Our ten-year wedding anniversary is this week. John and I really do make a point to celebrate our marriage every single day, but having devoted a whole decade to our partnership still feels significant — like it carries a weight we had not encountered till now. Like we passed a time-honored test we did not realize we were taking.
For ten years, marriage has been at once our greatest resting place and our jumping off point. Our haven and our inspiration. Our daily song.
It is not exactly true that we have made each other better, because a person can only be held responsible for bettering themselves. But the safety, the generative container, the collaboration, the understanding, the solace we have found together is something neither of us had ever experienced apart.
If life is a blazing mid-August day in the South, then our marriage is what shields us from the sun. In that soothing shade we have found the space and support required to bloom.
Growing up, neither of us observed strong marriages or happy ones. We could not lean on examples or ask elders for guidance. When we got serious, which was right away and overnight, something about our relationship just felt right — like it was inevitable or maybe destined. Even amidst that momentum, that promise, that certainty, we were scared of catapulting ourselves into broken legacies and unwanted cycles.
There is nothing more that can be done in a situation like that than close your eyes, take hold of each other’s hands, and leap, your leap complete with a prayer that one person’s jagged edges will not catch the other’s. And leap we did. We walked into marriage with little more than a hope and a prayer, two people with a hope and a prayer and a little dog.
I am compelled by the Oxford English Dictionary definition of miracle. Miracle,
or [/ˈmirək(ə)l/], if you like phonetic spellings, means a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of divine agency.
Oxford offers a list of “similar words” for comparison, which in this case includes phenomenon, mystery, prodigy, and sign.
If my marriage is a miracle — and I am here to tell you, it is — then through that lens, it is a phenomenon, a wonder of nature like a powerful storm or night-blooming flower or lemur who vaults thirty feet with a baby on its back. My marriage is an enchanting fortress, a spell cast on me, a spell cast by me each day. It is a sign, according to Oxford. A sign of hope. A sign of order and meaning. Yes — the work of divine agency, that which exists beyond language, beyond human comprehension.
Miracle, the dictionary continues, can also indicate a highly improbable or extraordinary event, development, or accomplishment that brings very welcome consequences.
Marriage must be extraordinary. It teaches me everything I know about faith. It calls like a still-flickering star in the polluted night sky; it rebuilds my definition of trust one board, one nail at a time, even when I want to resist; it gifts me a foundation secure enough for building worlds, entire worlds that can be as beautiful and bold as I ask them to be. This highly improbable event is something miraculous. And it brought very welcome consequences, indeed.
Between you and me—
This week, I am rich in happiness, joy, love, and opportunity… and short on time.
In this piece, I squeezed together as many thoughts as I could between two major celebrations: my husband’s wonderful interview concert last week with the Spartanburg Philharmonic, or put another way, watching flowers bloom after years (YEARS!) of planting seeds, and our ten-year wedding anniversary.
Because I am heading to the coast, and will be there by the time you read this, and because there are a lot of newcomers in this space (welcome), I am gently steering those interested back towards “Ocean Calling,” a piece that first appeared here last summer. My friend Katherine once said she liked it, and Katherine has impeccable taste.
For the romantics out there, the people who love love, the rom-com fanatics among us, here are a few more (of my thoughts) (on marriage) (as fertile ground) (for growth).
Take care out there.
The audio version of WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is published every Wednesday. Last week’s, which was about the importance of reciprocity in friendship, is available on Spotify, Apple, Substack, or wherever you listen to podcasts.
WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is written by Lauren Maxwell. Help us grow! Send this to a friend and ask them to subscribe. You can also become a sponsor, which makes this publication possible, or click the heart. Every gesture of support is appreciated.