It is just as much of an indictment of myself to concede the point that marriage is hard. I will wake up in the morning or have random times here and there when I am inwardly mad about something again. Nothing even needs to happen other than a memory that floats by, or a social media post that you read. I finally did unfollow a couple of accounts where the posts chronically produced in me an annoyed and disagreeable response.

It’s like I’m staring down into the water when I see it, the hurt, and I try to catch it with my hands and cup the water so I can throw it up into the air. And quickly move it along. It’s like an offering, where I say, “By his wounds I am healed”. I just keep offering them up because God is the one who can do something with them, who has already.

So anyway, it’s a practice, a life-long one I suppose. Because the way of peace is truly much better and that is the gift that God is wanting to give me, that he pours out and fills me up with every single day. The ones that most upset me are those with the words I once lived by and believed and told others myself. I keep trying to tell them you almost never hear older women saying these things. It’s the ones who are still learning.