Where's Micah Been? And Other Denton Doings

Micah has been shockingly absent from the blog lately. What's he been doing?

First of all, since he no longer attends a school with a hair dress code, he's been growing out his hair.

 It's so long that he can use my velcro rollers!

 A smolder makes everything look better, right?

 I even attempted a smolder, but I can't pull it off as well as he can.

 I think after tonight, we may have convinced him to at least cut the back a little. He's vowed he won't cut it till June. We'll see if he can hold out that long.

After our little photo shoot Monday morning, I received this text from him just before dinner:

Seriously? A text?

And this is how I brought him home:

Lucky for us, his friend's dad is also our local orthopedic doctor. Chuck threw him in a boot and gave him crutches before we even left for Urgent Care. And lucky for Micah, it wasn't broken. He's been in the boot and on crutches all week, but I think he's mending. We'll know for sure this week. Dang kid! Next time, call your mama!

Brad has been on a cupboard organizing kick lately, and he took on the hardest project in our entire kitchen--the plastics cupboard. When he did the dishes, he made little signs and it has stayed organized for over a month, so he attempted the same procedure with this cupboard, even including a short lecture to the kids on how to correctly put things away. 

 So far, so good.

And best moment of the entire week:

He surprised me with dinner at Cafe Monarch in Scottsdale. What an incredible restaurant! I'm not a big foodie, but I was thoroughly impressed with every course, every waiter, and the ambiance. 

I married a keeper, that's for sure!

26

Dear Brad,

Remember that phone call the night before? We said goodbye and knew in the morning we would be together forevermore.

Remember picking me and my mom up that morning? We were so proud of our burgundy 1984 Honda Accord hatchback with mirrored side panels, and my mom climbed willingly into the cramped back seat.

Remember forgetting your tux? Lucky for us, your mom hadn't left her house yet.

Remember the altar and the mirrors and the family and the promises? The sealer said he knew that we were meant to be together.

Remember dancing on the temple lawn through intermittent raindrops? Even a term's worth of social dance couldn't help us much, but the videographer made it look pretty good, despite our stilted movements.

Remember my dad warning us that "a visitor from Pennsylvania" had shown up for the luncheon? My bearded and pony-tailed uncle Steve swooped first me and then you off our feet in bear hugs. Remember his advice that fell on deaf ears?

Remember two receptions a day apart? Thirteen cookie sheets and only one plate from our registry. Remember using our ZCMI credit to buy the entire set of china after we had returned twelve cookie sheets and other random gifts?

Remember accidentally throwing away our marriage certificate because the car was filled with newspapers and balloons at our reception? I will never forget watching you dig through the church's dumpster, avoiding wedding cake slimed up with lime sherbet frappe, and hoping our precious piece of paper had avoided it as well.

Remember how I convinced you that we didn't need a reservation at a hotel in Twin Falls, because "nothing ever happens there" but that this weekend was the Burley Boat Regatta and every hotel was completely full? I will never forget walking in my parents' front door at 12:30 am with no place to sleep and how quickly my mom volunteered her room and her bed for our second night as a married couple. She slept in the camper with Dad, and we both knew what a sacrifice that was for her.

Remember Lagoon and Batman and Dead Poets' Society? I knew then how much you liked movies but I didn't know how much you hate amusement parks. That was your first of innumerable small sacrifices you've made for me.

26 years.

So many memories. Love you.

25 Years--Love Without Limit

I gave you a list of Brad's good stuff on Wednesday. Today, it's time for something a little different.

The Hard Stuff

No matter how great a marriage is, there’s gotta be some bad stuff. We’ve had our share of the bad stuff. Little bad stuff like, “You forgot to buy milk again.” or “Be quiet! I’m sleeping!” or "The garbage is overflowing! Didn't you notice?" You know what I’m talking about. Little things that blow over quickly.

We’ve also have our share of the big bad stuff. Hard stuff. Really hard stuff.

But here’s the thing.

Hard stuff is pillow talk. It’s not blog talk.

This post is for my kids. I want them to know that there has been some hard stuff in our lives. Brad and I may quibble and disagree in front of our kids from time to time, but we've always kept the hard stuff to ourselves. And we will continue to do so.

Yes, we've had hard stuff. Every marriage has hard stuff, and it is mostly invisible to the rest of the world.

I can't speak for anyone's marriage but ours, and I can't give you both sides of the story because only one side is mine to tell. I know that many marriages end in misery and divorce, and I know that each couple has to figure it out for themselves. I'm not judging anyone for the road they've chosen to take. The only tale I have to tell is my own.

Hard stuff can break you apart if you let it. Hard stuff takes time, patience, understanding, and a lot of prayer.

Hard stuff can take days and weeks to work through the storm before you can feel the calm.  The fury and hurt feelings can linger even longer--months, and for some people even years. 

What has gotten us through the bleakest, hardest, most divisive times in our marriage has always been and will always be the knowledge that our marriage isn't just about us. It's about the eight children we chose to join us in our family and in our journey together. It's about promises we made to each other--sacred covenants--across an altar in Salt Lake City on that blustery June day twenty-five years ago. We made those covenants with each other, but most importantly, we made those covenants with God, and He wants us to be happy and for our marriage to make us happy--not just every day, but for the rest of our lives and for eternity.* 

I've found that I'm happiest in my marriage and in my life when I put God first and Brad second and everything else somewhere after, including myself. Even when the storms are raging and so is my anger, I know that God can turn my heart, can change my vision, and can help me forgive. I know this, because I've witnessed it happen in my marriage again and again.

When we have invited God into the solution and worked through problems together, the hard stuff has had a bonding effect on us. Like strangers who survive a disaster side by side, we have come through those storms closer and more committed to each other, our family, and to God.

Some marriages may look perfect from the outside, but from the inside, every marriage has hard stuff--holes that can break a couple apart. But those holes don't have to be the end--they can be changed into something valuable.

I am blessed to be married to a man who has helped me make those holes beautiful.

I was rubbing Micah's back in Church last Sunday when I asked him, "Do you know how much I love you?" I ask that question a lot, and I usually get the same answer, but this time his answer surprised me.

"Without limit."

So profound from my ten year old. 

That's the goal for love in a marriage--love without limit. Love of the good stuff and in spite of and through the hard stuff.

Twenty-five years ago, I never would have guessed how beautiful the hard stuff can become, when you work together.

I love you, Brad--without limit. Thanks for 25 imperfect years, full of the good stuff and the bad stuff--the stuff of eternity.

*For more information on Mormon views of marriage, I wrote a blog post a few years ago that may answer your questions. Click here to read it.

25 Years--The Good Stuff

I watch lots of video clips for school. At the beginning of my current class, I had to watch a short clip from Good Will Hunting—a counseling session between Robin Williams and Matt Damon.* Williams is talking about his late wife’s idiosyncrasies, and instead of dwelling on how bugged he was by them, he laughingly remembered them with tears in his eyes, calling those things about her “the good stuff.”

I have never seen the movie, but I thought about that clip for a long time. It’s all in your perspective, isn’t it? You can either allow those little things to grate on you until they become grains of sand in your shoe, or you can see them as endearing . . . the good stuff.

Here is some of the good stuff about my man.

Brad is the pickiest peanut butter and jelly sandwich eater in the world. Both the peanut butter and the jam have to be spread exactly to the edge of every inch of crust, and not over the edge. He also needs a big glass of milk with it. No exceptions.

Brad has the flattest and smoothest palms. I still remember the first time I held his hand and noticed how flat they are.

Brad uses less than one stick of deodorant a year. You read that correctly. A year. He rarely sweats and will only apply deodorant if he knows it’s going to be a stressful day (like going to court).

Brad hated rice before he served his mission—to Japan. Now he loves it.

Brad says, “Take it eeeeeeeasssssy,” with just that inflection, purposely to annoy me.

Brad has multi-colored eyes—a brown ring around his iris and a green ring around the brown. The older he’s gotten, the lighter his eyes have become. This picture makes them look red--it's an old one. The naked baby on the treadmill is Micah.

Brad has never minded his early grey hair (not so early now that he’s 47, but he had a few on his head when we married), especially after he graduated from law school. He figured the older he looked, the wiser he looked, and the more he could charge per hour. Always thinking. Always thinking.

Brad rarely snores, but he does breathe really loud with a slight clicky noise at the end of each breath on occasion. He also claims that he never sleeps better than when he’s sleeping diagonal on a king bed.

Brad is turning more and more Libertarian as he ages—not only does he want the government to leave him alone, he wants people in general to leave him alone. (Not really. I thought it was funny. The Libertarian part is true, though.)

Brad can’t touch his toes, but he can pick his nose with his tongue.

Brad has an itchy spot on his back that never goes away—just above his left shoulder blade. Every night before bed, he will turn his back to me, raise his shirt and say, “ITCHY SPOT!” I will scratch that spot until dark-red, nearly bloody stripes crisscross his back. Then he’ll sigh a long sigh and say, “Yeah. Thanks.”

Brad always wipes around the toiled bowl and puts the toilet seat back down down when he’s finished. Lest you think he’s perfect, he will never put the toilet paper on the roll.

Brad carries a grudge that I threw away his fuchsia flannel shirt with giant bicycles, and he still reminds me on occasion. Ask him about it. He can recount every detail of that ugly thing.

Brad and I kept our relationship private, because we didn’t want anyone in our office to know we were dating. We were proofreaders, and we started leaving sticky notes for each other with “ILYCK” written on them—“I Love You Cute Kid.” We still use it all the time--as goodbye on the phone or in texts or with our kids.

Brad and his cousin Thatcher have been closer than brothers most of their lives. They even have their own English dialect called “The B/T Syntax.” At BYU, Brad wrote an upper-division English grammar paper about it, and his teacher gave him 100% because it was so funny (and because it was well written, I'm sure). If they’re ever together, the syntax immediately appears. You know it when you hear it.

Brad had a much more refined fashion sense than I did when we got married. He taught me how to iron a man’s shirt and how to dress. For the first birthday I had after we were married, he gave me $100 (a ton on our student budget) and took me shopping. I’ve trusted him ever since.

Brad loves movies and sometimes gets emotionally invested in them—much more than I do. When we saw “Beaches,” he cried so hard that he made me wait till everyone else left the theatre before he would leave.

I'm sure he could compile similar stories about me, but that's the beauty of having my own blog--I can publish my list.

That's the good stuff.

And he's all mine.

*The video clip from Good Will Hunting is filled with foul language and isn't something I would normally watch. If you'd like to see it, here's the link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8mn3nLPSMY. Be warned--the language may not be appropriate.

25 Years--By the Numbers

What accumulates over approximately 9,130 days together?

1339 E. Madison Park Avenue, Chicago

8 addresses
2 in Utah, 2 in Chicago, and 4 in Mesa
+1 bonus summer living with my parents in Idaho

PLUS

Six wedding rings
2 for him--jammed his finger one too many times and his knuckle was never the same again
4 for me--one in the bottom of Lake Michigan (that's a story), two interim gold bands, and a surprise for our thirteenth anniversary that I had admired in a store one day

PLUS

14 jobs--9 for him, 5 for me
He's offended the entire student body of BYU with a single editorial and built his own firm from scratch. I've taught about Purim in a Jewish preschool and taught piano lessons so I could have my dream piano.

PLUS

13 cars
2 Hondas
1 Datsun
2 Toyotas
3 Chevy Suburbans
1 Audi
1 Acura
2 pickups (a Ford and an GMC
and my favorite--1 Dodge Colt Vista. Don't remember that car?

image from here--don't know why it's smoking

I had been housebound with three little kids because Brad needed our Camry to commute to Phoenix. This little tin can station wagon represented freedom for me.

PLUS

70,000 miles logged visiting family in Idaho and Utah
plus multiple road trips to California, six trips from Chicago to Utah, two jaunts from Chicago to DC, our Summer Grand Adventure in Pennsylvania, and we've driven coast to coast and back again.

PLUS

17 pets
6 fish
4 frogs
3 dogs
2 hermit crabs
1 dwarf shrew
1 cat
Thankfully, that number does not include any snakes.

PLUS

5 marathons and half a dozen half marathons
A lot of miles on these old legs of ours

PLUS

Approximately 1,953 days (or about 279 weeks) of pregnancy
Factor that into how many days we've been married, and I've been pregnant for more than 20% of our marriage.  That sounds like a lot.
That is a lot.

PLUS

98 cumulative years of parenting
Add up the ages of our kids. Crazy, right?

Add in countless sleepless nights, gallons of vomit, hundreds of dirty diapers and loads of laundry, thousands of toilet paper rolls, hundreds of light sabe battles, and about 3,650 trips to Target, and it all equals up to

25 years I wouldn't change for anything.

25 Years--The Beginning

June 23, 1989

I watched the sun come up, standing on the corner of the squeaky bed in my grandparents' spare bedroom that I had shared with my sister that night.

He pulled up in the burgundy hatchback with the mirrored side panels. I had never cared much about cars, but this one was special. We had spent a day in Salt Lake, test driving many and finally deciding on a 1984 Honda Accord. Today, he was driving us to the Salt Lake Temple in Our Car--the first either of us had ever owned.

The temple was busy that day. Of the 45 weddings scheduled, we were number 23--number 23 on June 23rd at 10:25 am.

He forgot his tux. My veil was too tight.

He slicked his hair. I braided mine.

It sprinkled. We danced on the grass.  Around and around until he'd had enough.

We were young, and we were in love.

And we had no idea what was ahead.

We just knew we would do it together.

Today is our 25th wedding anniversary.

25 years of memories--I'm going to celebrate all week.

I hope you'll join me.

What I Wish I'd Said

A few days ago, I was part of a conversation discussing marriage.  I was the only one in the room who was married, and I felt a little out of place.  One young woman had said something about "her fiance," so I asked when she was getting married.  She answered with a shrug and an "I don't know.  It doesn't really matter.  We've been engaged 3-4 years, together for almost ten.  The piece of paper doesn't really mean anything to us."  I answered with some light-hearted, almost flippant comment about how marriage forces them to forgive you faster or something--a comment I immediately regretted and wished I could retract. 

The next comment surprised me.  A young, unmarried man quickly responded, "You know, you really should get married.  It's not about the piece of paper.  It's not about what the government thinks.  Being married will change your relationship.  It will change the way you view each other and change the way you treat each other.  Change it for the better."

And that was the end of the conversation.

Ever since that morning, I've wished I could retrace my steps. I've wished I could tell them the truth about marriage and explain to those young people what marriage means to me after twenty-four years--in my life, in my family, where I live. I know that marriage isn't always this way, but this is my perspective.

Marriage is more than a piece of paper.  Marriage is a level of commitment unequaled in the rest of the world.  Companies make mergers and countries negotiate treaties, but marriage is different.  A marriage is two very different people from different backgrounds and experiences who promise to walk the rest of the road together, no matter what. 

Marriage is more than a government entity.  Marriage is a covenant. It isn't about politics or nationality.  Marriage is a promise between the couple and God that they will "forsake all others" forever.  It is above goverment--marriage is monitored from heaven.

Marriage isn't taking the high road or the low road.  Marriage is taking the same road. Finding the same road isn't easy, and sometimes you just don't want to.  That's when it is most important.

Marriage isn't two people.  Marriage is investing time, heart, tears, sorrow and joy into someone else so that your goals and focus become one as often as possible.  Differences occur and differences are okay, but when two people center their lives on each other, the differences matter less and less.

Marriage isn't husband and wife.  Marriage is family. The sacrifice aspect of parenting and raising a family is getting lost in today's society.  A family needs the full commitment of Dad and Mom, not just when times are effortless or when kids are easy. Marriage is dirty diapers, throw up, scripture reading, Christmas mornings, fighting in the car on vacation, service opportunities, Primary talks, wrestling matches, bedtime stories, missionary farewells, and weddings. It's about guiding a group of individuals towards similar goals long enough that the bond of family lasts beyond kids leaving the nest--even beyond the bonds of mortal life and into eternity.

Marriage isn't about self.  Marriage is burying your selfish needs to serve the one you love. It's hard to remember to put your spouse ahead of your needs or your kids' needs or your work's needs, but when I consciously and prayerfully decide that Brad's needs are my highest priority, then I'm the happiest.

Marriage isn't choosing the perfect person.  Marriage is making the one you choose perfect for you.  I was so young when I got married--not even twenty--and I had no idea what I was doing or who this man I was marrying really was.  Many times I have reflected on that day and wondered how I got so lucky to have him in my life.

Marriage isn't a honeymoon in Hawaii.  Marriage is work. That daily struggle to make ends meet, to get kids to school, to recover from hurt feelings, to teach kids to pray, to fix dinner when you really want to watch TV, and to find time for an occasional date together--that's what leads to true happiness.

 Marriage isn't easy.  Marriage is hard. Sometimes marriage is easy.  You wake up and think, "WOW! I'm the luckiest person alive."  The truth is--these mornings are few.  Most mornings, you wake up and your brain immediately grinds down your to-do list and you neglect the reality that you have a partner in it all. Reality is morning breath and school lunches and work meetings and balancing the budget.  Reality is disagreements and arguments and learning to negotiate. 

Marriage is more than love and sex. Marriage is intimacy. It's knowing just how he needs the itchy spot on his back scratched every night, or knowing just how to arrange the pillows on the bed, or buying his favorite snack because you saw it on sale, or spending your lunch hour at home so she can catch a quick yoga class. It's ignoring the smell from the bathroom or the sweaty socks in the laundry.

Marriage isn’t getting tied down.  Marriage is soaring to new places then returning to the security of home.  People change as they get older.  I never thought I would be getting a master's in gifted education when I was 44, but Brad has supported me in this crazy adventure.  No matter how bad my grade on an assignment, or how ornery I am in the morning, I know that he's the foundation of my life.

Marriage isn’t boring.  Marriage is having a permanent companion for life’s roller coaster. Twenty-four years.  We've had many rides on that roller coaster.  Law school, moving, infertility, loss of a child, Church callings, difficult children, financial mistakes, with many more in between.  Through it all, he's been strapped in next to me, and he even occasionally will lift his hands above his head during the scariest parts of the ride.  I need that.

Marriage isn’t keeping score.  Marriage is not keeping score at all. Yeah--he didn't help get the kids ready for bed the way I wanted him to, and I forgot to take in the dry cleaning.  He was short-tempered when he came home from work, and I was even shorter-tempered that he was home late.  The score doesn't matter, and the faster you learn that, the better.

Marriage isn’t perfect.  Marriage is being able to let go of perfect and letting that be okay.  Reality is that your spouse will let you down.  Sometimes that disappointment is small.  Sometimes that disappointment is almost crippling.  Sometimes, asking God to help you see past those flaws to the soul of the person you love takes every ounce of strength you've got.  The beauty of marriage is that your spouse is doing the same for you, because you're not perfect either.

Marriage isn't without risk.  Marriage is a risk worth taking. I know the divorce rate.  I know the odds are stacked against marriages today. I know all this, and yet I know it's still worth it.

Every day for the past twenty-four years, I have looked to Brad for humor, for joy, for reassurance, for guidance, for love, for solace, for backup, for comfort, for help, for happiness.  His hair is increasingly more gray and his eyes crinkle more at the corners now.

Every day for the past twenty-four years, he's been there. 

And the greatest joy of my life is knowing that he always will be, no matter what. I couldn't be happier.

This is what I wish I'd said.

I Always Want to Be with My Own Family . . .

Final question:  I know that when you are married in the temple, you are sealed to your husband for eternity.  Any children born into that marriage are automatically sealed to you.  But what happens when those children grow up and get sealed and have their own children?  Are they all sealed to you too?  Will everyone in the celestial kingdom just end up being sealed to each other?  I have been dying to ask someone about this.  Please tell me what you think!

I purposely saved this question for last because, as you know, my family is my favorite thing in the world. For more general information on marriage, click here.

source

June 23, 1989--I was almost twenty years old and that day would change my life literally forever. At 9:25 am in the Salt Lake City temple, Brad and I were married for time and sealed together for all eternity.  The covenants that we made with each other and with God would not only keep us together while we live here on earth, but these sacred promises extend even after we die--no "until death do we part." Always.  I would always have Brad by my side, and any children who came to join our family would be ours forever, because our family was sealed by a covenant unbreakable by time or death.

I knew that this was the beginning of everything I'd ever dreamed of--a handsome husband, and children who, one by one, expanded our family's circle of love.  Each one came and I was almost surprised how I instantly loved them with all my soul and how I almost forgot what life was ever like without them.

For thirteen years, I kind of took these promises for granted.  I went along, busily living my life and raising my family, learning to love most of my job as mother of my family.  Then, my whole world came crashing down around me.

On September 10, 2002, I lost my fifth child, a stillborn daughter.
So much of that time in my life is a blur--barely suffering through each torturous day, feeling her loss and my pain so intensely that I couldn't eat or sleep.
So much of that time in my life is sacred to me--lessons I learned through my suffering that I know God couldn't have taught me any other way.  I learned compassion.  I learned patience.  I learned about pain and suffering, and I learned that I was stronger than I ever thought possible.

Most importantly, I remembered something I'd always known--families can be together forever through Heavenly Father's plan.  I knew that even though my pain was real and overwhelming, God's plan covered my loss, and if I am faithful to the covenants I made in the temple and at baptism, one day I will have my sweet, tiny tiny daughter again.  I will see her, comb her hair, look into her eyes, hold her close to me, and never let her go again.  The promise of this eternal blessing is what got me through that dark time in my life.

The pain of this trial has lessened over time, but the scar has never disappeared. I often credit that experience with the miracles that are my last three children.  Someday I will share all of their birth stories and the lessons I learned through bringing their spirits to earth.

Life moves on, and as sure as rainbows follow rain, children grow up and move out and find someone they love above all the others.  They decide it's time to get married.  When Heidi told me she had found "the one,"  I wasn't quite ready to have her leave the nest, but from the first day I met Sam, I have been amazed at the ease with which he has slid into our family--never missing a beat--and he loves and takes care of my daughter in ways that make me proud.  The day that they were sealed in the Mesa, Arizona temple was a day of joy and celebration, for all of us.

Now that I am entering the next phase of life--the next generation of Denton descendants--these covenants mean even more to me, because I know how far-reaching and vital these promises are.  Ellie is sealed to her parents, Heidi is sealed to Sam, Sam is sealed to his parents, and Heidi is sealed to us.  I am sealed to Brad, and I am sealed to my parents and my siblings, who are in turn each sealed to their spouses and children.

It's a never-ending chain, where not only immediate family but extended family will be able to eternally continue those loving bonds fostered on earth.  This chain isn't as much like the chain on a swing as it is like a chain-link fence--the chains go back generations as well as across generations.  The goal of eternal marriage is like they say in Lilo and Stitch:  Ohana means family.  Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.

Life will always throw us a curve ball when we least expect it.  I take great comfort in knowing that if anything ever happens to a member of my family, we will be together forever, as long as we keep our part of the covenant, stay obedient to the commandments, and endure to the end of our life on earth.


And I wouldn't want to miss out on a single moment with this bunch.  This is where I belong.  Always.

Thanks for taking the time to read my posts this week.  I would love to hear your comments or any further questions you may have.  It has been a joy for me to think about what I believe, why I live it, and how to share it with you.

Fifth post in a series of five:

Monday: Why I Believe

Tuesday: Missions and the Plan of Salvation

Wednesday: The Son of God, Birth and Conception of Jesus, Mormons and the Trinity

Yesterday: The Bible and Other Sacred Texts

Traditional Values

WARNING: MOVIE SPOILER ALERT!
If you are going to see "He's Just Not That into You," and don't want to have the ending ruined, please avoid this post. Although the comments herein will probably still be of high value to you as an individual. Proceed with caution.
Brad took me to see "He's Just Not That into You" a few weeks ago, and I haven't been able to get this off my mind. So--off the mind and into cyberspace.
This isn't a movie review. It's more a social commentary.
Hollywood is so good at manipulating your feelings and emotions through movies. You cheer for the good guy and despise the bad guy. In this movie, a quintessential chick flick, you find yourself duly manipulated. Not that I mind that. I enjoy a good chick flick, just like the next chick. This one is actually quite clever with its "interviews with people on the street." These made me laugh out loud, especially the two ladies talking about Ben and Jerry's and getting dumped. So hilarious.
Don't get me wrong. There were a few parts that were so crude that I visibly cringed. Like the gay newspaper guys. Ewww.
You don't really know what's going to happen with the married couple. But Bradley Cooper is so dang cute in it that it's hard to see past his looks through to his evil intentions. I saw a little of myself in his wife, Jennifer Connelly--a little anal, slightly high strung about building their new house.
But I caught myself a few times actually Cheshire cat smiling at the antics of other couples in the show. You just root for Ginnifer Godwin and Justin Delong, straining for him to see how cute and wonderful she is, and when he finally gets it . . . Cheshire cat moment.
But what I really wanted to address (but felt like I needed all this precursory babbling), is the Jennifer Aniston/Ben Affleck romance. The crux of their issue is that he is not the marrying type. He doesn't need some paper from society to prove that he loves her. They break up over it, but in the end, she decides that she'd rather have him, unmarried, than live the rest of her life without him. In the end, kind of shockingly, he surprises her and proposes marriage because underneath it all, he wants her to be happy. This is where I was surprised. They were already back together, happily going back to their lives. But when she pulls that ring out of his pants pocket and he drops to one knee, there was a very audible titter of "OHHHH." Like a litter of puppies had just been pulled out of a box. Another Cheshire moment.
This shocked me. Aren't we all trained from a young age that traditional marriage isn't important or relevant in today's society? What does it really matter, as long as you love each other? Marriage doesn't last anymore anyway. So why bother?
So . . . if this is really true, why the puppy dog sighs and Cheshire grins?
Because truth is truth, no matter how much society dilutes it or pollutes it or compromises it or redefines it. We are preprogrammed, by our Creator, to want this happiness, this stability in our lives. And no matter how much we are told otherwise . . .
Epiphany #42--Prince Charming and Happily Ever After are still what every little girl dreams of. And deserves.
From this Cinderella who was swept off her feet and eternally bound almost twenty years ago, may you all have that happy ending.