We left as two, a couple, a pair. Husband and wife in covenanted unity, a marraige. We came home as three. Baby released from womb into our hands, our hearts, our home. That first night, after we tucked her snugly in her bassinet, we moved to our own music, knitted hands in the quiet, warmth pressed between us. Beside the baby who made us three, I swayed, Dancing with Daddy.
My parents believed the greatest gift you could give your children was a happy marraige. The older I became, the more I heard this phrase from their lips, and the more I believed it.
Being married now, I think of all the ways my parents created a healthy framework as a role model of marraige for me. I think of the tasks they danced through, the way they ran our home like smooth butter. Dad brought in finances and cared for the outside, and mom tended to the inside, and souls of her home. Their roles seemed clear and seemless, and left little room for squabble. So the life of our family ebbed and flowed, with peace and freedom and laughter at the table.
I think through those days with smiles and ease, and have found them often at the forefront of how I perceive parenting and marraige and everything in-between. I think their love and mostly their joy and each of the ways this was modeled to me.
My parents loved and enjoyed each other. Oh did they enjoy each other! I remember coming home from Sunday church, Dad cranking on the kitchen stereo, swinging mom around in crazy circles, all of us children laughing. I hear their hoots and hollars on the boat in pure freedom and release on a Saturday, bursting through Lake Michigan waves. I think of them as empty-nesters giggling about how much fun they had tasting free samples at Costco and weekending in Traverse City. I picture them holding hands across the car and in the church pew, and riding jeeps Jamaica and Ferraris in Hawaii. I hear my mom at the piano, dad singing "I am a Promise" and the roar of a Vet, convertible in the breeze. My mouth tweaks to her eye roll, his compliment of cookies -- two a time, four times a day. From Wednesday movies to Saturday morning breakfasts, from newlywed to empty-nest they flourished everywhere in-between.
Home was a safe place, a happy place. It was a place where anger was not heard, where sharp voices were void. It was a place where encouragement was present, support was plentiful. It was obvious to all: in this marraige, Love lived there. Their marraige was like a dance. A slow dance, like the wedding first, where others watch with wonder and awe and hope for the same. A model of steps, a series of movements, a swirl of love and life all through the rhythm of their home. They divided tasks and flowed in and out without correction or chiding, without second thought or worry, each trusting the other with abounding purity and confidence. They set a foundation, created a haven, a waltz of motion that provided rest for me.
Over the years I've listened to friends and family share about their parents' marriages. I've heard their heart cries, bemoaned their hurts, softened to their words. I've watched them ache for something better, wish for models, remember the wrongs. I've heard them recount the falling-outs, or seen them live the lies. I've heard wives belittle their husbands, husbands cower to their wives, and both ripple the effect to everyone around. I've witnessed expectations turn to curt words, hugs turned aside, and marriages staccato like roommate arrangements. These unions feel like legal arrangements, without security and softness, safety and shalom, for the parents, the heirs. Some notice their strain, others simply live without bother. But the affect on the children - their homes, their hearts, and their own bonds, is woven through the daily, unyielding.
I've seen this in my own home. In my dearest friends' home. We unveil our stories and noticed or ignore the interactions we repeat. We play the unsaid roles we saw them generate, and the hope or harm that that creates. I've heard woes over vacations, fear over dating, and judgement over gender display. I've smiled to praise in public, hands holded, and hotels booked. I've watched couples encourage dreams, support hobbies, and embrace relatives. And I've heard children learn to live the joy, or seek shelter from shame. Some hide the past, afraid of the sins or choices, or being found as the same. Others long to encourage their heritage, foundation faithfully set, and mimic the marraige their parent's made.
Gliding there, next to my daughter, was fresh reminder of this gift. This marraige vow. This initial created covenant under God. It is under this umbrella of marraige that a family begins, blooms and blossoms. It is in this embrace of husband and wife that children see the world as safe, inviting, enjoyable. It is in this union that they learn their model, perceive emotions, and imitate roles. This on my heart, our limbs in embrace, my heart felt such peace at what I prayed we'd display.
May our children grow up seeing me hold Mark's hand. May they know I still enjoy the safety of his embrace. May they see me uplift him with my words and support him with my works. May they see us laugh together, adventure together, and enjoy each other. May they see us wink across the table, road trip for weekends, embrace after work days, and dream toward vacations. May they know we sparkle about dates, kiss in the kitchen, and whistle 'handsome' and 'beautiful' -- even when we are fifty, sixty, seventy...
May our children know their mommy still grins and flutters because of their daddy. May they know their daddy still names her Love, every day. May they know they are loved, and see love, when their mommy is found, always, Dancing with Daddy.
