Marriage is surprising in ways I didn’t expect.
First, and I know I’ve said this a million times but I am surprised that I didn’t marry myself. (I know. Right?) Andrew is so much different than me and when he disagrees with me I am still shocked every time.
Every. Single. Time.
I’ve also been surprised at how awesome fighting is.
Fighting is not awesome when there is no commitment (like when you fight with your neighbor) but when you know the person is going to stick around and is dedicated to making it work, fights can actually help everyone grow. I feel closer to Andrew after we resolve an argument.
But most recently I’ve been surprised by being a servant.
I’m a big feminist. Big time baby. I’ve never believed that a wife’s role is to serve her husband. And I thankfully married someone who agrees with me. He has never forced me into a mold or made certain archaic requirements of me and I love him for it.
But a sort of startling truth has dawned on me in the last couple years that doesn’t really make any sense. It’s backward really.
You see I realize that when Andrew and I selflessly serve one another we both benefit.
You’d think that the person being served would be the only person to gain. But no. The person serving is often the most blessed.
Andrew bought me these flowers yesterday. But he also does the dishes and changes the oil on our cars and mows the lawn and puts up the Christmas lights and takes down the Christmas lights and fixes the heater when it explodes and cooks incredible meals and renovates our house and watches Clare so I can gig. In so many ways he serves me constantly and I know it gives him great joy.
So love ends up not being a chain, that binds you and forces you into servitude, but rather an invitation to serve knowing that that service will give you immeasurable joy.