5 years of wedded bliss: an open letter (of sorts) to my husband

So today marks a moment, Stevie. A big one. 5 years of marriage to you. My love. My best friend. My funniest companion.

But can I just pause in this letter to say something? Something that you may not hear nearly enough. You are so much more than funny. I know that is your easiest label of description. Because lets face it, you most certainly are the funniest person I know.

But you are also the most genuine person I know. I have never seen you be something you are not. There is no pretending with you. I admire that tremendously. No facades. No mask of who you think you should be. Just you. In real life and in real time.

And you are the greatest conversationalist I know. You are incredible at speaking to people and actually caring what they say in return. You aren't looking beyond them for someone else, possibly more important, to talk to. You are invested in creating and maintaining relationship with anyone. From youth at the church to people you meet in passing to anyone in the service industry to coworkers to friends to family. You don't greet and move on. You dive deep. You ask questions. You genuinely care about the response and the life of the person you speak with. And that is not the norm. And I love that about you. It teaches me that sometimes lingering longer matters. That people desire to be heard. And you hear them. And it brings joy to my life simply to watch.

And you are one of the smartest people I know. Your ability to pick things up by simply watching someone else do it. Or by trying it a few times. Or by watching a Youtube video about it. Or by researching everything you can get your hands on about it. It astounds (and frustrates) me. Because my brain does not work that way. I truly believe you could learn anything. And the best part of your ability to learn the way you do is that you are so quick to try and teach me. You desire to share what you have learned and help me (and others) learn the same. For our good.

And more than all of those things you have a heart that loves deeply. You have loved me so well for these 5 years of marriage and 10 years of best friend-dom. You have endured through being my first boyfriend, which I am sure was not easy. You have endured long distance dating and the (seemingly) endless pressure to propose. You have endured many irrational fears and have been gentle in your attempts to soothe them. You have endured long, drawn-out, emotional arguments into the wee hours of the morning (yes, we have those) when all you really want to do is sleep it off. And in it all you have done your best to love. And you have loved me so well.

Because that's who you are. You, Stephen Neal Crumby, are the best man I know. You may not always get attributed with all of those things above, but I know. I have seen it all. And so much more. And I am beyond thankful for all that the Lord has made you to be. And I trust Him to continue to build in you the character of a man after His heart. A man created to encourage and build and strengthen those around him. A man who is wise and discerning. Who is able to lead his family in such a way that the Lord himself is honored.

Because 5 years is big. It is a big moment. But there is so much more to come. And I am reeling with excitement today. For you. For what is to come. For the hand of the Lord in our 5 years.

And despite all my fears, I hope you know I would adventure with you anywhere. Because you are so much more than funny.

You are my husband.

My trustworthy companion.

And I couldn't be more proud to claim you.

-Linz(na)

Oh, and pictures. Can't forget those. We have come a long way. Don't you think?

5 years ago today!

SMU Christmas shindig. We love grad school!

First house!

San Diego adventure #2

Chicago adventure

Beard!

Attack of the beard?

We were babies, y'all

Long hair, don't care. Right, Steve?

Just breathe

This is me coming up for a big, deep, calming breath of air. The kind that fills your chest so full it just might explode. And it feels so good. And so desperately needed.

It feels like it's been an eternity since I have breathed this deeply, yet I know it most certainly has not.

And quite honestly, as I take this breath and ponder its need (why it feels so good; why I have been desperate for it for weeks; why tears come too quickly if I think to far into life at this particular moment.), I am embarrassed.

Because my stuff is not big. In fact, it seems really silly and insignificant in the light of so much heartache and tragedy experienced by others. The real stuff.

I am embarrassed that my stuff, small and seemingly unimportant, trips me up so much. Makes me gasp for air and plead for an end to this season.

I am embarrassed that I am not strong enough for the small things. School, due dates, transitions in community and friendships and possible homes. It's not heartbreak. It's small.

But in this breath there is also truth. Because even though my stuff is small, it is real. And it is known. By the God of the Universe. Creator of every good thing. And although I am sure I look like a total mess to Him, falling short everyday because of fear and worry and stress and attempts to control it all myself, He is more than able to cover my small stuff.

And to believe it is too small to approach the throne, is a lie. A lie too easily bought into. A lie which serves only to increase my burden and embarrassment.

And so this breath seems to be serving not simply as a pause in the midst of a stressful season, although for that I am thankful. It is not simply a moment to escape the fear of getting it all done or of approaching the unknown.

This breath is a reminder of a God who cares about my small stuff. Who covers fear and provides enough for each day. Each moment. Each breath. Far better than what I have been living.

So, I am going to do just that. Breathe. In and out. Time and again. And remember the vast and unfailing and beautiful and full love of God. Even in the midst of my stuff, small and all. And let it be enough for this day.