"I Do."

Last weekend, my sweet cousin got married. She was born when I was 20 years old and I have so many fond memories of her being the adorable, sassy sunshine of the family.  She married her love, they've bought a house together, and she's planning on starting grad school in the spring. All in her first year of marriage. The adventure begins.

This reminded me so much of another life I once led--before babies, before cancer, before widowhood, before falling in love again.  My first year of marriage to Brian. What an amazing growing experience. On our first anniversary---the paper anniversary---Brian presented me with the most priceless gift a young wife could want. No, it wasn't a blank check to go on a trip or a shopping spree. Or blueprints for a new house. Or really anything that resembled something tangible. Instead, it was a beautiful expression of grace penned from his own hand. He had written an article on marriage.  And he had been published in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.  

I still have a few hard copies of this article, something that has made our children beam, seeing their birth dad's name in print. I'm so thankful for the time I had with Brian. Though brief, he taught me about grace and beauty and what it means to be one in marriage. And what a gift to "do it again" with my Todd. Marriage is a great journey and "better than I ever dared hope."

Marriage Tests Best of Intentions

Think you're ready to wed? Think you know what to expect?  Think again.

by Brian Maynor

Special to the Post-Dispatch (Everyday Section)

Published August 13, 2000

I'm 30 years old, and I've had a good life. I've hung drywall. I've refinished floors. I've written articles on the controversy over wood vs. acrylic cutting boards. I've water-skied. I've ridden The Boss. I've taught Bible school in the mountains of Jamaica.  I've sailed on a clipper ship in the North Sea.  I've planted dahlias. I've had a window office overlooking Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, and I've rehabbed a house in Dogtown.  I've even seen Rock City. 

But until a year ago, I'd never been married.

As a high school English teacher. I've answered a thousands of questions on split infinitives, Emily Dickinson and how to ask a girl to the Christmas Banquet. But the first time I heard, "Does this make me look fat?" I froze.

As a journalist, I've interviewed market analysts, stockbrokers, and chief financial officers of Fortune 500 companies. I've learned volumes about keeping a huge company stable. But keeping a budget for a family while saving money for retirement, life insurance and college?  Nothing prepared me for that. 

As a St. Louisan, I've seen Van Gogh at the St. Louis Art Museum, heard the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra at Powell Hall and smelled the camellia trees at the Missouri Botanical Garden. But there's no aesthetic experience like seeing my wife in her black dress with her hair pulled back and her sunglasses on the top of her head.

And, no, not even Amighetti's sandwiches, Ted Drewes' concretes or Chuy's Fajitas for Two prepared me for the joy of eating the food we cook together (though Pho Grand's iced coffee with milk comes close).

As a bachelor, I thought marriage would be fairly easy, right? I mean everybody does it. I figured I was smart enough and experienced enough to do it right.  I had no idea.

You see, we had expectations. NEVER HAVE EXPECTATIONS. Marriage can be something much, much greater than what we expect. It's not the fairy tale, with the white knight and the princess (though I felt a little like the toad with the princess at times). It's also not the fairy tale with the picket fence and the perfect lawn or the fairy tale with the New York loft apartment and shows every weekend. We found out that if we expect the fairy tale, we're disappointed, and we miss out on something even better. 

Back when we expected the fairy tale, we made a resolution: WE ARE NOT GOING TO BECOME OUR PARENTS!  For example, my dad has slept on the right side of the bed and my mother on the left for 36 years. There are Bill- and Mary Helen-shaped ruts in their mattress. But, we said to ourselves, ruts in the bed means ruts in our life! We are going to be spontaneous every day and every night! Sometimes I'll sleep on the right, sometimes Susan.

"However we end up," we said.

Six weeks into our marriage, Brian- and Susan-shaped ruts were forming.

"My stuff is on the left. My books, my lamp, my glass of water. Why shouldn't I sleep on the left?" I said. But did that mean I wasn't spontaneous anymore? Has we lost that spark? 

A year later, I know it's not whether we sleep on the same side of the bed at night or whether we have 2.5 soccer kids and a sport utility vehicle. It's not whether we're spontaneous or romantic every single day or whether we take that trip to Italy and Greece together or finish the basement. It's grace. Giving each other grace to be ourselves, while seeing our own weakness and loving each other enough to work on them. 

It's just been a year since we were married, and we've since we started new jobs, rehabbed a house, put on two high school theater productions and started grad school, each of which were things that people told us we shouldn't do our first year. 

"The first year is hard enough," they said.

But I think it was worth it because we learned more about grace and about joy, and I found out what a strong, loving, joyful woman my wife is. And I found out that marriage is harder than I ever dreamed, but it's better than I ever dared hope.

Brian Maynor of St. Louis, a freelance writer, teaches at Westminster Christian Academy