So God Made a Mother Collection ➔

I went to a wedding with my husband not long ago. It was a beautiful affair: twinkling lights, fresh flowers lining the aisle, the works. The couple beamed at one another in front of the church with so much love in their eyes the space around them glowed. 

I stole a glance at my husband and felt a tiny twinge of envy. More than a decade into marriage—a house, a pack of kids, careers, the works—had our love dulled into something that paled in comparison?

We started out just like those two, of course. When we were engaged, my husband-to-be counted down the days to our wedding on a little magnetic dry erase board at his apartment, the only adornment on his stark white refrigerator door. 

When the day finally arrived, my new husband smiled at me with such pure, deep love as we said our vows and promised our lives to one another. We were deliriously happy and deliciously naive. 

He started counting up on the dry erase board after that. 

Those days when love exists in the vacuum of two, when it pours out of every ounce of your beings, are a gift. Standing at the beginning, blissfully unaware of the twists and turns ahead, the joys and sorrows that await—it’s magic. You’re together, you’re in love, and that’s all that matters. 

But days turn into months, then to years, and the honeymoon starts to feel like a dream. Jobs and careers introduce new demands on time. Extended families come with worries and stress. A baby—maybe a few—comes along and shifts your gaze from one another to the living, breathing, utterly dependent product of your love. 

You do your best to hold on to threadbare wisps of romance stolen between the exhaustion, but most days end with you falling into bed—together, on the good nights—bested by the daily demands of parenting and acting like grown-ups. Sometimes you struggle to remember the last time you properly kissed each other, let alone anything else. 

And without anyone noticing, that little dry erase board loses track of the days, then disappears altogether.  

Sometimes, I see every hour of every day etched across our faces. We view the world through sadder eyes that have seen deep loss and tremendous joy. There are faint lines beginning to form around my husband’s kind blue eyes. Our idea of a good night involves getting through a whole episode of a favorite show and all the kids sleeping eight hours in their own beds. Not exactly the stuff of romance novels.

Our love is aging . . . but some things become more beautiful as they’re refined by the work of time.

What I’ve learned since the day we stood on the altar and promised forever to each other? Real love is a choice—a daily, conscious, unwavering choice. It’s the prism that’s taken a white-hot, concentrated beam of brand new love from so long ago and spread it into something colorful and boundless and beautiful.  

And every day, I choose him. I choose us. 

I choose our shortcomings and faults, our failures and our heartaches. I choose our inside jokes and laughter, our success and our joys. I choose our seasons of struggle and our renewals of hope. A thousand times, in a thousand ways, I choose my husband and this life we share.

I came across that little dry erase board just a few days ago while emptying a long-forgotten corner of a dresser drawer. The numbers were faint, frozen in a different time. But instead of making me feel sad for what was, I warmed with gratitude for what is: love—this beautiful life—we’re choosing every day.

You might also like:

My Marriage Isn’t Fair

To My Hard-Working Husband: I See You

To My Husband: 50 Reasons I Need You

Want more stories of love, family, and faith from the heart of every home, delivered straight to you? Sign up here! 

Our love is aging . . . but some things become more beautiful as they’re refined by the work of time. www.herviewfromhome.com

Carolyn Moore

Carolyn has served as Editor-in-Chief of Her View From Home since 2017. A long time ago, she worked in local TV news and fell in love with telling stories—something she feels grateful to help women do every day at HVFH. She lives in flyover country with her husband and five kids but is really meant to be by the ocean with a good book and a McDonald's fountain Coke. 

I Thought Our Friendship Would Be Unbreakable

In: Friendship, Journal, Relationships
Two friends selfie

The message notification pinged on my phone. A woman, once one of my best friends, was reaching out to me via Facebook. Her message simply read, “Wanted to catch up and see how life was treating you!”  I had very conflicting feelings. It seemed with that one single message, a flood of memories surfaced. Some held some great moments and laughter. Other memories held disappointment and hurt of a friendship that simply had run its course. Out of morbid curiosity, I clicked on her profile page to see how the years had been treating her. She was divorced and still...

Keep Reading

The First 10 Years: How Two Broken People Kept Their Marriage from Breaking

In: Journal, Marriage, Relationships
The First Ten Years: How Two Broken People Kept Their Marriage from Breaking www.herviewfromhome.com

We met online in October of 2005, by way of a spam email ad I was THIS CLOSE to marking as trash. Meet Single Christians! My cheese alert siren sounded loudly, but for some reason, I unchecked the delete box and clicked through to the site. We met face-to-face that Thanksgiving. As I awaited your arrival in my mother’s kitchen, my dad whispered to my little brother, “Hide your valuables. Stacy has some guy she met online coming for Thanksgiving dinner.” We embraced for the first time in my parents’ driveway. I was wearing my black cashmere sweater with the...

Keep Reading

To The Mother Who Is Overwhelmed

In: Inspiration, Motherhood
Tired woman with coffee sitting at table

I have this one head. It is a normal sized head. It didn’t get bigger because I had children. Just like I didn’t grow an extra arm with the birth of each child. I mean, while that would be nice, it’s just not the case. We keep our one self. And the children we add on each add on to our weight in this life. And the head didn’t grow more heads because we become a wife to someone. Or a boss to someone. We carry the weight of motherhood. The decisions we must make each day—fight the shorts battle...

Keep Reading

You’re a Little Less Baby Today Than Yesterday

In: Journal, Motherhood
Toddler sleeping in mother's arms

Tiny sparkles are nestled in the wispy hair falling across her brow, shaken free of the princess costume she pulled over her head this morning. She’s swathed in pink: a satiny pink dress-up bodice, a fluffy, pink, slightly-less-glittery-than-it-was-two-hours-ago tulle skirt, a worn, soft pink baby blanket. She’s slowed long enough to crawl into my lap, blinking heavy eyelids. She’s a little less baby today than she was only yesterday.  Soon, she’ll be too big, too busy for my arms.  But today, I’m rocking a princess. The early years will be filled with exploration and adventure. She’ll climb atop counters and...

Keep Reading

Dear Husband, I Loved You First

In: Marriage, Motherhood, Relationships
Man and woman kissing in love

Dear husband, I loved you first. But often, you get the last of me. I remember you picking me up for our first date. I spent a whole hour getting ready for you. Making sure every hair was in place and my make-up was perfect. When you see me now at the end of the day, the make-up that is left on my face is smeared. My hair is more than likely in a ponytail or some rat’s nest on the top of my head. And my outfit, 100% has someone’s bodily fluids smeared somewhere. But there were days when...

Keep Reading

Stop Being a Butthole Wife

In: Grief, Journal, Marriage, Relationships
Man and woman sit on the end of a dock with arms around each other

Stop being a butthole wife. No, I’m serious. End it.  Let’s start with the laundry angst. I get it, the guy can’t find the hamper. It’s maddening. It’s insanity. Why, why, must he leave piles of clothes scattered, the same way that the toddler does, right? I mean, grow up and help out around here, man. There is no laundry fairy. What if that pile of laundry is a gift in disguise from a God you can’t (yet) see? Don’t roll your eyes, hear me out on this one. I was a butthole wife. Until my husband died. The day...

Keep Reading

I Can’t Be Everyone’s Chick-fil-A Sauce

In: Friendship, Journal, Living, Relationships
woman smiling in the sun

A couple of friends and I went and grabbed lunch at Chick-fil-A a couple of weeks ago. It was delightful. We spent roughly $20 apiece, and our kids ran in and out of the play area barefoot and stinky and begged us for ice cream, to which we responded, “Not until you finish your nuggets,” to which they responded with a whine, and then ran off again like a bolt of crazy energy. One friend had to climb into the play tubes a few times to save her 22-month-old, but it was still worth every penny. Every. Single. One. Even...

Keep Reading

Love Notes From My Mother in Heaven

In: Faith, Grief, Journal, Living
Woman smelling bunch of flowers

Twelve years have passed since my mother exclaimed, “I’ve died and gone to Heaven!” as she leaned back in her big donut-shaped tube and splashed her toes, enjoying the serenity of the river.  Twelve years since I stood on the shore of that same river, 45 minutes later, watching to see if the hopeful EMT would be able to revive my mother as she floated toward his outstretched hands. Twelve years ago, I stood alone in my bedroom, weak and trembling, as I opened my mother’s Bible and all the little keepsakes she’d stowed inside tumbled to the floor.  It...

Keep Reading

Sometimes Friendships End, No Matter How Hard You Try

In: Friendship, Journal, Relationships
Sad woman alone without a friend

I tried. We say these words for two reasons. One: for our own justification that we made an effort to complete a task; and two: to admit that we fell short of that task. I wrote those words in an e-mail tonight to a friend I had for nearly 25 years after not speaking to her for eight months. It was the third e-mail I’ve sent over the past few weeks to try to reconcile with a woman who was more of a sister to me at some points than my own biological sister was. It’s sad when we drift...

Keep Reading

Goodbye to the House That Built Me

In: Grown Children, Journal, Living, Relationships
Ranch style home as seen from the curb

In the winter of 1985, while I was halfway done growing in my mom’s belly, my parents moved into a little brown 3 bedroom/1.5 bath that was halfway between the school and the prison in which my dad worked as a corrections officer. I would be the first baby they brought home to their new house, joining my older sister. I’d take my first steps across the brown shag carpet that the previous owner had installed. The back bedroom was mine, and mom plastered Smurf-themed wallpaper on the accent wall to try to get me to sleep in there every...

Keep Reading

Get our FREE phone wallpaper to encourage you as the new school year begins

It's bittersweet for a mother to watch her child grow—but you both are ready to soar.