Twelve years of adventure.

When we met at a party in his dorm room he made a big deal out of getting me a beer, obnoxiously and dramatically pushing people out of the way so he could get to the mini fridge.  I didn’t think much of him at first with his long blond hair and jokes until the one night everyone left and we sat on a crappy futon talking for hours.

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It was fall and we were at a backyard soiree near our sophomore dorm.  He pulled a promise ring out of his pocket and we knew that forever was on the horizon.

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We secretly looked at apartments together, knowing in Athens you need to sign a lease a year in advance.  We walked into the biggest dump with wood paneling and saw a place of freedom and beginning.

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Christmas day I drove to Grove City after the most incredible ice storm.  He ran out to intercept me in the driveway and took me on a walk through the woods where pink roses lined the path.  He got down in his knee in a clearing by the creek and asked me to marry him.

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I stepped into the heat of the evening, took a deep breath and walked arm in arm with my dad toward the big old tree across the bridge.  My skin started to break out in hives and I found him standing at the end of the aisle waiting for me.

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A year later we drove up to an apartment on a little street on the outskirts of German Village.  It was half a house with big windows, beautiful brick and dreams.  College life was traded for city life.

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At the neighborhood Roosters, in the corner booth near the window we toasted our Bud Selects to buying a shabby pink campervan off Ebay. The adventures that awaited us were unknown, but because we were together with God, they would be good.  We left jobs, our families and the beautiful little brick house to search for the Truth.

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Years of dirt crunched under our feet as flashlights shone into the dark corners.  My heart pounded in a real estate office as we handed over $10,000 and they handed us the keys to a broken house.  Daffodils pushed through the barren ground as we visited our first home.

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I walked our newborn son, freshly born, into the living room and cried on our pink plaid couch.  He took a picture of me, seeing new life amongst the old.

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The summer our second son was a baby he dug an anniversary fire pit for me.  The broken house started to feel like home with gardens lining the front and a family swinging on the porch.

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Driving home from Zanesville when the leaves turned golden, our third newborn son in the backseat, we talked about moving into my grandparents’ house.  He didn’t think much of the idea at first but I persisted in discussion.

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On a rainy spring day our friends showed up to pack the moving vans.  Kids were throwing up and our power was out.  For the last time, we pulled out of our driveway and drove to Zanesville through tears.  Our new living room felt foreign, yet so familiar.

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We threw a big party for our 10th anniversary.  I had been dreaming of a anniversary party in the backyard and was enthusiastic to have this new space for it.  Our favorite people surrounded us, ate with us and talked about how they couldn’t believe it had already been 10 years.

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On a lake in Michigan we jumped off a raft into murky warm water like kids.  Little did I know I carried our first daughter in my womb.

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It was mid afternoon when we collapsed onto our bed and slept, snuggling our newborn daughter.  The exhaustion of the previous 31 hours was behind us and we spent two blissful hours enjoying the newness of life.

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Life is better because of him.

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