Want to know what love looks like?

Take a look at that first picture. It’s not as much the beautiful photo on the left, but the even more beautiful photo on the right, taken over 70 years later. On this past Saturday—the evening before Easter morn.

…And all those nights and days in between that moment he held his bride—the pretty, smart, feisty Sicilian he’d known since they were 14—promising her, “in sickness and in health, ‘till death do us part,” and that moment he held his bride as she left his arms for those of her Savior—having lived out his promises to her, as she had for him.

Because while an “I do,” is always a lovely thing to hear, it’s the doing, and sacrificing, and holding, and protecting, and forgiving, and fighting for, and running with, and caring for, and one day letting go—it’s the “I have done,” that is so beautifully breathtaking.

They loved each other and their Lord so well. Our celebration of her life is so much a celebration of their love, because I never knew one without the other.

And while I mourn the loss of that “them” on this side of heaven, I rejoice that they so beautifully lived out and foreshadowed the even more glorious, never-ending, never-having-to-let-go “them,” we can experience on that side of heaven. The one our dear Zena is experiencing now, and her dear EJ, one day will with her.

What a beautiful thing it was for us to wake up the next morning on Easter Sunday, and be reminded that because of the words:

“It is finished.”

“He has risen!”

“I believe.”

…we can confidently proclaim, “We will see you again!”

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Hands Worth Holding

Hey, baby girl. If you’re gonna find a guy later, find one like him. One who loves you every ounce as much when things are falling apart as he does when things are wonderful.

Like when you’re having a meltdown on the boardwalk because too much sun and too little sleep leaves you at less than your best. And things like walking and eating ice cream simultaneously feel like a really big deal, yet stopping to eat it feels bigger.

But guys like him just hold your hand and wipe your tears and patiently spoon feed you while you take deep breaths and walk at that perfect pace that’s not so fast that you feel out of control, but not so slow that you feel left behind.

And it gives you the chance to remember who you are and who made you.

Those are the kind of hands worth holding and shoulders worth leaning on. Trust me on that one…


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Strong Shoulders

One of the first things I noticed about Kevin were his arms. They were strong and muscular and completely different than mine. Yet over the years as we live and walk and fall together, I realized I’ve grown to be far more thankful for his shoulders. While arms can fight and embrace, shoulders tend to do more supporting and lifting and quietly carrying. And all I can say, is his shoulders are strong and steady.

Anyone who knows Kevin, knows that he says what he thinks. I’ve always loved this about him.

Most anyone can say strong words strongly, or soft words softly, but far fewer can say true words with gentleness and meek words with mightiness. And he’s grown into this so well.

He sees what people are good at and he tells them, he writes notes with genuine words to encourage people, he’s honest with himself and others when he’s weak or wrong, he loves developing someone’s strengths, he tells me how he loves me and why, he desires his words to be true and good.

He’s the most incredibly wonderful mesh of strong and gentle, real and relaxed, serious and humorous.

At any given moment he could be walking me through an art museum pointing out his favorite paintings, or forcing me to watch some dumb YouTube video. Listening to Bach Cello Suite No. 1 in G major, or Blink 182. Reading poetry, or quoting Calvin and Hobbes and Dumb and Dumber. Discussing Dostoevsky, Spurgeon, and business strategies, or the latest Premiere League drama and standings. Texting me photos of architecture he admires and quotes he finds inspiring, or ridiculous memes and practical jokes he’s playing at work. Watching a documentary on the history of National Parks, or laughing at re-runs of The Office. Demolishing kitchen cabinets, or playing dollhouse with his little girls.

Happy Birthday to my best friend, my closest friend, my cutest friend, my deepest friend, my funniest friend, my steadiest friend, and my favorite friend!

Forever thankful for your kind heart and your strong shoulders…
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Thirteen.

Thirteen years. Sounds like a lot and a little all at the same time.

When we spent our very first anniversary moving, renovating, and hugely pregnant, we should have guessed that the majority of the ones to follow would be commemorated while doing one or more of those same three things.
I guess when you love making homes and you love each other, you end up with a plethora of broken houses and babies.

We sometimes joke with couples who are young and freshly in love that they probably shouldn’t do what we did. We say all sorts of foreign-sounding things to them like “wait” and “travel,” and “date nights,” and “family planning,” and “maintenance-free apartments.”

Some evenings we talk and dream about what our life would be like if we had just done a tiny bit more “normal.”

But the more we’ve talked and lived, the more we’ve realized the limitations of “one-size-fits-all” types of advice. We’ve made some naive and crazy decisions, and have a bad habit of biting off way more than we can comfortably chew, but I just can’t imagine we’d have the same marriage if we’d lived such a different life.

There’s something about saying “I do” and immediately jumping blind-folded into the deep end, young and barely knowing how to swim that can do crazy things to two people.

You either sink or you ungracefully cling to each other with everything you’ve got. And sometimes the whole becoming one flesh thing happens seamlessly almost by accident. Not because we were good at it, or read the right books, or knew what we were doing, but because it’s the only way we could keep from drowning, and God is good and full of grace.
And while I don’t necessarily recommend that approach, I don’t regret it either.

Because I wonder if we’d have figured out how to love each other so deeply, and fiercely, and necessarily, if we had cautiously eased in. I’m a pretty independent, self-reliant, never-ask-for-help type when I’m not drowning.
But God is big enough and loving enough to use these tsunamis we probably keep bringing on ourselves, to show me we’re so much stronger in our clinging and togetherness than we’d probably ever have pulled off on our own or if we’d cautiously eased our way in.

And here I am four babies, seven renovations, ten houses, twelve bathroom remodels, and thirteen anniversaries into this whole marriage thing and to be completely honest, I am still drowning. We’ve been living out of suitcases for over a year and are more unsettled than we’ve ever been. But while life and marriage can be hard, being in love with this guy can be just so easy. He has a kind heart and really strong shoulders. He loves me so patiently and practically and thoroughly.

The great thing about learning how to be in love when you’re gasping for air, is it’s just that much sweeter and appreciated to be able to do it when you finally catch your breath (even if just for a moment).

And man, I can’t wait to do just a little more normal and slower and settled together.

“If it’s half as good as the half we’ve known, here’s Hail! to the rest of the road.” ~Sheldon Vanauken

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The Art of Womanliness

[Originally published HERE at www.desiringgod.org]

What does it mean to be a woman?

Few things evoke such emotion as someone questioning, or attempting to define, what it means to be a woman — especially, in my case, a Christian woman. The overarching concept of womanhood trickles down into so many of our roles and relationships that it can easily become the currency by which we measure our worth. We vehemently resist anything that might threaten the foundation of womanliness we’ve defined for ourselves.

What Matters Today?

Lately, I’ve devoted a lot of bandwidth to thinking about and studying the complexities of biblical womanhood, submission, and other gender controversies. One evening, I sat down and began furiously organizing my thoughts and observations into meaningful, impactful words and sentences meant to analyze and “solve” the issues. . . .

And then I stopped. I looked at my passionately penned words and hesitated. Not so much over the words themselves, but the why behind them.

How will grasping these profound theological ideas before I climb into bed impact who I am when I climb back out in the morning? Will my day look different? Will I be a different wife, or mother, or friend? My current struggles and sins would still be there to greet me with the sunrise. I’ve never wanted to be another vague and distant voice adding to the noise.

So I put away my notes and went to bed wrestling with God. What do I need to know about womanhood right now? The next morning, as I woke up to the sun and its colors and God’s beautiful new mercies, I stepped out of bed with the question pressing on my soul, “How will I be an excellent woman and reflect God’s beauty today?”

The Always-Pressing Question

How do I reflect God’s beauty today? This is the question that should be at the forefront of our mind, longing for an answer every hour. It’s what lies beneath all our labels and arguments and definitions — whether you’re a young wife or a grandmother, single or married, eight-years-old or eighty.

It’s the question that mattered when I waved goodbye to the bus carrying my children off to public school, and it mattered when I sat for hours schooling them at home. It mattered when I was waitressing twelve-hour shifts, when I was in D.C. editing military plans to combat weapons of mass destruction, and when I was changing diapers and mediating temper tantrums as a stay-at-home mom.

Like a carefully chosen tattoo on the forearm, we imagine the perfectly defined self-identification will mark us so powerfully as to change how we are perceived in the world. We believe our ideologies or labels will magically make us more obedient and holy or a crusader who cares more about social justice or oppression — without the cost of actually living it out. 

Too often, the vortex of discourse surrounding biblical womanhood blinds us to what it means to live excellently and reflect the beautiful image of God in this very moment, in the next thing we do, or type, or say.

Tell the Story of the Beautiful God

As women, our strengths, our beauty, our value, and the essence of who we are, come from our Creator — the one whose image we bear —long before the gender debates of the twentieth century. My Maker defined me when he selectively impressed his fingerprints upon me as I was formed. He defines all women when he intentionally creates us to reflect unique facets of his beauty.

What does it mean to be an excellent woman, today? It is to tell that story with strength and passion, to magnify the beauty of Christ and delight ourselves in the joy of God as we reflect him in our own unique ways.

Satan hates beauty because he hates the one it reflects. He does his best to destroy it and abuse it and oppress it and contort it into reflecting the broken world rather than God. If he can’t destroy it, he is content to see us spend our days fighting and writing about it. Satan is happy to see us discuss the beauty of womanhood all we want — so long as it distracts us from living it. There is a way to be so paralyzed by every new “how-to,” and so divided by debate that we will never get around to actually submitting our lives to God with a willingness to be led by him wherever it may take us.

A Partial Picture of an Infinite Artwork

We often work backward, focusing so much on presenting ourselves to the world as image-bearers of our chosen ideologies, forgetting whose image we were made to bear. God’s glory needs to overflow into every single aspect of what we do as women — this is what it means to be conformed to the image of Christ.

But what does this look like?

Since the infinite God is the source of our beauty, we could never paint a complete picture of what an excellent and biblical woman looks like. Knowing the source of our beauty and excellence should give us purpose in the small things and humility in the big things. True beauty is not subjective — there are things which are not beautiful — but it is infinite, in that there are endless ways to truly reflect our Artist.

It’s letting go of what my fists are so tightly clenched onto when I’m fighting with my husband. It’s identifying the places my mind wanders when I’m angry or anxious. It’s seeking God’s kingdom at the expense of my own. It’s treating my body as a temple, but not an idol (1 Corinthians 6:19). It’s being greatly saddened by my sin, but joyful in God’s forgiveness of it. It’s putting aside the lesser things that hold me occupied to hold or read to my child, and it’s allowing someone else to hold or read to that same child when God puts other duties before me.

It might be letting others lead when I feel the most equipped, or leading when I feel most unable, because God’s power is perfected in weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). It might be keeping quiet when I feel like shouting, or loudly proclaiming when I feel too timid to even whisper. It might be serving others when I most want to be served; it might be resting when serving draws people to me rather than Christ.

It’s doing my work with excellence. It’s allowing my womanhood and its beauty and its answers to be the fruit of God’s spirit within me, rather than my focus.

The Art of Womanliness

That’s biblical womanhood — the art of womanliness, if you will. It is actually living so beautifully and excellently that the symphony of our lives draws others to the infinite beauty of our designer, drowning out the provocative siren song of the world, whose fleeting and shallow beauty lures only to ugly brokenness.

Art can reflect but never surpass its artist, and when we climb out of bed with the goal of being a masterpiece whose beauty reflects our creator for his glory in the very next thing we do — only then will the ripples of our faithfulness carry on for eternity.

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A 4-year-old’s List for Her Future Husband

4-year-old and I hanging out in the kitchen:

Nora: “So Mommy, what should we talk about? I know, let’s talk about husbands!”

Me: “Sure, what about them?”

N: “I wanna talk about how I’m going to get one. You know, in some more years.”

Me: “What do you think he’ll be like?”

N: “WELL. He’s going to be kind, funny…grateful. Tall like Daddy but more hairs. Not sprinkles like Daddy’s hairs. He’ll build things, like houses. And sometimes he’ll give me rings when I DON’T even ASK for them! And I’m going to get HIM presents on Amazon. As long as he doesn’t look at them first. He’ll hug me ALL the time and he’ll be strong, and caring, and…delicate. [Pause]…Hm, is delicate the right word?”

Me: “Delicate means kind of, fragile.”

N: “No. That’s not right. My husband will be sturdy. …Are you writing all of these down?”

Me: “Um, no. Would you like me to?”

N: “Yes. Write them on a list, please. Then when I find the man who will be my husband, I’ll send him over to your house and you can give him my list.”

I can’t handle this.

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Sweatpants Anniversaries

What anniversaries look like when you accidentally have too many kids, and leaving the house just feels hard…

Plan B= Putting your myriad of children to bed at 6pm, and dining on Thai food takeout while we reminisce about the last 11 years and pretend we’re not wearing sweatpants. And loving it.

Because this guy has my heart. Whether we’re honeymooning in Costa Rica, unpacking moving boxes for the 7th time, listening to our babies’ first heartbeats, remodeling our 12th bathroom, watching the sun rise over the Chesapeake, scrubbing little boy pee off the side of infinity toilets, sharing a bottle of wine over The Office re-runs, navigating IKEA, or daydreaming about traveling the world together… He’s just it.

The graciously strong and kind guy, God graciously and kindly gave me because he knew I’d need pushed forward, pulled back, and held up. And he knew I’d need someone as hilarious as Kevin who could somehow make all that incredibly fun.

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10 Years Ago

Ten years ago, right before my Dad walked me down the aisle, he pulled Kevin aside and vehemently whispered that he had a “NO Return Policy.” Thankfully, Kevin must have listened because for some reason he’s kept me around all these years.

We were pretty young and stupid.

Thankfully though, God knew me and He knew who I needed.

He knew I needed a husband who loved me a lot and made sure I knew that. Someone who was always the first to say he was wrong (even when he probably wasn’t), and graciously made it okay for me to be wrong (which was monumental for a stubborn, argumentative girl like me).

He knew that two people with strong personalities apparently make babies with even stronger personalities (I know, totally not fair). And He knew I’d need a strong husband who’d really love those energetic, strong-willed babies and who could teach them to live fully and to love fully, because they could see their Daddy do that. But for as much as he’d love them he’d make sure they knew they weren’t the MOST important thing in his life, and that we were a family before we were blessed with them. Plus, when they’re really bad God knew I’d need an ally whose got my back and who could make me laugh.

God knew I’d need a husband who really loved Him. And I realize that’s not everyone’s thing, but trust me when I say it makes them able to love you so much better. And while God knew what kind of husband I needed, He knew I’d still try to fix him anyways. And that it wouldn’t work. And then I’d have to learn that when you can’t fix things yourself you should work on fixing yourself (which usually doesn’t work either, but thankfully God likes fixer-uppers).

…And before you know it, 10 years have flown by and you’ve had good times and bad times, and are maybe a little depressed that you’re 10 years older, but at the end of the day it’s all good because you get to go through it together. And you’re married and really in love. Which is sweet. And like Kevin always tells me it’s like having a sleepover with your BFF every single night of the week. Can’t wait to start our eleventh year, Kevin McKernan.

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