I Didn't Sign Up For This, But I Know Someone Who Did...

I look at him with bleary eyes.

His eyes are asking the same question as mine.

Are we going to make it?

We were just dating, traveling the world,

living out of backpacks to share the gospel.

We were just engaged, warming muffins,

and pulling espresso shots for our regulars.

We were just married, renovating this basement,

calling it our starter home.

We were getting eight hours of sleep at night,

talking for hours, uninterrupted.

Curled up close, just us, in our own bed.

“Overstimulated” and “overtired” weren’t even in our vocabulary.

We came home from the mission field because we couldn’t reconcile serving foreigners when our own family needed us.

We moved in with his family to help them care for their health, and their home.

We started businesses to work hard and save for our dreams.

Four years and two kids later, here we remain.

In our basement bungalow.

Completely unsure how we’ll survive another sleepless night.

Baffled at how much is required to raise babies, manage a home, run companies, serve our families, stay active and healthy, endure diagnoses, nurture our marriage and friendships. And so much more.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and think terrible things. I see extra weight, stretch marks, heavy eyes and think “This isn’t fair, I’m only twenty-three.”

Sometimes I look around, at all that must be done, and all that is required of me and think “This isn’t fair, I’m only me.”

I am a young woman, planted, trying to blossom. But the soil of grief is heavy. There is a tangle of thorns snaked across the surface, daring me to even try.

He is an older man, pounded by grief but seasoned with joy. Worn from worry, but stronger than ever. He struggles to see it, but I don’t.

We are grieved by all that we didn’t know this would be.

We are pressing upward, towards the warmth, desperate for a drink. Sometimes weary of trying.

Are we going to make it?

Sometimes we look around and think fruitless thoughts. “We didn’t sign up for this.”

But when our life takes the poetic shape of thorns, sun, water…we are reminded of the One who did sign up for all of this.

Jesus.

Made like us in every way, so that we could become like Him, in every way.

Son of God.

The fullness of Glory, made incarnate.

Living water.

Crown of thorns.

Acquainted with the grief of humanity.

Victorious over suffering, death, for eternity.

Our propitiation, our High Priest, forever.

When I look to Him, I see His own flesh, ripped on my behalf. My stretch marks don’t seem so bad.

When I look to scripture, I see that He has already done what I could never do. He has fulfilled every requirement. I am free to actually enjoy this life He’s given me to steward, by His strength. With love, duty becomes pleasurable. And I know Love himself! My to-do list doesn’t look so long.

When I look to his death, I see the crown of thorns pressed into His innocent head. I see the blood that was shed for me. I see how His love for me compelled Him to surrender. My grief doesn’t feel so heavy.

Sometimes it takes a shaking, to see clearly.

When angels pulled my husband from beneath a flipped machine that mathematically should have pinned and crushed him, we could see clearer.

All of this is a gift.

We are free, here and now, to enjoy all of this.

No matter what circumstances we face, or what conditions we are subject to…

Jesus is enough!

For me, for you, for all people, for all time.

So we will rise to meet another day, with praise on our lips and trust in our hearts.

We will snuggle and disciple and guide these babies by His Spirit, loving them like He loves us.

Clinging to each other in the holy sacrament of marriage, as we cling to the goodness and promises of Christ.

I pray you cling to Him, too.