the weekend listed Farewell to family members.

Do we have to go? Can’t we stay a little longer?

My husband didn’t seem to be having too much difficulty leaving. I, however, was sitting on the passenger’s side of the car trying not to cry.

It is each parent’s goal to eventually live without their children at home, isn’t it? We have the privilege of shaping and molding the wonderful gifts given to us until they turn 18 and then we boot them out into the world to survive as best they can. That was the plan all along, right?

Surviving with children in our house was a team effort. There were many nights one of us was up all night walking and comforting a fussy child through the night the best we could. After the sun was up, the other parent would take over the duties. It was our version of the game “tag, you’re it!”

It had many forms at our house.

“Tag!” My husband taught the boys how to shave.

“You’re it!” I drew the short straw and taught our children about the birds and the bees.

My husband didn’t ‘babysit’ our children. We ‘job briefed’ about what had been going on and what the kids needed. I waved goodbye, peeled children off me, and blew kisses as I hurried out the door to my coffee date with the ladies or shopping…alone.

“Tag! You’re it!” is a game we played when one of us had to go on to something other than parenting for a while. It was a hand off that spoke of confidence in the other team player. Confidence they could do the job while the other player wasn’t present.

But when the time comes, why is it so hard to watch our children go? Is it just the change? The fear we won’t be there to prevent mistakes? The fear we as parents didn’t do all we could and should have done for this child to function in society on his own? I think we will always feel we could have done more, but did we do everything we possibly could have with the skills and resources we had? I know my husband and I can say, yes, we really did try, yet often failed, to do the best we could. We’ve done our job. Keeping the child at home longer would only appease our inevitable and impending feelings of loss. Right?

After all, we know in our heads this isn’t a loss, it’s a start. A start of a new beginning of a bright future (I believe, I believe!). College is the place where our children grow without our direct contact. College picks up where parents leave off to shape and mold our children to be successful, upstanding citizens.

Home from the trip to college, we glance in his bedroom and notice a few things he left behind. Remnants of his high school days. Newspaper clippings, trophies, past Christmas gifts given to him not needed in his dorm room. His clothes and shoes are gone and his comforter and pillow are not there. It’s a forlorn room—just like my heart. It doesn’t look like he forgot anything he needs.

I was impressed with the welcoming atmosphere at the college, the well-planned orientation, and the personable staff that answered all our questions. But there was a couple things we forgot. We forgot to ‘job brief.’ We forgot to tell them he likes his bedroom cool at night, he needs a regular schedule to function at his best, and his favorite food is pizza.

But mostly, we forgot to say, “Tag! You’re it!”

“We need this exit,” I abruptly told my husband. We had been deep into a friendly discussion and, not realizing the turn was so close, I had failed to give him my usual warning time.

“You’re wrong!” was his emphatic answer as he drove right passed the exit. Our friendly conversation was forgotten, the mood changed in an instant.

My husband and I were in the car—again—this time, on our way to Georgia to help our daughter-in-law settle into a new apartment while our son was otherwise engaged with the military. Thankfully, she was following behind us in another vehicle rather than listening to the debate in our car.

“I’m the one with the map!” I reminded him.

“We haven’t even gotten to the connecting highway, yet!” my momentarily confused husband disputed.

I explained to him, most emphatically, how mistaken he was.

He still didn’t believe me.

Then I got quiet and changed my tactic. I looked down at the map and started reading off the names of the roads we would be coming to next. Due to the fact I haven’t taken the time to get my glasses updated for far too long, he knows I’m not reading the signs along the road. I can’t even read them until we’re practically a car length away from them. This has, of course, contributed to our problems with me as navigator of this trip. But what would you rather have: a semi-blind person navigating or driving through unfamiliar, winding, hilly roads? My husband, wisely, designated me as trip-long navigator; I thought he’d at least trust me as such. After all, I trusted his driving.

Because the first 18 years of life trains a person to the unique way his or her family communicates, conversation styles brought into a marriage are often very different. Discussing daily activities and various topics at a healthy, marital level is an acquired skill that has not always been easy for my husband and me. For one thing, my husband understands his own feelings much better than I understand mine. He can tell when the temperature in a room plummets drastically, and he often presses, “Are you upset about something?” and I respond, “Yes!” Often, his next question is, “What about?” my reply is something akin to, “I don’t know, yet; I’ll let you know when I do.” This, of course, frustrates him. I didn’t even understand this was a problem until we’d been married a couple of years. Withdrawing and isolating had been modeled for me. Isn’t that how everyone communicates displeasure with their spouse? I thought so. My husband kindly informed me it wasn’t the way we would continue to share our feelings. I had to learn to communicate with words rather than punish him with my silence. So, on this day, like a good wife, I was talking….

“Next we will come across Highway 17, and then we’ll come across….”

“Okay, okay. You were right,” my husband conceded as he saw proof of our whereabouts, “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

I accepted his apology and reached for my purse at my feet for my cell phone. I was going to call our daughter-in-law in the car behind us to inform her we’d be taking the next exit and changing directions (not for the first time on this trip, I might add). But, my husband saw what I was planning to do and quickly accessed his Blue Tooth attached to his ear. His silver blue eyes sparkled as he smiled and gave me a satisfied look that celebrated his quickness with his phone and also said he was quite happy to give our daughter-in-law his account of the turn around rather than mine.

“Hi! We’re going to be taking the next exit. We will be turning around and going back to catch an exit we missed.”

He was quiet while she spoke on the other end of the phone line, but I later found out she asked, “How far are we going back?”

To which he responded, “About the length of an argument.”

Funny. I wish all arguments could be cleared up in such a short length. Exiting arguments sure would be easier.

Dirty and exhausted after helping our son and daughter-in-law move, I heard a song on the radio yesterday that immediately reminded me of our wedding. I don’t recall the name of the song, but a few of the lyrics stick out.

“From this day forward…I’ll be at your side forever…”

Twenty-nine years ago, I was focusing on my smiling, handsome groom as my dad escorted me down the aisle. My thoughts ranged from, “the day is finally here!” to “we’re going to raise a family together!” to “what is it we do on a honeymoon?”

Despite the years and the numerous times we’ve wondered what it is we should do next, my groom and I are still happy with each other. When we’re remembering the good times, 29 years seems to have gone so fast. When we focus on the less than ideal periods in our life, the years, in retrospect, seem to have crawled agonizingly slow. But somehow 29 years have all blurred together—it’s the history of our marriage from day one to today.

Do you remember your wedding day? Do you recall what your expectations for your marriage were?

H. Norman Wright, author of Before You Say I Do notes that most couples go into marriage with very high expectations:

“I want marriage to fulfill all my desires. I want security. I want someone to take care of me. I want intellectual stimulation. I want immediate economic security.”

Yet, after the honeymoon is over, it doesn’t take long to discover we get into trouble when our dream list starts with the words, “I want, I want, I want….” If we are focusing on just our own wants and desires, it’s a self-seeking list. Why get married and drag someone else along as we pursue our own dreams without any regard to theirs? Or, marry a spouse to use him or her to achieve our own greedy goals? Ideally, when we join together as a couple, we unite our dreams and goals mutually and walk side-by-side toward those objectives.

Common goals couples often pursue are top careers, new cars, homeownership and children. As time passes, our goals often change. But who do we choose to take this life-long trip with? How do we choose?

In the comic strip Hagar the Horrible, Hagar’s wife, Helga, is on the mountain top one day, praying in solitude. She pleads in her prayers, “Remember when I was younger I asked you to send me a husband? I gave you a list of the traits he should have. I said he should be brave and kind and loving. And you sent me a husband who is all those things. And I thank you! But now I have a question…is it too late to add to the list?”

Fairy tales depict the prince on his white charger, carrying his fair maiden off to the castle to forever dote on her. The sun is shining in the crystal clear skies, animals are smiling as they run alongside the happy couple, and birds are singing a lilting “life’s gonna be good forever more!” song. The scenario has been repeated so often, viewers grow up unaware it’s actually a fairy tale.

Naïve is the person who believes they are going to wake up each morning for the rest of their natural life and look over at their still beautiful, forever young, in excellent shape spouse and smile with deep attraction and appreciation. Pause. Rewind. At closer look, we don’t live in fairy tales, life is much more like a reality show, with all of its ugly emotions and haphazard chaos included.

So what do we need to do to keep our own reality show from being taken off the air? If those things that initially attract us to each other, like beauty and youth, don’t stay forever, what is it that will keep us going?

The answer is a simple ten letter word: commitment. Feelings change, youth is not forever, careers end, cars rust and houses decay. Those goals we focus on initially all seem to fall away. Yet, by choosing to stay committed to each other regardless of our stage of happiness can be a great common denominator. Picking a mate that understands feelings will ebb and flow but commitment is an unwavering requirement is a mate you can count on in the good times and the not so good times. It’s the ultimate love…spelled c-o-m-m-i-t-m-e-n-t.

We do need to pray before we select a spouse and be in constant prayer for our spouse as we promise to stay with our chosen mate. It’s that committed love we celebrate year after year—no matter how tired we are.

Ironing is not my favorite household chore. It is a task that is tedious and never ending. Today, however, I was thrilled to do it. I ironed my fourth graduation gown. No, I am not a highly educated person, repeatedly reaching higher for more degrees, just highly productive. Our fourth child of five graduates from high school tomorrow. It is an accomplishment that is a milestone for our son, for our family, and for our marriage.

When this son was 2½ years old, he was diagnosed with autism. We were told he may never speak and most likely have to be institutionalized. Obviously, this was not a problem we had foreseen the day we walked down the aisle.

As a person goes to the doctor with a list of symptoms, seeking a diagnosis, the hope is to come out with a quick cure or a concrete plan toward an eventual cure with hopes to return to a life of normalcy. The diagnosis of autism for our son did not change his symptoms, and we were not given a sure plan to change his behaviors. He still woke up during the night screaming in terror, often two to three times a night. He still perseverated on odd objects like unsharpened pencils, the ceiling fan, and the morning’s newspaper. He still didn’t understand what we were trying to communicate to him. Did he even know we loved him?

This time brought a lot of confusion in our lives, and it caused stress in our marriage. My husband is a matter-of-fact kind of guy. He was sure everything would be fine. I needed to grieve the loss of a dream of a healthy, productive child. My husband was happy with whatever decisions I made for our son’s education. I researched, discussed with professionals and read as much as I could to educate myself so we could make wise decisions about our son’s options. My husband led simple, heartfelt prayers, “Lord, help us make the right choices….”

In the meantime, my husband traveled out of state every few days with his job, and would be gone two to three days at a time. I would be at home alone with our four boys, focusing on surviving each day with the myriad of challenges we were facing. Lack of sleep, lack of self-care, and continued stress contributed to my experiencing a deep, dark depression. The depression, in turn, provided a total lack of desire to participate in any marital rapport.

I got a bit frustrated with his lack of involvement in the decision making process. He was frustrated with my lack of interest in our marriage. Did it stop us from holding onto our dream of being married for life? Not at all. Going our separate ways because we didn’t like each other at the time was never an option.

We all handle difficult times in our lives differently; a big key for us was allowing each other to respond in their own way without criticism but also make plans together to take action toward solving the problems.

Many parents, understandably, want to know why their child has autism. But Jesus directs us to look beyond “why” toward “so that.” John 9:3 reads, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned…but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.”

Could the work of God be displayed in our son’s life if we hadn’t stayed together as man and wife? I have no doubt. But our lives are richer and fuller because we have fought the good fight, survived the battles together, and moved on to the inevitable challenges down the road. It’s life. It’s marriage.

The odds were against us. Some professionals quote statistics that 73% of marriages which carry the added burden of children with disabilities will fail. Tomorrow we will rejoice in victory as our son reaches for his diploma on the dais in his crisply ironed graduation gown that he has succeeded where few predicted he would; our marriage survived a season in our lives that seemed tedious and never ending. A few tears will undoubtedly be shed as we celebrate our son’s milestone. After all, graduation is a time for celebrating accomplishments. Not just of our children’s, but our own, as well.