Of course I knew it was going to be hard.  I had already thought it over, had already determined to grow in spite of the shifting I was headed towards-- the big move, the very sudden goodbyes, the slide into a new sort of identity with another person who is in many ways still new to me.

I heard the hardness inside women's prayers over me. I saw it around the edges of my married friends' eyes, noticed it in the stories of my mentor, traces of sacrifice and struggle and death.

I wrote about it often in my last semester trying to process the sense of dying relationship brings, trying to separate it from the deep comfort it marries itself to-- pull the two apart so that maybe I could keep them from touching and then maybe I could separate myself, too.

They told me marriage is sacred.  It's a reflection, maybe, a tiny, blurry image of what Christ is with the Church and I think when that is said to someone it is supposed to bring rest or ease or maybe even a promise of celestial bliss.  When I heard it, when I hear it even now, still, I feel my whole body bolster-- my spirit, even, must thicken and push in response because while Christ is my greatest comfort, Christ is also my greatest struggle.  

And now here I am, redefining myself daily.  Here I am wondering about small things: what sort of books I like to read, now, which neutral colors I could grow to love, how many lattes in one week are alright.  Here I am cooking real dinners, losing body, settling into a shared life.  And here, here I am stilling myself when I'd like to run, exposing my sin when I'd like to hide, speaking words that humble me, all because I must.

I must die in order to give life to new things, must break off parts of myself that do not belong anymore and grow different ones.  Some days it is wildly exciting-- this partnership, this comfort found in dying and some days I fail completely.

Still I hear those words, Your people will be my people, where you go I will follow, your God will be my God and I understand the beauty that rises from sacrifice and I understand that love is such a weightier creature than I thought and I can not help but to be thankful for Christ and the church, for Christ and myself, for loss, for gain, for a marriage that is alive, that laughs and sometimes groans and sometimes feels very quiet but that is still mine all the same.  Still ours.  And that is the greatest gift He's given me.