Now, That's a Man You Marry

We sat closely in one side of a wide booth in the corner, criss-crossing arms to put hands on each other's thighs.

"A woman will love a man forever if she can trust him with her fears." Our pastor sat across from us, looking earnestly through round lenses. He had said this to us before. It always makes me wince.

We were at our second pre-marital counseling session, this time on a Tuesday night at a rib joint.

The Boy, who had been buttering a slice of sourdough, held my hand under the table. "I've struggled with that," he admitted. "It's sometimes hard to remember my job isn't always to fix everything."

I stared at him openly . He was right, and we had fought about it. I had promised myself not to sell him out. But life is scary; marriage is scarier. Of course there are fears. We discussed them that night. Aging. Changing. Drifting. I don't need to be told, "That'll never happen," or, "Don't be silly," and I especially don't need to hear laughter. The Boy looked through me when he apologized for saying those things. Promised to try harder, to listen when I am afraid.

That session is already serving us well. Lately I'm afraid. Sometimes trembling, often terrified. But one thing I am absolutely, unequivocally not afraid of is that I'm marrying the wrong person. The day I lost my job I was crushed, embarrassed. I felt I had let our new family down.

"Don't think for a minute you've let me down," The Boy said, no-nonsense. I didn't say it, but I knew taking that job had been a risk. We both did. We had discussed it openly. I felt foolish-- like a failure-- because we faced the worst-case scenario that could have been prevented. But I didn't say any of that.

"You took a risk, honey. A big risk."

Uh-oh, I thought. Here it comes.

"And I have never been so proud of you, " he proclaimed. I knew he meant it.

We are concerned about our lack of money. It's not every quarter that he starts a new job, I lose a new job. Not every quarter that we spend thousands on one day of festivities and two weeks of South Pacific marital bliss. We admit openly that this timing leaves much to be desired. We fear. But we are gripping hands, always with fingers tightly interlaced, facing the same direction.

I cannot wait to marry this man, and I usually hesitate to write about things like this. What if it's sentimental, I wonder. Today, I don't care. Honesty, in writing and in life, isn't just for the snarky or funny or bad. And this man makes it worth it for me to look forward. I don't care who knows-- in fact, crickets, tell all your friends.

I'm working on trusting. Doing what I can do and not worrying. Not furrowing my brow. Praying more, focusing less on unknowns I can't predict. Enjoying the wind blowing through my hair while I drive the car I never thought I'd have.

I'm working.

But the next person who asks me what I do all day is going to get a to-do list to last them the next 24 days. I kid you not.