Bring your broken heart, and I will bring mine.

Two years ago, Buddy just six weeks old, growing inside of me, Katherine having just turned one, RB and I sat on the couch in our preacher's office. It was just weeks before Christmas and our 8th wedding anniversary. We sat with our backs to one another, our bodies as far apart as possible on the small couch. And as our preacher began to ask us why we were there and what was happening, I hesitated to speak. I was afraid of what would come out... would it be uncontrollable sobbing from months of feeling like we were broken? Would it be more anger and harsh words said only out of hurt and fear? Or, scariest of all, would it just be quiet resignation?

And before either of us spoke, I replayed our relationship in my head. The first carefree days of dating when life was all new experiences and social outings and the freedom only your early 20's can provide. The first years of our marriage when we were setting up house and building a life together and everything seemed to be centered around becoming "The Buchanans." Every time we had seen a positive line on a pregnancy test and felt those first few kicks and then held that precious soul on the day they were born. And all I could think was, "How did we get here? This wasn't supposed to be us. What happened?"

"What happened?" was the first question on all my girlfriends' lips. "What happened?" There was no scandalous story to share. No second family in a different state or Lifetime movie secret hidden past. There wasn't even name calling. What there was, though, was exhaustion. And grief. And over-packed schedules. There were weeks that we didn't get more than 25 hours of sleep total and didn't have time to say more than "Have the kids eaten?" to each other. There were work frustrations and extended family stress and hard pregnancies and a miscarriage. And worst of all, there was score keeping. So much score keeping.

Slowly but surely, it all festered. There would be happy days with the tension right under the surface of every smile and kind word. The hurt from the last fight carried into the most joyful of days. No matter how much sun tried to shine into our house, the clouds wouldn't part.

So there we found ourselves. Newly expecting. Worn down. Scared. As we left, our preacher told us it was our choice. We could fight and save our family or we could find ourselves spending Christmases apart for ever, our family fractured.

We drove home in silence, staring at the Christmas lights slowly piling up around the city. We went home to our warm house with our two precious girls and we played nice while we cooked dinner and did the bed time routine. And then we started fighting. But for the first time in a year, we were fighting for each other and not against each other.

We slowed down and paused when tempers flared. We said we were sorry more and used sarcasm less. We put ourselves first for the first time in years. We stayed home and sheltered in place, doing our best to protect all that we held dear. And we messed up. We backslid. We fell back on bad habits and let pain and fear rule us rather than grace and love. But we kept showing up and fighting for the us we had been and the us we could still be.

And now, two years later, we celebrate our 10th anniversary. Not with the big party we had initially planned or the trip we planned as a back up, because life and kid and jobs. We do, though, celebrate with probably the most happiness of any of our anniversaries since the day we were married. We celebrate with the hope and excitement of our 20's combined with the comfort of our 30's. We celebrate with a house full of precious babies who give us a reason to keep fighting. We celebrate with thankful hearts for the friends who encouraged us, the family who loved us, and the very big God who taught us grace and unconditional love. We celebrate these ten years for every peak and valley that has brought us here today. Happy anniversary, RB. Thank you for loving me fiercely through the good and the bad. I know the best is still ahead.

Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God; and everyone who loves is
born of God and knows God.

1 John 4.7

Intentional

Last January, our pastor called us to write our word for the year on a rock - a way to visualize what we wanted for the year ahead. I sat in my chair and tried to focus on what my word should be for 2018 but couldn't stop thinking about 2017. Drowning, I thought to myself. That was my word for 2017. I was drowning under a sick baby and two other littles that were healthy but still needed love and attention. I was drowning under a busy work schedule, financial insecurity, two misbehaving dogs and not enough sleep. I was drowning under the realistic expectations of being a mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend and the very unrealistic expectations I placed on myself in areas that were wholly unimportant.

And I pictured the year ahead - how 2018 would play out - and I thought I don't need a word. I need a live-in maid. And a better organization system for toys. And a to-do list that can actually be finished. I need every trick Pinterest can give me to a less stressful, less cluttered, more organized life. No, I don't need a word. I need a tangible tool.

So, I started 2018 with all the tools I thought would help me be the me I wanted to be. Would organize my life. Take out the stress. Be a good example for my kids.

Almost immediately, I learned that there is no tool that can do this. Sure, there were tricks that could make our mornings easier and decluttering that gave us a sense of serenity. But that drowning feeling kept creeping back in. There was never enough time. There were never enough hands. There was always someone needing something. Drowning. We were drowning again.

So the second half of 2018, RB and I raised the white flag. We looked around at the chaos - both literal and figurative - and realized that something had to give. We slowed down. We carved out time for us and for the kids. We learned how to say no to outside obligations and realized we didn't need fulfillment by constantly being on the go.

Christmas 2018 was our best yet as a family. It was a quieter season than those in the past. We stayed in more and snuggled and played games and didn't feel pressured to have an Instagram worthy event every moment of every weekend. It was perfection, even if Bonnie's melancholy about the lack of snow was very evident.

So, a year after fidgeting in my seat, I sat in our church and listed to our pastor talk about Fresh Starts - about the start we get at the beginning of every year but, more importantly, about the fresh start we get every day through Jesus. And again, he asked us to pick a word. To write it on the rock. To live it this year.

And my heart sang out "intentional." No, I don't want to drown anymore. I want to fly - and the only way I will do that is through intentional living.

I want to be intentional in my relationships with my children. These years are speeding by and I want to make sure the time spent with them is quality time. No, this doesn't mean each day is a huge undertaking or adventure. It does mean, though, that the time with them is quality time - where they know they are loved and heard and their company cherished. I want to be fiercely protective of my time with them so they never think they come second place to errands or phone calls or other temporary and feeling responsibilities.

I want to be intentional in my marriage. As we quickly approach our ten year anniversary, I want to purposefully pour and invest in this relationship. I want to be intentional in my words - not just spout to do lists or quick hellos at the door as we pass off kids. I want to be intentional in telling RB how loved and appreciated he is. As I covet my time with our children, I covet my time with him and want to remember throughout the year that this family that I cherish so much first started because two crazy kids fell in love.

I want to be intentional in all other relationships - both in the love and energy I invest in them and the experiences they pour back in to my life. As iron sharpens iron, I want to continue to surround myself with people who fill my heart with joy, who I value my children getting to know, and who I appreciate are willing to tell me the hard truths when I least want to hear them. At the same time, I want to intentionally be this kind of friend to those I hold so dear.

I want to be intentional with my time and realize it is one of the most precious gifts I have. It is limited and fleeting and I don't want to spend it on things that won't matter in six months or five years.

I want to be intentional in my relationship with Jesus - let His words wash over me even when I am not in the structured setting of Sunday services. I want to intentionally and truly say, probably for the first time in my adult life, "Here I am, Lord, send me."

I want to be intentional with what I bring in to my home. Is it stuff just for the sake of stuff? Does it add to the chaos or is it actually valued and appreciated? Where will it even be in half a year? And - most importantly - is it worth the cost or could that money better be spent building a legacy for my family or helping those in our community who need it the most?

I want to sit in my church at the start of 2020 and be able to say that I spent the year intentionally living. I want the year to reflect a life that is structured around intentionally loving God with all my heart, mind, body, and soul and loving others as I love myself.

The to-do lists, the organization tricks, the planning and overplanning - they are all conceived to try to give me freedom and time. I want to end the year knowing that instead of trying to constantly restructure my life to make it all fit, I focused on those things that are most important and lived a year that truly reflected an intentional life.

I am still open to the live-in maid, though.