Seasons

I have ten minutes left in the morning before I have to dash out the door and head to work. He’s sitting on the couch reading a commentary (probably on Romans), his empty cereal bowl rests on the coffee table in front of him and the fresh scent of his cologne hangs in the air. I could empty the dishwasher or double check my inbox one more time or fold that last bit of laundry; but, instead, I find that open spot next to him on the couch and settle in. His hand finds mine and he tells me about how he’s been praying for me and how he’s so glad he married me and all I feel is wonder.  Wonder and gratitude. What outrageous Grace is this that I can call him mine. 

In what very little I know of marriage, having only lived it for four years thus far, it seems that marriages often go through seasons of change. For us, there have been seasons of inexplicable conflict, quick criticism, irritability, and general frustration. (Most often due to my selfishness) And there have been seasons of equally inexplicable peace and oneness, ridiculous fun and laughter, passionate love, and sweet, sweet friendship…  Most of the time this whole thing is really easy, and sometimes it is really hard and always it is really, really worth it.

I know a time will come when other distractions - in the form of heavier workloads, busier schedules or perhaps even diapers - will plunge us into new seasons of spread-thinness and exhaustion and leave little time for quiet mornings on the couch holding hands. So today, I am thankful for this season. For the respite and the shoring up of resources and the mysterious oneness that marriage brings. For the man whose hand I hold and whose prayers I hear whispered in the early mornings and whose warmth I find in the late nights. I’m thankful for the Grace that holds us together on the days when everything else seems to be trying to tear us apart. And I am so, so thankful that I am his.

It Gets Better

Yesterday after work, we caught a late lunch at a local fire oven pizza place in northwest Spokane. After lunch in an effort to soak up the stunning fall colors, Cole took me to the nearby state park - where he proposed nearly four years ago.

The air was crisp and the colors breathtaking as we walked up the path to the scenic overlook.  He held me close to stave off the chill - just like he did on that January day four years ago.  We stood there marveling at the view, the colors, and the journey we've been on these last four years.  He quoted the poem that he wrote for me for the proposal, we tried to find the exact location where he dropped to his knee, and we retraced and reminisced every step of that sweet, sweet day.  

We got back in the car to head home, and with every curve of the winding road back to the highway, I thought back to what it was like, driving those roads with a new title, fiancée, calling all of our family members, and just wondering aloud over and over again, "We're getting married.  We're getting married!" The details of that day are so ingrained in my memory, and I hope I never forget.

As we stood in that place where, almost four years ago, Cole asked me to be his wife, I could not help but to reflect on how much has changed since that day.  Standing there, with tears streaming down our faces in the icy January wind, we had no idea what lay ahead.  We couldn't anticipate the challenges, we couldn't fathom the joy.  We knew it wouldn't be easy, but - at that point - we didn't know just how much we didn't know.

I knew that I loved the feeling of his strong hand in mine; now, I know better the source of the strength and commitment behind that hand. I knew the thrill of the romance at being pursued by a wonderful, godly man; now, I know the thrill of the romance at being known, so totally known. I knew that he made me laugh; now, I know of the deep, deep joy of sharing my life with this man. I knew that he loved me then; now, I know better how he sacrifices daily for my good, often at great cost to his convenience. I knew that he loved God; now, I know the early mornings or late nights of long reading and quiet prayer and the deep-seeded yearning to discern and do His will. I knew that I couldn't wait to be his wife; now, I know that I wake nearly every morning and marvel at God's grace in giving me another day as Mrs. Cole Boboth.

I look back on that couple, standing at that overlook, giddy with excitement, and I can't help but laugh at how grown up we thought we were, at how we thought we loved each other, at how little we truly knew. I'm sure, years from now, I will look back on my 25 year old self and laugh for the very same reasons; but, this I know: marriage is harder than I ever thought it would be, marriage is infinitely sweeter than I ever thought it would be.  And, my friends, if these past four years are any indication, it only gets better.

Today.

Thankful.  So very thankful.

My phone beeped at me this morning. It was telling me that, in 39 days, we’ll be packing up our life here and opening a new chapter. Thirty-nine days.  As that *deadline* grows closer, the time seems to move even more quickly. (like, didn't I just write THIS?) It’s as though I have blinked and our time here is slowly (or not so slowly) nearing an end.

There are so many things that I wish I had done, so many relationships into which I wish I would have invested more time, so many boxes left unchecked.  And yet, in this moment, all I feel is thankful.  So overwhelmingly thankful.  I am thankful for the people and the places and the opportunities and the love. 

These people who have embraced us so openly, these people who have loved us so readily, these people who have become friends-that-are-really-family.  These places that we've explored, these places that we've discovered, these places that we've claimed as our own.  These opportunities that we've been offered, these opportunities that have grown us, these opportunities that have changed us. This all has changed us.

And the love.  The love that comes from growing up together in a new place.  This place that saw our first married argument.  These walls that have seen the tears, both in joy and sorrow.  This kitchen that has witnessed our best, tenderest, and, yes, even most raucous dance parties.  This little place that has held us as we have experimented our way through hospitality. 

So today, yes, I am sad as I anticipate this goodbye.  But, more than anything, my heart feels as though it might explode from thankfulness. We have been so richly blessed in our time here; it is overwhelming.  I sit at my desk throughout the day and marvel at the gift I have in those with whom I work.  I sit in church on Sunday looking around the room at the strangers-turned-family, and my heart overflows.  I look at my husband, this incredible man with whom I've been blessed to travel through life, and I cannot help but to thank God for His grace in my life.

Oof, May is coming faster than I can anticipate.  My heart has been inflicted with a serious case of denial.  Three years is more than long enough to put down roots, love people hard, and settle in.  Hold on, heart, this ain't gonna be easy.

PS - hopefully, on the other side of this, this blog will hold happier, less dramatic musings.  Just bear with my overly-dramaticism in the meantime.  Love, love, love.

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Accustomed

Two months into marriage, I wondered if I'd ever have a full night's sleep again.  Not having lived together before we got married, both of us had an adjustment period of sorts as we learned to live - and, yes, sleep - with one another.  At some point nearly every night I was awakened by either a slumberous slap or elbow to the head.  If it wasn't that, it was his tossing and turning or the way he breathed in his sleep that kept my sleep at bay.  While every sleepless moment was completely worth it just to lay beside him, my sanity was beginning to wane.

***

I got exactly 2.33 hours of sleep last night.  I know, because I was completely unsuccessful in avoiding eye contact with the mocking clock - ticking off the moments until I had to wake and face an already-full day.  Suddenly, alone in my sterile hotel room, I was painfully aware of the absence of that familiar cadence of his breathing that lulls me to sleep each night.  The cold, still, empty left side of the bed was suddenly cavernously obvious.   I tossed and turned fitfully, willing sleep to come.  The only answer I got was the beep of the clock, reminding me that I was now one hour closer to dawn.

***

One night those newlywed sleepless nights ended.  I don't know when, for it certainly didn't announce itself; but one day I simply woke up and realized it had been a restful night, then a week of restful nights. And now, it seems, I just can't sleep without him.

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Last First Day

Growing up, I loved the first day of school. The night before, I would lay out the outfit that had been carefully selected weeks in advance, I would triple-check my alarm to make sure I was leaving myself enough time to get ready, then I would lay in bed restlessly in anticipation of what the next day, and year, would bring.

Every year, my mom made a big deal of the first day of school: cooking a special breakfast and then posing us on our front porch with backpacks and lunch boxes for the annual picture.  That whole picture part, we kids could have done without, but it was all for tradition.  Alas, the older I get, I realize more and more that I am - happily - turning into my mother.  And, so, the first day of school picture tradition continues with our family.

Today was Cole's last first day of school. Last last last.  Ever. Yes, technically, he has another year before he graduates, but that last year will be all clinical and this is the last day that he goes to class for the first time and so I'm allowed to be sentimental, okay?  (Following me, here?)  This is his 20th and final first day of school.  It is hard to believe that we're over halfway through his grad school career.

Today, as I headed out the door for work, I forgot to snap that traditional first day picture.  (much to his relief, no doubt)  But, I can assure you, he was the most handsome guy I've ever seen sporting that White Coat. (Or any coat, for that matter.)

So, Cole, on your last first day, know that I am so incredibly proud of you and of all that you have and will accomplish.  You are an incredible student, an amazing husband, and will be the most wonderful doctor.  You have met every challenge with a grace that blows my mind; and you balance your roles as student and husband impeccably.  I love you, I love you, I love you.

Here's to another great year!

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48 Hours

It wasn't long.  Not long at all.  In fact, it went by all too fast for my taste.  This last weekend was incredible, friends.  Seriously.  My feeble attempt to recount the weekend will - in no way - do justice to the thrill, excitement, and sheer bliss that it was.  Ladies and Gentlemen, this weekend was nothing short of epic.

This past weekend, we celebrated our second anniversary.  Yes, it was nearly a month late, but perhaps that is a true testament of the pace of our lives these days.   Anywho, Cole had just finished his finals for Summer Term so we had double the reason to celebrate; and celebrate we did.  (and we checked a LOT off of our Forest Grove Bucket List!!)

We had the entire weekend planned.  Saturday dawned bright and warm, and found us on our way to Tree-to-Tree Adventure Park.  Okay, guys, this place is amazing!  It is a multi-level high ropes course, and we've been wanting to visit since we moved here.  We spent over four hours there, traversing the various elements and courses.  It was so. much. fun.  (and, coincidentally, an incredible core workout!  We're still sore!)

We walked across balance beams suspended, swung across rope swings, jumped from platform to platform, teetered across tight ropes... all while 40+ feet in the air.  And, the highlight for me, there was zipline after zipline at the end of each element.  So. Much. Fun.  We haven't laughed so hard in a long time.

Obviously, after the 'workout' we were more than ready for a good meal.  So we stopped off at Famous Dave's for some solid barbecue fare.

After eating more than our fill of ribs and pulled chicken sandwiches, we headed to the batting cages to hit around.  It was so much fun to see Cole doing what he loves.  He was clearly in his happy place.  And I, in mine by his side, was content to swing away at the *slower* softball pitches. 

After the busy, hot morning, we were ready to get cleaned up.  We had rented a hotel room in downtown Portland for the night for our little get-away.  We cleaned up, caught a few Olympics highlights and headed out for dinner....  we decided to take a detour through the Rose Gardens.  Cole was wonderfully patient as I played around with settings on my camera and clicked away at all the beautiful flowers.   We had barely set foot in the Gardens when we heard music.  After following the sound, we happened upon an opera in the park!!!  So. Cool.  Seriously.    So we had a soundtrack to our evening walk through the gardens.  Stroll, Click, Aria.  It was heavenly.

Perhaps the most wonderful thing to me was the proximity of these gardens to downtown.  We were literally in the middle of downtown, yet we felt as though we were miles away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

Still not hungry (after our ginormous lunch BBQ feast), we headed to Henry's for appetizers and drinks.  Now, friends, I'm not sure what it is about Henry's, but we had the most fabulous time there.  We talked for nearly 3 hours... and talked and talked and talked.  After a crazy-busy summer, this reconnect was, perhaps, the highlight of my weekend.  But the Gorgonzola fries were a close second.

Sunday morning was spent lazily enjoying every minute of quiet that we could.  Then, we headed out to conquer more of our Bucket List and finally partake in the Portland ritual that is Voodoo Donuts.  We spent nearly 45 minutes in line (in 90+ degree heat, no less) to procure the famous donuts.  (I'll let you in on a little secret that may very well disqualify me from being a true Portland-er:  we didn't think they were all that great.)  Well, at least, not worth the long wait in the scorching heat.  ;)  But, for me, it was worth it to check another thing off the List.

 By this point, I was becoming painfully aware of how food-centric our weekend had become.  But can you blame us?  Portland is a hotbed for all kinds of incredible culinary delights!  And, considering how shamefully rarely we get into town, we had to capitalize on this opportunity!  So, for lunch, we grabbed a burger at Little Big Burger.  And, guys,  if you're ever in Portland, eat here.  It's fabulous. And fresh.  And their fries are fried in truffle oil, so you can feel sophisticated.

 So, the big shebang of the weekend was the Timbers game on Sunday.  I had bought Cole tickets for an anniversary gift, and we were SO excited to finally experience our first MLS game.  And it certainly did not disappoint.  While I could have done without the 101⁰ weather and the near-heat stroke, it was so much fun.  

Like I said, words nor pictures can do justice to this weekend.  But for those family and friends far away, I felt like I should document. :)  This weekend was truly a breath of fresh air and a sweet reminder of how much we love being together. 

I couldn't be more thankful for this man with whom I have been blessed.  He truly knows me better than anyone else and continues to be a student of my heart.  I know that I certainly finished the weekend feeling more known and more loved.  What a blessing indeed - far beyond anything I could deserve.  What boundless Grace.  

What an incredible 48 hours, what an incredible lifetime ahead!

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Two Years

   

 

 

I can hardly believe it has been two years; and what a wonderful two years it has been.  So fun, so crazy, so goofy, so busy, so blessed. So very thankful for the treasure I've been given in Cole.  Such outrageous Grace!



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In Appreciation

For all the big things and all the little things, my sweet man never ceases to amaze me.  After I received a 2nd degree burn over the weekend, Cole has patiently treated my burn with application after application of aloe.  Before I have the chance to wince like a wimp when I reach for something, he is there to help.  All of a sudden, the most basic things like doing my hair or fixing dinner have become extremely painful.  (And between you and me, he's not all that bad at pulling my hair back into a ponytail - for a first-timer. ;)

While I know that this is a minor discomfort and that there are a million ways in which I could feel more miserable, this man goes above and beyond to try and make me feel comfortable.  And he never underestimates the power of a few flowers and a sweet card.

I am so thankful for this man who works so very hard during the day and prays every night that God will show him specific ways in which to love me.  This is far more than I could ever deserve.  What incredible love, what overwhelming Grace.



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The Little Things

It's the way he moves the potted tulips to the sunlight during the day.

It's the way he wipes down the counter.

It's the way he always cooks my fried egg a little longer.

It's the way he holds my hand when we pray.

It's the way he kisses me when we're done praying.

It's the way he opens the door for me.  Everytime.

It's the way he meticulously dries the dishes.

It's the way he makes the bed because he knows I feel better when it's made.

It's the way he closes the shower curtain because, as silly as it may seem to anyone else, he knows it matters to me.

It's the way he takes out the garbage. Every week.

It's the way he dances a little bit after the first bite at dinner.

It's the way he greets me when I walk through the door.

It's the way he loves people.  Without reservation, without pretense, without agenda.


It's all these little things and it's all these big things and it's things that can't be put into words and it's things that aren't even things at all.  This man has captured my heart.

May I never take this gift for granted.



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Valentine's Day

This was going to be a post about Valentine's Day.  I had drafted a nice little dissertation and rant about the things that I love and the things that I loathe about the holiday.  It was nice. But, then I reread it and I annoyed myself.  Does that ever happen to you?  I get sick of my voice, or in this case, my writing.  So I erased it.

Don't get me wrong, I loved the flowers and the gifts and the wonderful evening that the Mr. had planned and brilliantly executed.  I just didn't feel the need to recount every moment, because there was something more important that occurred during our date.

We had finished our dinner early and were walking down Main Street through the sleepy downtown, ducking in and out of smallish shops on our way to the dinner theater when it hit me.  An overwhelming feeling of, well, I'll call it "love" but it was more than that.

It was comfort.  It was security.  It was knowing that the man that held my hand, holds my heart, and I am safe.  Couples who have been married much longer than we may laugh, shake their heads, and roll their eyes at this, for they have known it for ages.  But, bear with me... I'm discovering.

I'm discovering that butterflies are slowly replaced with comfort.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking about letting ourselves go and ceasing to shower and living off of Cheetos.  And, fear not, I still get butterflies.  I still go weak at the knees with one look from him. I still get all dizzy-like when I stop and think of the treasure I have in him. And I still really like kissing him. But, the butterflies now have a companion.

This companion is a comfort that knows that I am known.  This comfort has replaced the "I hope I look okay in this outfit," and the "I hope he thinks I'm funny," and the "I wonder if he likes me as much I am like him..." and the "Is he going to propose tonight?" butterflies.  This man knows me and still chooses to spend his life with me and I have never known a comfort like this and I trust it will only grow with time. It may sound unromantic, but, between you and me, from one uber romantic to another, it's not.  It's definitely not.

I can tell you that our Valentine's Day date was wonderful.  Cole planned a spectacular evening, and we had a wonderful time, and I felt extremely loved.  I can also tell you that I would have felt equally as loved and as known had we stayed home in our sweats and played Scrabble. (Mostly because I would have beat him mercilessly)

I love Valentine's Day; but I also love knowing that my man does not need a holiday to celebrate us.  He doesn't need an excuse to bring home flowers, or make the bed, or leave love notes everywhere, or take me out on the town.  He does that on a Thursday... or a Monday... or in the middle of the day... just because.

I love getting dressed up and spending a night out; but I also love knowing that he finds me just as beautiful in slippers as he does in high heels.

I love getting flowers or thoughtful gifts; but I also love hearing him pray for me, or coming home to a clean kitchen, or listening to him make up songs to sing to me. I simply love the way he loves me.

And, honestly, I'm learning how little I know of love. But, I have a gracious Teacher and a willing lab partner and we're all in this together for His ultimate glory and our eternal good.


Happy Friday, Friends...



PS - Dear Miss Hicks (high school English teacher),  Please forgive the inordinate number of times that I began sentences with conjunctions.  I know you taught me better than that.  I'll learn someday.

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Valentine's Eve

Warning: Read no further if you're too entirely tired of hearing how wonderful my husband is.


Still with me?  Okay!

Brief Review:  So, on Friday, as if I could forget just how much my husband chooses to love me on a practical, daily basis, he took me - on his own initiative - on a date night to the opening night of The Vow (perhaps the girliest chick flick of all time) just because he knew I had wanted to see it.  In case my memory needed any jogging about how wonderful he is, he babysat two kiddos with me on Saturday night.  Watching him with kids = major swoonage.  And, after working all day on Sunday, I came home to him making dinner for me with strict instructions to stay on the couch.

Then, today happened.

Today was nothing special - just another day at the office.  Cole had class in the morning and was running errands in the afternoon.  After a long day at work, I arrived home and opened the door to this:

Hand-cut hearts that say, "Why I Love My Bride, Laura..."

 He had cut out individual hearts and stuck them ALL.OVER.THE.HOUSE.  with reasons of why he loves me.  Can you say "Swoon"?

 Yes, the one on the lamp says: "For the way you light up my life."  ♥   

 "For watching Sports with me."

 "The way you keep me warm."

 "How you enjoy our life together."

 "How you are my home."

 "For the way you smell."  - on a candle.  Clever man.

 "For the way you cook"

 "For helping me see the importance of garlic."  True story.

 "For being My Love." - on the painting of the place where he proposed.

 "How you took my silly last name." 

 "For your loving heart."

 Every.Where.

I am absolutely speechless.  I stood in the center of our living room with my hand over my mouth just turning in slow circles taking it all in.  I'm certain that I still haven't read all of them.  I'm completely overwhelmed.  This man knows me and knows how to make me feel loved.

Even on a non-holiday.

Well, I'm smitten.


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Friday's Letter

Dear Beloved,
There are so many days when it's all I can do to drag myself up the stairs at the end of the long day. There are so many times when I feel spread so thin, I have nothing left to give.  There are so many times when I feel like I'm nearing the end of my rope, searching for a knot to hold onto.

And then, you are there.  At the top of the stairs, at the end of my rope: you are there - loving me, encouraging me, feeding me with Hope for tomorrow.  You love me with patience and you love me with selflessness and you love me when no words come and you love me when I am unlovely and you love me and you love me...

You love me when I allow the urgent to supersede the important; and you remind me of the important when I lose sight. You are my safe place.  I love this forever-walk with my hand in yours - we can go anywhere.

19 months is not nearly long enough. I love you.

All is Grace.


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Three Years Ago...

... this happened.

And he's been sweeping me off my feet ever since.

Thanks for 3 incredible years, Cole!  Here's to a flobbity-jillion more!
I love you to the moon & I'm so thankful to be yours.


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On January 17th, 2012...

Remember that fun surprise I told you about on Monday that I had for the Mr.?  (If not, read THIS.)  Well, it was a smashing success!

When I got home from work yesterday, I decorated our dining room to replicate the restaurant we went to on our first date.  I had ordered some sushi from a local restaurant...  and I ordered the same rolls that we had ordered that night, three years ago.   And, after MUCH searching, I was able to find the same kind of Japanese beer that the Mr. had ordered on our first date.

Then, because I'm super cheesy awesome, I had set up a miniature golf course in our living room; and after dinner, the Mr. cleaned my clock in a round of Putt-putt. Just like he did 3 years ago.

Then he kissed me real good.

And he definitely didn't do that 3 years ago.


Happy Wednesday, Friends!!


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