Who am I...who are we?

Chris and I have been married for one year and one month on Saturday. And as sad, or manly, as this fact may be, he tends to forget the small details of our story...

Sometimes when I am alone, at home with a cold, or sitting in the practice room with my cello staring at myself in the mirror mounted on the wall I linger back a few years and remember how we met.

I had just come home from Europe and was auditioning for the university symphony as an undergraduate Music Education major. As I was wondering around the building looking for a place to warm up, I happened on a narrow hall and heard the familiar vibration of the cello singing behind a closed door. Passing by the slit of a window, I saw a young man in a tuxedo and dreadlocks three feet long (I assumed he was a hippie freshman, but he was hippie graduate student). Little did I know, that was my husband. We fell in love and were married one year later.

I had never met a man who was kinder, gentler, braver, or a man more filled with the love of Christ than Christopher. He spoke words to me that I had only shared in prayer, he knew things that I had only give over to the Lord, and called me by a name only the Holy Spirit had given me.

I want to remember our story. But more than remember, I want to chart our growth and log where God took us and is bringing us. This is a journal of a living, breathing, aching, imperfect marriage.