I've been thinking a lot lately about the vows Jake and I made 6 years ago. You know...to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, in health, till death parts us...etc, etc.
In all of the weddings I've been to recently, the bride and the groom exchange hand-written vows. Words that are meaningful to them and promises that are unique to their relationship. Each time I listen to them, I wonder why, given my love of writing, we didn't do that.
Then I remember who I married and why we stuck to the plain and simple. Not so much up Jake's alley.
I've been thinking about those vows lately because I've been wondering if I have inadvertently added to them. Expected more of Jake than he promised me on that day 6 years ago and tried to be more than I promised him.
I think somewhere along the way I gained this idea that Jake is meant to complete me; to be everything I am not. That once I married him, all the gaps and holes of my personality would be filled and balanced.
I was reminded this anniversary that Jake is not enough. That he wasn't meant to be enough for me.
(And there I go again with the heavy anniversary thoughts. You'd think at least one year I could conjure up a lovey-dovey #sorrygirlsigotthebestone post. Maybe next year.)
It's a freeing realization though, and one that I did not epiphanize (that's a word, wouldn't you know?) on my own. Angie Smith talks about it in her book, What Women Fear:
When we depend on others to be our God, we strike out on a couple different levels. We burden them with blame for their lack of ability and we forfeit what God could have done if we would have honored Him the way we should have.
It all goes back to my daily identity crisis, really. Jake doesn't define me as my husband any more than that silly little tube of lipstick sitting in my purse does. I didn't become a whole person 6 years ago when I married him. I became better (and more sarcastic), certainly, but I still have voids of loneliness and inadequacy and fear that I see now I've been trying to get Jake to fill.
But he can't. And he's not supposed to. He never promised that.
And in doing so, I'm forfeiting what God should be and could be doing otherwise.
It's a good and timely realization for me especially on the cusp of what lies ahead for our relationship.
So, here's to year 7. For better. For worse. For richer. For poorer. In sickness. In health.
In together. In apart. In joy. In sadness. In sincerity. In sarcasm.
To have and to hold and to recognize that neither one of us is enough for the other.