A Series on Struggles: Holding on and Letting Go

I have a really hard time letting go of my past. I don't know why I can't just move on from things. They stick in my brain like boots stuck in thick, goopy mud. I could get the boots out if I pulled really hard, but then I'd have to carry them far, far away from the mud to sit them down. Every now and again, I succeed in pulling the boots out and feel victorious, but I never carry them far enough from the mud, and they always sink back down into the sticky abyss.

I've mentioned in a previous blog how I sometimes make up facts and then choose to believe them, or I let my imagination go a little crazy, and the stories that I invent become reality for a few moments. This also applies to "my past." I like to think I remember things accurately, but more often than not, I'll remember an event, and then remember the emotional reaction I had to that event, which is always coupled with the "story" I add to the event (of what could have happened to cause the event, of what I don't know that really happened, etc.). Because of this, past events are generally more potent than they should be in my brain. This causes the mud to be stickier. Goopier. Harder to break away from.

I've struggled with this my entire life (or at least as long as I can remember). Generally, the struggles revolve around whatever is most important to me. I constantly worry that whatever it is that I love (my husband, my family, my friends, my pup, my writing, my knitting, etc.) will somehow reject me. Now, I know that writing and knitting, things I have control over, can't reject me, but I can really, really suck at doing them, which in my brain is a form of rejection. I'm always second-guessing the love of others toward me. Because of that, I'm always second-guessing their intentions, their words, their actions. I want to hold on to the things I love SO tightly, because I'm scared they'll vanish.

So, I hold on to things I love and the things that cause me pain (past things, silly things, imaginary things, misunderstood things), yet, I need to let go of those things that cause me pain, and I need to, if not let go of, loosen my hold a bit on the things I love. You know that old saying: "If you love someone, set them free. If they come back they're yours; if they don't they never were." (Richard Bach)

I need to learn to trust that the people I love, who love me back, aren't going to fly away if I let them go. I need to trust that I don't have to be perfect, that I don't have to apologize for every imagined slight, that I don't have to try so hard to make them love, because they already do.

By that same token, I need to learn to let go of things that don't need to be held on to. I need to rip my proverbial boots out of the mud and take them far, far, far away. Then I need to wash them, dry them, and wear them only on solid ground.

I think it's important to remember your past. I think it's important to know your limitations and the things that set you off, but it's just as important not to let those things have power over you. I want to be able to look at the things that make me feel bad, make me feel powerless, make me feel like I won't ever amount to anything, and walk away, because I want to know that those things aren't truths.

Tomorrow begins a new year. I want to begin that year walking away from the mud. I want to walk beside the people and things I love, and trust that, just because I'm not holding on to them as tightly as I can, when I turn to look, they'll all still be there.

A Series on Struggles: Vanity

I write a lot about my struggles, but generally it's in the context of something else. As a form of self-therapy, and as a way to really confront my demons in a setting where I can't lie to myself or hide from truths, I plan to write about them, one at a time, over the next few weeks.

First up: Vanity.

I can't speak for every little girl, but a lot of little girls dream of growing up to be princesses. I never dreamed of being a princess really, but I did dream of growing up and being beautiful and tough (the kind of girl who was no doubt stunning, but could also kick your butt if the need arose).

I distinctly remember, when I was very young, trying to imagine what my adult self would look like. Would I be tall and thin? Would I develop womanly curves? Would I have a face--big eyes, big lips, the perfect nose--that I thought the ideal woman should have? I worried that I would grow up with none of these features. I was really, really scared that I would grow up and not be beautiful.

That was at least twenty-years ago, but I still carry that baggage. I still look in the mirror, and some part of me hopes that the features that I so desperately wish I had would somehow have appeared. I think that if I eat the right things, exercise the right way, put on the right makeup (not too little, not too much), and wear the right clothes, then maybe this dream of "ideal beauty" will become a reality. Sometimes, if I don't look in the mirror too often, I even convince myself that something has shifted and it's become a reality.

But, always, I do look in the mirror, and I see all these things that I'm not happy with. (I want to say that the things I'm about to say are NOT so that people will try and compliment me. If I'm going to deal with these things, I'd prefer it if people didn't refer to them at all. But I think it's important for me, if I'm going to really deal with this, to be transparent, even when it's unpleasant.)

I don't like my profile. My nose often looks nonexistent and my chin slopes down to my neck so that it looks like I don't even have a chin. Straight on, my face is very round. Due to some nerve damage as a baby, my face is just uneven enough to be noticeable. I can't control the muscles on one side of the lower half of my face at all. When I smile, I'm all teeth, and my lips all but disappear. If I stand up really straight, and pull my belly button toward my spine (like I'm told to in yoga), I'm sometimes almost happy with my body, but the minute I see a photo where I'm not actively doing these things, I cringe. I'm not nearly as heavy as I once was, but I'm all squish. And even with the weight loss, my hips and shoulders are wider than I'd like, since I'm so short. Even my fingers are short and squishy, making it hard to wear pretty jewelry, because I don't want to draw attention to my hands. I have a very short torso, which I've been told by many people is an extremely undesirable feature, and my legs are round and short. Even my hair (now that I can see what my natural color is after years and years of dying it to make it better) is a color that I've been told is like "dirty dishwater." Some people aren't even sure what color it is, it's so bland. It isn't straight and it isn't curly. It isn't thick and it isn't thin. I'm pale in a way that looks a little bit sickly and showcases dark circles and red marks easily. Overall, the only part of my body I like is my feet...

I don't need anyone to tell me why any of these things aren't true, or don't matter. People have tried to tell me those things my whole life, and while I really, really appreciate the encouragement and love that people have poured out on me, what it really comes down to is what I believe. And I believe what I wrote about myself, even if I shouldn't.

All of this pain that I've put myself through for twenty plus years is because of how I view physical beauty. I wish I could be the kind of person who doesn't put that kind of thing on a pedestal, who didn't think that looking a certain was desirable or important, who didn't think about her appearance all the time, but right now, I am. I'm a vain person who wishes with all her heart that she could look different...could look better.

I'm writing this not so that anyone who might read it will tell me that I'm pretty. I have amazing family and friends who try to build me up in that regard almost on a daily basis, and I love them for how much they pour their love out on me and try to build me up. Rather, I'm writing this so that I can see, verbatim, just how vain I really am, and by seeing it, start reshaping the way that I think about the way that I look and the way that I want to look.

It's scary, because for as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be beautiful. Now, I want to want to not care about that. I want to not think about how I look when I laugh (which, right now, I don't like). I want to be able to stop worrying if I look fat by sitting a certain way, or holding my head a certain way, or wearing the "wrong" thing. I want to be comfortable in my own skin, and I think to do that, I have to let go of this desire to be beautiful.

I'll never be a different person. I'll never have a different face. I may have a slightly different body (through diet and exercise), but it'll still be the same basic structure. These are things I can't change. It's time to stop wishing that I could change them, and instead work on changing the way I think about beauty.

I'll never be beautiful in the way that I've wanted to be beautiful for my whole life, but maybe I can realign the way I think so that that doesn't matter so much anymore.

A Gentle Tongue is a Tree of Life

The older I get, the more I realize how little I really know about how things are supposed to work. Each year, I look back and see all the things I knew and how that knowledge was shattered and replaced with something that I was sure was false.

Recently, God has been working on my heart in a serious way. In recent months, He's pushed me in ways that, left to my own devices, I would have run the opposite direction from. Every day, with little things--a comment from a friend, a conversation with a stranger, reconnecting with someone in a small way--He is showing me how He wants me to live my life.

I used to think that God wanted me to be a big writer that wrote powerful, inspiring blogs, and someday books, for His glory. I thought, "This is why He's given me this passion to write. So that I can really do something with it." What I didn't realize at the time was, by thinking that, I was really only wanting to glorify myself. I want to publish a book or two and I want my name to be known, but now I think that that kind of stuff doesn't matter so much to God. Maybe He gave me this love of writing as a gift just for me...as a way to glorify him by creating stories and transferring ideas and drawing pictures with words, even if I'm the only one who ever reads it. Maybe He gave me the passion to write, simply because He knew I would like it.

I don't think God wants me to live to be a writer. I don't think He wants me to live in a certain city, or a certain type of house, or have a certain amount of money. But I do think he wants me to live my life, my whole entire life, intentionally loving people.

I've blogged a few times about what I think love is. I don't think it's an emotion we feel, but rather, how we treat people. We can not like someone and still love them...but we have to intentionally show that person our love, despite our feelings.

There have been two things that have happened lately that really made me think about this.

First...I'm a very emotional person. I'm also a person that lets my imagination run wild. Because of this, I often let an emotional cue in my life grow from a feeling, into a fictional tale that corresponds with said feeling, before it settles as some sort of twisted reality in my brain. 9.9 times out of 10, there is zero truth in this false reality that I've created. I know this, and yet, I let it live in me.

Recently, I've reconnected with an old friend. I won't go into the details of what happened, when, and why, but I will say that over time, having no contact with this person, I had created a false reality in my head that told me that this person would forever hate me. I believed this so much that I would get angry just thinking about it...but this was anything but true.

God often has a way of making us turn and face these falsehoods in our lives. I'm so thankful that, despite how uncomfortable I felt at first, and despite how scared I was, He pushed me so hard that I couldn't help but turn and face this fiction that I'd created and see through it to the true story that lay beneath it.

When I went to this person, fighting back this crazy, irrational thought that they hated me, I was met with warmth, gratitude, and peace. My fiction was anything but even close to truth.

I know, without a doubt in my heart, that God was the one who brought me to this place with this person. It's like He's holding my shoulders, facing me toward this situation, and saying, "See? Do you see what I have for you? Do you see what I have for all of you? I want you all to go out and love each other, no matter what. That's all."

I didn't want to go to this person. I didn't want to love this person, because I was sure I would be met with rejection and pain. But God kept pushing me. GO. And when I did, look at the gifts He had waiting. Peace, healing, and love.

The second thing isn't quite as pleasant, but it's just as important.

Anyone who knows me know that my husband is the most important person in my life. I would do anything for him. He's my best friend in the whole world. Together, he and I have been through a lot. Because of this, you might think that loving him would be as easy as breathing...and it is, unless we're having an argument.

When I say "loving him," I mean actively showing him that I love him. In an argument, if you feel mad, or sad, or hurt, it's hard to reach out and show someone else love. It takes a really strong person to do that...And even though Vince is the most important person in my life, it's often really difficult for me in an argument to tone down my anger, or my hurt, or my sadness, long enough to stop and think, "How can I show him love? Because in this argument, he's hurting to." More often than not, I think, "Why is he hurting me this way? Why can't he comfort me?"

It's always hardest to love someone else when all you can do is look at yourself. And when I'm hurt, or sad, or angry, or irritated, or anything but happy, my eyes immediately go inward. Me. Me. Me.

Near the end of most fights, Vince walks over (and I know he's still upset, because we haven't come to a conclusion yet), and puts his arms around me, and holds me. He lays down his negative emotions in order to show me that he still loves me. I'd like to say I instantly become repentant and show him love right back...but I don't always. Sometimes I stand there, stiff, unwilling to show him that I love him too, knowing it hurts him, but unwilling to lay down my selfishness to take that pain away.

Why is it that I'm so willing to reach out in love to someone I'm not very close to, yet so unwilling to lay down myself for the person I care for more than anyone on this planet? Perhaps it's because I know, at the end of the day, Vince is going to love me and I'm going to love him. But that doesn't make it OK for me to take time outs from my desire, my duty, my privilege to love him.

We're all going to get angry. We're all going to get our feelings hurt. We're all going to lash out in anger. What God is teaching me isn't that we aren't allowed to feel these ways, but rather, to be aware of the way our words and our actions affect others.

I want to be able to hold back the words that my emotions tells me to say when I know that they'll hurt someone. Even if I just have to bite my tongue until my emotional state calms enough to say something I won't regret. I want to be able to do what Vince does, and push aside what my negative emotions tell me to do, and instead reach out in love. I want to be able to reach out to a stranger and show them love just as easily as I reach out to my husband in an argument, because even if I know at the end of the day that he's going to love me forever, I want him to be shown my love, no matter what.

"A gentle tongue is a tree of life, but perverseneess in it breaks the spirit." 

Proverbs 15:4

Emotional Epiphany

I often let my emotions dictate my actions and words. Excitement, joy, sadness, anger, contentment, whatever it is, I let what I'm feeling decide how I'm going to interact with the world. (Anyone who follows me on Twitter can follow my moods based on the kinds of things I post. My apologies.)

My husband tells me that being a person that is intensely in tune with my emotions is a good thing. Some days I agree--others, I beg to differ.

My whole life, I've thought that there was something wrong with me because of the intensity with which I felt things. I thought there was something broken in my brain--some synapse that fired incorrectly--that caused me to feel so much so often. Whether it was feeling like I was going to die, because a boy broke up with me, or feeling like nothing could ever be wrong again, because my cat had kittens and I was as happy as anyone could be--I felt too much to be a rational, sane human being. Often, these emotions only lasted short periods of time. If a boy broke up with, I was sure my heart would stop beating...and then a few days later, that seemed ridiculous. It was, after all, just a boy, and really, I didn't like him that much. If the kittens overflowed my heart with joy, I was sure nothing could be better. But then, someone I knew would get married, or have a baby, and suddenly that was the pinnacle of joy.

There's no apparent rhyme or reason to my emotional state a lot of the time. It goes up and down with force. As I said, I believed my brain didn't work like a human brain should.

Last night, my husband and I talked about all this. He told me that my ability to feel things so acutely was one of the things that drew him to me initially. (I countered with the fact that my emotional reactions often cause arguments, but I want to focus on the positive words he spoke into my life right now.) When he told me that, for the first time ever, I started to think that maybe I'm not defective...maybe the way that I feel doesn't make me crazy...maybe it's a gift, and maybe there's a purpose for it.

I've always believed that God creates each of us with individual talents, interests, and passions. I've always believed that each person I meet is unique and beautiful. But I've never applied those thoughts to me. Though I believed wholeheartedly that everyone was unique, special, and beautiful, subconsciously I've always thought, Except me. I'm not those things. I'm broken. Maybe I'm crazy, too. Then I'm blessed with this amazing man in my life who says, This thing that you see a defect is something beautiful to me. I love this thing and I love you for, and in spite of, it. 

It shook me.

Perhaps God made me the way I did so that I could experience his full range of beautiful, heart-shattering emotions, and in so doing, be able to empathize with others when they experience these things. Perhaps I this thing that I've seen as a downfall, a major flaw, has always been a blessing that bloomed very slowly. Perhaps this stockpile of emotional baggage that I've added to and carried my whole life is there so that I can draw from it and in some small way, help someone else deal with their emotional stuff.

I don't think I'm the only person who feels things intensely.

I don't think I feel more than everyone else.

I don't think that without me the people who talk to me couldn't get by.

But, I do know that I feel things, in the core of me, when the people I care about feel them.

I do know that when I feel something, I feel it as a real, tangible, physical thing.

And I know that, if I let God work in me, that He can use this as a tool for His glory, 

as a way for Him to love.

My God made me an emotional, empathetic woman, and He made my husband and logical, loving man. My husband's logic helped me to see that the way I am isn't wrong. I can't let my emotions control me, but I can be thankful for the ability to feel things so deeply, and hopefully to be able to use those emotions and the knowledge that comes with them to help someone else. 

I'm thankful for the ability to feel, even when it's hard. I'm thankful that I have such a kind, loving, rational husband, who helps me by encouraging me and not coddling me (despite what my emotion-driven-self demands of him). And I'm so very thankful for a God who loves me enough to make me who I am, and who loves you enough to make you who you are.

We're All Hungry for Something

If you read my last blog post, you know that lately, things for me haven't been great (emotionally). I've had a lot of down moments and down days, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out what it was that was causing it. I should have been able to figure it out, but I'm stubborn. Often, I keep my eyes closed tight when I know I should open them wide, because I know that when I open them it might sting.

Tonight, Vince and I went to Lexington to attend 608--the church service held at Southland Christian Church for college-ish age people. The pastor, Jon Weece, talked about running from things and running to things. He then told us the story of a woman who was abused as a child, and ended up turning her life toward things that were harmful to her and to others--sex, drugs, alcohol, and self-injury. The story ended when after this woman had run from her past for years--from all that hurt she endured as a child and then allowed herself to endure as an adult--until she ran to someone that opened up their heart to her and loved her. This woman wasn't judged for the way she'd lived her life. The word sin was never used. Rather, this woman was described as someone who had been hurt, who was hurting herself and others, and who, in the end, was loved simply because she needed to be loved. That love healed her brokenness.

I'm not doing this story justice. We got to hear the woman, via video, tell her story from beginning to end, and it broke my heart. She talked about her drug and alcoholism, her prostitution and career in the porn industry, and about her broken childhood with a mother who introduced her to many of these things. This was a woman who was broken in so many ways, and who in the end was healed by the love and grace of Jesus. This story is miraculous. It's miraculous because Jesus' love, through people, helped this woman heal, but it's also miraculous, because, despite what I've seen from people for so, so long, the people in this story never made this woman seem like she was less. 

I've been to many different churches, and I've talked to people with varied beliefs--Atheists, Agnostics, Buddhists, Baptists, Catholics, Jehovahs Witnesses, Methodists, Mormons, Muslims, Wiccans, you name. These different groups of people have vastly different views of God, religion, and the world, yet there's one common thing that ties most, if not all, of them together. The idea that what they believe is right.

What stood out as different to me about this particular service, about this particular story, was that I never got the impression that the people of this church thought of this woman as any less than them. I never got the impression that they saw themselves as being better than her. They weren't going out and loving her because she was lost--they went and loved her, because she needed to be loved. No questions asked. No holds barred. They just loved.

Pastor Weece told another story about a young boy, a second grader I thing, that was a pretty violent kid. Once, he took a swing at a teacher, and Jon had to pull him away. The boy bit him, and when Jon got his hand free, he pulled the boy into a gentle bear hug and took him to see the principal, holding him the whole time. As they walked, the boy fought against Jon, still full of anger. When Jon got him to the principal's office, she saw him, went back outside, and brought the boy a peach. He ate as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. Why did he act so violently? So angrily? Because he was hungry.

We're all hungry for something. The woman I talked about before, she was hungry--desperately hungry--for love, for a sense that she was important, that she belonged. The child was hungry for food, so hungry that all he could do was be angry. I'm hungry for things, things that I may not even realize I'm hungry for. I know that you're hungry for things too.

As I said in the beginning of this, emotionally, things have been rough for me lately. I've lashed out at my husband, at my family, and at my friends. I wasn't happy. If I'd opened my eyes up, I would have been able to see that it was because of how hungry I was. I've been starving for Jesus, and I didn't recognize those hunger pains for what they were. I've been hungry for God to move in my life, and what I didn't see was that I was also hungry to go out and live my life for God, and to share the love that He so freely gives me.

I'm not trying to idolize Pastor Weece, or Southland, or the 608 service we went to, but I do want to say that tonight's message opened my eyes and my heart in a way that I haven't experienced in a long, long time. The message made me realize that a little bit of love, the smallest thing, can set in motion a chain of events that might change someone's life. And if it doesn't, that little bit of love can at least make a person happy for a moment. The message made me want to go out and love.

Vince and I talked about the service after we left. We felt refreshed, renewed, and excited to go out and live our lives, and our marriage, for God. The entire service was centered around not who was right, who was wrong, and how we (the "right" ones) can correct the thinking/beliefs of the "wrong" ones, it was centered around the need the world has for servants--for people who go out and love others no matter what. In the story about the little boy, the principal and Jon loved him and gave him food, not because he was angry, but because he was hungry. In the story of the woman, she was shown love by the people at Southland not so that she would believe what they would have her believe, but because she was hurting and needed to be loved.

My heart broke tonight in a way that it hasn't in a long time. My heart broke for myself when I realized that I'd gone for so long not living my life loving and worshipping Jesus by loving others. My heart broke in a beautiful way when I realized that there are people that are living that way right now. My heart broke in a refreshing, exciting way when I realized that there are churches out there right now that are going and doing the things that make life beautiful--they're out there spreading the love of God. There was no political agenda, or church agenda, no secret, hidden reason for why the people of this church are doing this--it just is what it is, and what it is is beautiful.

Jon challenged us to go out this week and do for one person what we wished we could do for the world. To go out and show one person love. What a beautiful opportunity, and what a beautiful way to live, to go and give someone love, and to do so not in order to change the way they think, or the way they act, or the way they are, but simply go and love because we all need to be loved.

31..."The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his field. 32 Though it is the smallest of all seeds, yet when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds come and perch in its branches." 

-Matthew 13:31-32

Antithesis

A photo I took in October of 2011.
This was one of those days.

Every now and again, I'll have one of those days in which I can't shake a feeling of, for lack of a better word, badness. That's a terrible word to use there, but it's the first one that came to mind, and in a strange way, it fits.

A terrible word for a terrible feeling.

These days seem pretty random. Sometimes they're set off by something specific, but more often than not, I just feel bad...generally I feel bad in specific ways, and those different ways pile on top of each other until it's just a general feeling of badness (there's that word again).

On those days, I get random urges to tweet really melodramatic things. Sometimes, those things don't even pertain to the way I'm feeling. For example, yesterday I tweeted, "Perpetually looking over one's shoulder is no way to live." It sounded kind of sad, and kind of paranoid, so I tweeted it, because I was maybe feeling a little sad, and maybe a little paranoid too. I have no idea why. I get random urges to pour my little melodramatic heart and soul into my many social media outlets and to my close friends via text (if you're one of these close friends, and you've gotten one of these texts, you know how horribly annoying and pointless it can be). Lately, I've done a stellar job of fighting those urges (except for my paranoid-shoulder-tweet). This blog is my attempt at channeling all of that badness and turning it into something...not so bad.

If I let thoughts and emotions live in my head for too long, I get kind of crazy. My husband notices...I'm the least careful about holding it in around him. I'm very sad to say, he has to take the brunt of it...when I let things boil in my head, sometimes the steam burns the ones closest to me. Nine times out of ten, that's Vince. He has to deal with his burns, while trying to keep the pot (that's me) from boiling over, as well as trying to keep me from getting burned, too. Thinking about it that way makes me sad for him, and at the same time, makes me very, very grateful to have such a loving, compassionate, patient man.

I've had these spouts of badness since I was a kid. A part of me thinks it's just my lack of control over my emotions getting the better of me. That makes me want to learn to control it, and makes me feel like I've failed somehow by not being able to. Another part of me thinks I have some as-yet undiagnosed chemical imbalance and need to see a doctor or a therapist (that's the easiest option to "fix). And yet another part of me thinks that I have some deeply rooted issues in the depths of my brain that, every now and again, peek out to see if they can join the party, but they don't peek out long enough for me to see them in their entirety. Rather, I see them for only a moment, and rather than being able to deal with the issue, the root, as a whole, I focus on the effects or symptoms of that issue. Namely, comparing myself to what I see as incomparable beauty, the idea that I'm unlovable,  the idea that I'll never live up to an expectation that's always going to be unspoken, but in my head, will always be there.

The most likely scenario is that it's a lovely mix of all three of these things.

In a way, this blog is just my very long-winded way of melodramatically-tweeting-over-140-characters. In another way, it's my way of writing out these "major issues" that I think I have, so that I can see them in black and white. Seeing things in black and white always helps put things in perspective.

Some days are bad and some aren't. I suppose that's normal, but I'm tired of it being a toss of the dice for me. My goal is to bring the bad days into the light, so that they're eventually forced to become their antithesis. I'm not sure how I'm going to do that exactly, but I have a few ideas to try. I'm going to talk to my husband before all of the emotion I carry boils over and hurts him. I'm going to try positively redirecting the tangle of thoughts in my brain. I'm going to quit comparing my photos to photos of other people. And lastly, I'm going to try and limit my social-media-time, because as great as Facebook and Twitter can be, they're both always excellent venues to commit self-esteem suicide when left to my own devices.

A photo from a few days ago.
This was not one of those days.

I actually wrote this last night, and waited for a new day and a new frame of mind to decide if I wanted to post it or not.

Now that I've decided I will post it, I'd like to ask that no one take the time to tell me that I shouldn't compare myself to others, that there's no unspoken expectation of me, and that I am lovable. Rather, if you choose to comment, I'd love for you to share your struggles with me, too. Or maybe you could tell me something that helps you when you're having a bad day. I cherish the encouragement and love that the people in my life are always so willing to pour out on me, and I appreciate it more than any of you can ever know, but this time, I'd rather hear about you.

The Best Decision I Ever Made

Moments after we made
the best decision ever.

On July 4th, 2011, Vince Frantz got down on one knee in the middle of his mom's living room with a ring in his hand and said, "So, you know we're getting married, right?" It was perfect in all the ways that stories are perfect, and in all the ways that unique, true things are perfect. I felt my heart leap into my head in the most pleasant way. I said yes, and he hugged me, and we kissed, and it was like I was meant to stay right there, holding him while he held me, forever. And then...our sweet pup, Juno, pooped on the floor next to us (she was excited, too). So we both laughed and cleaned it up and loved on her for a while. Just like our relationship before we got engaged, and our relationship ever since, we don't do many things the conventional way, and that's what makes our story ours. We let life take us where it will, and when it does, we embrace it.

Engagement photo by Rob Reed.

Vince is my best friend. My whole life I've had different best friends. Girls, guys, older, younger--they've all come and gone, and while I'll love them each in different ways forever, none of them even begin to hold a candle to the friendship I have with Vince. He's honest with me and he helps me be honest with him, even when it's hard. He makes me talk about the things I'd rather bottle up, and because of that, I grow, and we grow together. Joining my life to his made me feel, for the very first time, truly whole.

My tattoo, with a bit added from
a song Vince wrote for me.

I fell in love with Vince long before I knew I'd fallen in love with him. But, I knew that I loved him from the first time we hung out. I loved how he laughed, and how he made me laugh. I loved that I could make him laugh! I loved hearing him play guitar and sing, and I loved singing with him. I loved drinking french-pressed, black coffee (OK, at the point I didn't love the black coffee, but it was the beginning of a loving relationship) and sitting up until four a.m. talking about our lives, our troubles, our pasts, and our futures. I loved him because of how natural I could be around him, and because of how natural he could be around me. I suppose saying I ever fell in love with him is misleading. I didn't fall. I walked into that love with both eyes wide open, I just didn't realize I'd walked all the way through that door until I heard it slam behind me, and I knew I could never go back. I knew I'd never want to go back. When I realized I was in love with him, when I was struck with that realization, and with how absolutely comfortable I was with that, I knew I was finally home. For the first time in my life, I could be me, and I could rest in that with someone who wanted me to be me.

Our first kiss as
husband and wife.

Before we got married, before we got engaged, before we told the world we were dating, I knew, deep in my heart, that I wanted to be with him forever. It was scary to think about, because it was so fast, so I didn't admit it out loud for a while, but I knew. There was something about his heart that pulled me to him like a magnet. He was and is the other half of me.

For a whole year now, Vince and I have been Mr. and Mrs. Frantz. We've had wonderful days that I'll never forget, and hard days that I've learned from and let go. We've learned an incredible amount as a couple, and as individuals. I'm so happy that I found him, that he found me, and that we get the opportunity to spend the rest of our lives together. I'm so excited to get to learn different ways of loving him as our lives go on, and to go out into the world and love others with him. Because the greatest, most wonderful, most beautiful aspect about my husband is his amazing heart, and his compassion for others that I know he gets from his love for Jesus and his desire to live as Jesus would have him live. I want to be the Mrs. Frantz that is equally yoked with her Mr. Frantz, and I think that, together, we have a great start.

July 4th, 2012

People always told me I should never settle, that I should marry my best friend. Those people were speaking a great and wonderful truth into my life, and I'm so, so glad that I listened.

On July 24th, 2011, twenty days after we decided to get married, I followed that wonderful advice. And now, after a year of marriage--of days filled with joy, laughter, tears, disagreements, and kisses--my love for my best friend has grown by leaps and bounds. Every day I realize something new about him, and about us, and my love for him deepens. My understanding of what love really is, what it really means, grows.

Vince, thank you for being my best friend, and for being my husband. Thank you for helping me stand when I beat myself to the ground. For loving me through my good days and my bad ones. Thank you for teaching me how to love you, and others, better. Thank you for teaching me how to have fun when I get too serious about unimportant things. Thank you for always wanting to spend time with me, to laugh with me, to hold me, and to talk with me. Thank you for all of your compromises, all of your loving words and gestures, and most of all, thank you for being such a true person, friend, and husband. Happy Anniversary! I love you, boon.