Five Years

Five years ago today, on a bright, cool, sunny, Friday I stood before the Lord, family and friends and I vowed to love my husband for better or for worse.  I remember the day so well.  I remember the days leading up to that day so well, even though at times, in the moment, they felt like such a blur.  And that day, my life changed.

I'm not trying to be melodramatic (I don't really ever have to try to be melodramatic.  It comes easily.  It's a gift). But my life really did change.  I went from living alone to living with Ryan.  I went from having my own bank account to sharing one.  One moment my last name was Adamski and the next it was Kader.  One day I was a fiance and the next I was a wife.  Life changed.  And in my wildest dreams, as life happened, what it looks like today is not what I would have dreamed it looked like.

Well, I think I would have said on that beautiful May day  five years into this marriage thing we probably would have a house and a baby.  But although I may have uttered those words I certainly never stopped to really grasp what they would mean.  It all seemed so far off.  I have heard horror stories of people's first year of marriage.  Ours was wonderful.  Some of my favorite memories are from that first year.

And as I was awakened at 5 am this morning by a crying, crabby baby the thought that floated through my still sleepy mind was, "This isn't what I thought five years would look like."  Because the truth is, even though a house and kids were totally in the picture for me at some point, they are, in essence, a lot less glamorous in real life than the dreams you dream on your wedding day.

Yes, I've been up since 5 am.  Yes, I've had a fussy baby most of today.  My house is a mess because my grand plans of picking up and cleaning and even mopping the floor today were met by a shortened nap time and a baby that chased me in his walker.  Chased.  Yes.  Chased.  I had to put on sneakers because he kept running over my toes.  He kind of sang as he chased me around the first floor.  It reminded me of a scene in The Walking Dead when the Governor is looking for Andrea and he is whistling.  If you aren't familiar with that, then think of the Jaws theme.  My 8 month old terrorized me today.

Totally not what I envisioned or dreamed of five years ago.  But here's the truth that I kept reminding myself of today:  Life was good before I had a baby.  But life is also good now.  And, Danielle, despite what you tend to tell yourself, your life was NOT that glamorous before a baby.

It's the grass is always greener mentality.  If only I could sleep in once.  If only I could leave my house without six bags on my shoulder and a baby carrier in the other.  If only I could remember things again.  If only I could... fill in the blank.

You may have a grass is greener situation, too.  I've realized the problem with the grass theory is that I miss out on the very thing God has for me today, in my current season or situation.  My eyes are fixated on something other than Him.  When I take my eyes off the pasture I'm longing for and put them back on the Author and Perfector of my faith, Jesus, then I realize that I am incredibly grateful to build a life with a man that has stuck with me for better and worse.  There have been better times and there have been worse times.  And Ryan has walked with me through both.  I realize that this little  terror hell raiser beautiful baby boy is a gift and a reminder to me that God heals the deepest wounds and enables us to love others well.  These days I love beyond what I ever thought possible.  I was once broken.  And loving others well once seemed like a hazy dream I had woken up from too soon; unable to fully grasp and definitely not reality.

So, today I want to wish Ryan a very Happy Anniversary.  Ryan, you help make Jesus even more real to me by the way you love and sacrifice for our family.  And I want to encourage you, sweet reader, to stop thinking the grass is greener.  It may very well be.  But you're not there.  You're here.  And by longing for over there I guarantee you're missing something this side of the pasture.