Over the weekend, my husband and I were sitting around a fire pit with some friends. We are having unseasonably warm weather, here in Pennyslvania, and it felt good to try and capture some of the “normal” we’ve lost due to the pandemic.
At one point my husband mentioned growing up near the river, and spending his youth swimming in it, jumping in, etc. I smiled a little bit, because while he and I did not know each other when we were younger, this was something that we had in common. After a twenty-seven year journey with this man, I looked at him and said “the coolest thing about us both doing that separately, is that eventually our two rivers came together.”
And it’s true.
Often, though rivers join, they also branch off again. It happens. It is natural. No matter whether they are patched with rapids, or pitch-black depth, these flowing bodies of water hold life. They are life.
So many of us want marriage to be this beautiful union, and it is. And sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes you’re in sync and other times it feels like you’re so incompatible that it may destroy you.
It’s normal. That’s life.
Sometimes the rivers branch off, but sometimes they come back together.
Today marks a special anniversary with this man and I. This man who is my partner in this winding life of adventure. We haven’t had a perfect relationship because no one does. We’ve had a real, honest and lived one, and honestly, that’s what counts.
I couldn’t imagine sharing the darkest parts of my life, or the brightest, with anyone else.