Real Love Series: Katy’s Story Part 2
If you haven’t read the Introduction to this series, I recommend that you do. We are sharing Real Love stories. Stories that have hurt, pain but maturity and ultimately, JOY. In a culture that is so fast paced, self-focused and all about the falling in love part of our story with no concept of afterwards, we here at the Busy Nothings are striving to sit back and share from our own experiences what we feel true, pure, sacrificial love is. When you choose it even though it hurts or is hard work. The beauty, PASSION and true love that comes from this are better than any fairy tale. ~Heidi
{Beloved protector, Part II}
The first thing that drew me to David the most was that he was a man. That sounds pretty self explanatory but I mean that he was a grown. ass. man.
This was seen in his tastefully decorated apartment as well as the fact he owned a landscaping company while he was a full time student in an incredibly demanding program. He knew how to cook some amazing cuisine, knew the difference a down comforter makes, kept his house immaculately clean and drank bourbon neat.
He was a man.
If you have read Part 1 of my story I shared that I had a rough couple years. I was a hot mess actually. And David came at nearly the tail end of that. He drew me in with his confidence and self assurance that he had it together while I was still putting pieces back together. He had just returned from a summer trip to travel Europe and study architecture. Picture him sipping wine in the Piazza Novona, sketching the fountains and architectural features. That is the man I fell in love with.
The first time I thought “I could marry this man” was during a camping trip. My roommate and I were determined to go camping, no matter the weather or circumstances. We planned an epic trip with friends at one of Northwest Arkansas’ most popular hiking and camping area- Devil’s Den. We chose a hike-in-to-camp spot a few miles from the main campsite. We left after work around 7, was dark, cold and rainy outside but we had committed to go.
We struggled to put up our tent and light a pathetic fire to drive away the cold. We ended up huddled around a smoking fire, wet to the bone in the cold and dark night. I had invited David to come with us but since there was no cell service I wasn’t sure if he would make it. Then I heard a rumble and saw the headlights of a car. It was David and his brother Jeren in his Jeep with a 4 inch lift, 33 inch tires rock crawling their way to us! When I share this story I describe it as them swooping in like the Marine’s- immediately constructing a tent fortress, a blazing fire & providing hot food. Deliverance! I thought that night when we shared our first kiss that this was a man I could love for the rest of my life. I learned later that David’s name means “beloved protector”, and like the God that pulled me out of the muck a year ago, David too was and always has looked after me.
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Our wedding day was the most beautiful moment I have shared with other person. We decided to fly to Crested Butte, Colorado and spend our days snowboarding and exploring the mountains. We found a sweet little church, a cowboy pastor and a hippie photographer to share our day with. Just man and woman before God. I cried the entire time, pouring out my heart in our secret vows only the pastor heard. I felt like Murron in Braveheart, marrying William Wallace in the dark of night beneath a swaying oak tree. We had no reason for it to be a secret but to share that intimate moment with one person, taking communion together, whispering our vows in holy matrimony, felt like what weddings days are truly meant to be. I will forever hold that experience close to my heart like a precious jewel.
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Fast forward 5 years later. (More to come in bits and pieces, dear readers, be patient, we are ongoing and evolving continuously) I am writing this in Fort Collins, Colorado with the snow gently falling outside.Thinking of the memories, the love and kisses shared, the arguments fought, the travels we’ve made living in Florida and now Colorado- the patchwork of our lives made so beautifully. Feeling so blessed but knowing the hard work we have both done to make this marriage what it is today. Probably the most difficult thing I’ve ever done- to open my heart & soul to another person and to have it lay exposed but the most worthwhile experience of my life.
Like the work it takes to cultivate a fruitful garden, the digging of the soil, the constant watering and tender care but knowing it will produce the sweetest nectar when given the right amount of love.
January Storm
This morning it’s thundering far away outside- dark stormy clouds and I feel the blood under my skin quicken. I feel awakened, beautiful and alive. The weather is as wild as my second boy and they compliment each other in an almost competition. It’s summer warm and I ponder on it all.
I open the front door, welcoming in the whispering change on the horizon. Hints as raindrops hesitatingly fall without pattern.
I love this. The mystery before change.
Shining eyes and quivering bodies beg to go outside and in a rush of feeling, I agree just to see their delight. I smile as they tip faces back to the sky and mouths open to taste the rain.
They dart back and forth under the coverings of the porch and tree branches, laughter rumbling like the friendly thunder and I warn not to run with a smile.
The raindrops come quicker now, along with the wind. It sweeps down in sheets, thin and light, blown into a frenzy, yet equally soaking. The sideways rain meets the hill of my street in an almost indiscernible wide armed greeting before an embrace.
As the heavier rain groans away, the boys become braver, darting further away from the door. One with bare feet on the warm driveway is finally drawn down to the sun-heated gutter water rushing down my hill and the little one follows.
At my last house, I had a cathedral that I looked up at every day out my window. Tall, arching branches intertwining dramatically- heart stirringly like a an ancient place of worship. Now, the ceilings have lowered down with bent over, moss covered branches that hang down like arms on a casual stroll. …and I reach up, fingertips brushing the bridal tent. There is a heart pounding reality all around me and I feel almost intoxicated with joy, real, bone soaking joy.
But then I’m pulled back into the here and the now. The reality of wet clothes, disappointed children being shooed back inside and the lunch needing to be made. Suddenly the whimsy seems silly and there is mud. My head pounds from the changing weather and I feel the aching sadness.
The rain quietens into a softness as branches high above sway in the wind bringing the predicted cold and snow. I am left staring at the bright yellow of January dead grass with the dark sky hovering and I’m thrown back into my time living in Ukraine and their wheat fields to the sky; a divided flag of yellow and navy. I think of the hopeless, the hungry and the lost.
I’m pulled from memories quickly as a young boy needs water and the other boy needs help going to the bathroom.
I sneak a breath outside and I hear loud, howling wind.
I fight the soul sucking pain, some days are easier than others. I store up all the good, but sometimes feel like I’m desperately gathering up water in a large apron, trickling out, the weight of it pulling me down even as I pointlessly scoop it closer to me.
and there, in those moments, I let go of it all. I have to. I give back what is not mine to hold and open clenched fists, palms up in surrender. I give up my rights, what is fair and my desires. I dry my tears and look around, embracing the beauty, the noise and the many, many gifts I have in my life.
