The Measure of Love

a short story

Chapter 1: College

Ooooh, let me see the ring?! 

How did he propose? We want to hear the story!

You’re so lucky, he’s such a great guy!

I beamed with pride. I did feel lucky to get such a great guy. I walked to my capstone nursing class my senior year of college with a glow and a pep in my step, as a newly–engaged woman. 

Everyone wanted to hear the details. As my friends and classmates were getting engaged left and right, the whats and hows of each proposal were very significant. I heard Matt wrote Jess a song and sang it for her! Joe put the ring on the dog’s collar and had him walk to Jenny! 

Well, I began, it started with a series of letters he read to me all throughout the night. It ended with him washing my feet in a candlelit gazebo! I had no idea it was coming, it was a total surprise. It was so beautiful! 

I shared my story with anyone who asked. I showed the ring freely. Going to a small Christian college meant that spring was filled with proposals and rings and wedding plans and swapping ideas (side note: I am so glad I got married before Pinterest). All us brides in 2009 compared ourselves to the girl living in the house next door, not a million other perfect brides and weddings. But compare we did, and gush we did, and ponder we did. 

How deep the couple’s love was seemed to be dependent on these demonstrations of affection and how spiritual the wedding would be. What scripture are you reading at your ceremony? Will you see each other before for a first look, or wait until walking down the aisle? How many bridesmaids do you have?  At 21, love was measured by how elaborate and intricate a proposal was, how many references to Scripture would be in the wedding, and whether or not a secret photographer had captured the proposal and was also doing an engagement session shortly thereafter. 

Chapter 2: A Wrench in the Plans

What we didn’t plan on was calling off our wedding in late July of 2009, the night before invitations were to be sent out. We ended a phone call in harsh words and tears, knowing that how we were progressing towards marriage wasn’t the road we wanted. There was unresolved anger on his part, deeply rooted and needing help. I was a chronic people–pleaser, and it was affecting every relationship in which I found myself.

We called it off. Told our families and friends we were no longer engaged, and asked for their forgiveness and prayers as we took the next steps. We didn’t know if we would end up together or not. 

I have never felt more humbled in my entire life. Asking my friends if they can get refunds on their plane tickets ($300 was a lot to each of us back then) because my wedding was canceled was a pretty sucky phone call to make. I wanted so hard to have the perfect love story and wedding, full of analogies to God’s love and Charlie’s tenderness, with years of dating and memories culminating in a sweet and God–filled ceremony that everyone would talk about for years. 

Instead, it felt like the bubble of our “perfect” relationship had exploded in our world like an overblown bubble of gum pops on your face. 

We needed serious intervention if we were going to have a healthy relationship. At 22, love was measured by Charlie taking days to go to a weekend conference for those struggling with anger. He sat alongside 60 year–old men who had torn up their lives with harshness and bitterness, and had to face the reality of what unchecked anger does to a person and everyone around them. It looked like me spending $100 an hour on intense counseling to dig into why I was so afraid to tell people how I really felt and why I couldn’t stand up for myself.  

Chapter 3: New Marriage

By God’s grace, we were engaged a year later and married in the fall of 2010. We felt peace and humility as we danced down the aisle as husband and wife, surrounded by friends and family who had loved us through our darkest time. 

In those days, we were together as much as we could be. Newlywed life had us staying up till 2 am watching Jack Bauer save the world while stuffing our faces with popcorn. We lived in Truckee, California where the winter of 2010 brought 900 inches of snow to our little house. A member of the church where Charlie worked offered to let us use her extra snowblower that year. You won’t survive without it, she lovingly told us.

And she was right! Our new love was measured by how many mornings Charlie woke up in the pitch black to plow the driveway for me so I could leave for work. My drive was over the border to Reno, Nevada to work in the cardiac ICU, so I had to leave early and drive 45 minutes each way. His job was as a new youth pastor in a small church. I would spend as much time as I could helping him plan events, volunteering as a leader with the students. He listened to me cry as I shared difficult patient stories from the day. Whatever we did those first few years, we did together. We spent days off together, learning to snowboard, exploring the area, sleeping in, enjoying married stuff (ahem…you know). 

Chapter 4: Colorado

2012 brought the biggest change in our life thus far. We decided to move back home to Highlands Ranch, Colorado, where we both grew up. A youth pastor job came up in a local church that we couldn’t turn down. We were reluctant to leave our sweet life in Truckee, and it was a tough decision. 

At the time, I fought it. I thought it was too soon to move back home, even though I was excited to be closer to family. In hindsight, I’m very thankful we did indeed move. Within a year of being back, we bought a house (the one we’re still in), got very settled at our church, and were thankful to be near our families. It was evident my Dad’s health was changing; something was wrong, and we couldn’t quite figure it out. Now we know it was the onset of frontotemporal dementia in his late 50’s. 

In this phase, I felt Charlie’s love most in the times I cried to him nightly about what was happening to my Dad. I needed space and time to help care for Dad–I spent days with him so he wasn’t home alone, I helped figure out a plan for long term care, and I was in a state of prolonged, chronic grief. For a period of a few years, I asked the same questions of God and processed the same emotions almost on a daily basis. Never once did Charlie tell me to get over it or suck it up. He sat with me, cried with me, prayed with me. 

We didn’t think about writing living wills or discussing the resuscitation status of our parents when we married at 23. There was always a vague image I pictured someday of helping my in-laws as they got older, and needing to go to appointments with my parents. But neither of us had pictured what these years would actually hold.

The day before Thanksgiving 2016, love was measured by Charlie being the one to physically put my dad in the car and take him to the ER when the dementia was out of control, giving Dad dignity and love in the midst of a horrific day. 5 years later love was suggesting we name our youngest Shepherd Kevin, using my Dad’s name as his middle name. 2 years after that, love was Charlie giving the main message at my Dad’s celebration of life, crying while sharing what a hero my Dad was and how much we all gained from his life. 

Now, love is seeing Charlie go over to my mom’s house to shovel her snow, rake her leaves, clean up branches in the backyard, and do house repairs. He promised my Dad he would take care of my Mom, and he shows me love now by doing just that.

Chapter 5: Babies

As new parents at the age of 30, we thought we would be calm, cool and collected. Little did we know these tiny humans would bring the most humbling experiences of our lives thus far. 

One particular night, the stress was palpable. It was early 2018 and our baby boy, Judah, was only a few months old and sick with his first respiratory virus. He cried with a stuffy nose and cough, and no matter how much we employed the nose frieda it felt like we couldn’t keep up with the secretions. One night during a bleary-eyed diaper change at 2 am, Charlie joined me in the nursery to check on Judah. While laying Judah on his back, we heard him gag a bit on all the nasal drainage, so I quickly grabbed the blue aspirator given to us at the hospital and tried to clear his throat. 

To be clear, I am a registered nurse. I am a smart adult. In my sleep deprivation, however, I squeezed the aspirator and put it into Judah’s mouth, only to then continue to squeeze and release it–while it was still in Judah’s mouth–essentially shooting all the snot and boogers back into his throat. 

My usually sweet husband grabbed it harshly and proceeded to squeeze it toward my face, saying angrily and emphasizing every word, Don’t. You. Know. How. This. Works? The leftover baby boogers hit the side of my cheek while I stared ahead in anger and disbelief. 

Oh boy. If looks could kill…I glared at him with all the fury I could muster, picked up Judah to rock and soothe him, and sat down in the rocker to do what can only be described as passive–aggressive breastfeeding. 

Later while climbing back into bed, Charlie turned and said quietly, I’m sorry honey. I’m just stressed with all this newness and that wasn’t how I should’ve handled that. I acknowledged his apology and said tearfully, I’m new at this too, but I’m not a dummy. I’m stressed, too. 

We’ve gotten very good at apologies these past 13 years. What is marriage if not an ongoing opportunity to realize your flaws and send you straight to a place of humility and forgiveness?

Over the years, navigating the kids’ illnesses has evolved. The fall of 2021 we were like relay race runners, tagging each other in as we swapped places in the hospital to take care of both of our kiddos when they were each hospitalized with RSV a week apart. We spent our 11th anniversary together but sleeping on the couch in Shep’s step–down ICU room while he was breathing on oxygen and hooked to monitors. We whispered memories so as not to wake our 5 month–old baby, and ate hospital hamburgers as our anniversary dinner. 

For a few days in November 2022 we were tag teaming again, this time Charlie relieving me at the hospital while friends watched Shep at home. Judah was hospitalized for the second year in a row with RSV and I needed to go be with my Dad, who was now on hospice and actively dying. 

Just this last week, after a week of coughing and influenza and snot wreaking havoc on our house, Charlie tucked me into bed for a glorious 3 hour nap on a Saturday morning while he played with the kids so I could get some actual rest. 

A couple months ago, we were woken up by the sound of one of the kids puking. Every parent knows this sound–it rouses you from a deep sleep and has you out of the bed, reaching for your glasses and stumbling out of the room in seconds. While I was getting our son into the bath, peeling off his clothes and washing vomit off his body, I heard the washer start downstairs. Charlie came to tell me Judah’s sheets were changed and the dirty ones were currently being washed, and also do we need any water or medicine? 

There were no harsh words from either of us. No comparison of who has done more that day and needs sleep. No sighing or passive aggression. Just 2 teammates, each playing their part without needing to say it out loud, working together for our family. 

I turned and smiled at him, realizing how far we’ve come in the last 6 years of raising kids together, and said, No, sweetie, go back to sleep. I’ve got it from here.

Chapter 6: Settling In

How is love measured these days? 

A cup of coffee ready to go for me before he leaves for work. 

Seeing the bathrooms cleaned when I get home from a coffee date with a friend. 

His suggestion that I take a weekend this upcoming year to visit my college bestie after she moves to Washington D.C.

Saying, I’ve got this, you go rest, so that the other can have some alone time in the midst of a busy season. 

Booking counseling sessions for us together and individually, knowing we have so much still to learn about ourselves and each other. Investing the time and money in the work of becoming more healthy. 

As opposed to just adding memories and years to our love story, we are deepening and growing as we learn to love each other better. The greatest measure of love these days is the realization that we aren’t perfect. We need each other and the love of God profoundly. While I thought I would gain more confidence in who I am and what kind of wife I am the longer I’m married, I find myself seeing love as something to be both practiced and enjoyed, and something for which I am profoundly grateful. 

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Ours".