The muck

We're in wedding season.
The saddest, happiest, joyous, most excruciating adventure awaiting a large part of us in this world.

Attached to this is hope, expectations, emptiness, fullness.

The monogrammed towels every bride is hoping for is the highlight of the list. The focus is the china set. The wedding dress is on display for all to judge how she will step into her new role.

What we don't know about is the blood, sweat, tears, grit it will take to hang on.

The daily mess that ensues to hold it all together.

The children who start as wonderful, submissive, people-pleasing infants and toddlers turn into surly, snarly teenagers at times.

The heart that breaks over disagreements.

The grief over another day of not living the life you dreamed.

The feeling of being a second class citizen because of the sacrifices you've made for your family.

The lack of recognition.

The anger.

The hate.

The fear.

The love.

The passion.

The care.

All wrapped in one small beating rhythm that feels it might explode because of the range of emotions it keeps encompassed in its tiny walls.

The heart.

All choices to stay because of the commitment made to One.

Some days to decision to stay committed is higher than finding relief from the pain in running away.

This outweighs what towels will be in the guest bathroom or where to put the couch.

These commitments are heart wrenching at least and heart bursting at most.