​95. No Longer a Dirty Word

In the cathedral, we practiced our vows with other couples gearing up to be married. And when the time came for me to utter those lines of “honor and obey,” I said the word “banana” over and over again.

And Matt laughed.

We were children of feminism. I’d do my thing, he’d do his, and neither of us would call each other out because neither of us had the right.

What an interesting road we’ve traveled.

“Submission” is no longer a dirty word to me. It’s an act of humbling my heart and considering the fact that I’m not always in the right. That maybe somebody else has a better idea that deserves to be heard.

However, I know I’m fortunate. I married a man who’s truly knelt to Christ and loves me and leads me with a good conscience and unburdened heart.

I’m well aware that’s not always the case.

All I know is where our eyes are. We no longer look at each other, our pupils pleading with the other’s, begging for that person to save us from ourselves. There’s no longer the gigantic task of shouldering the other, spine bent, dragging one foot behind in a grown up version of a piggy back ride.

There’s no longer that undesirable sensation of sinking because we’ve already been saved.

We work together. We love our child together. We thoroughly respect each other. But at the end of the day, there’s always one captain of the ship, and I can relinquish that responsibility knowing it belongs to someone who puts my best interest before his own.

It’s a practice that breaks my human will and brings me that much closer to God because I understand now the necessary act of tamping out earthly desire in favor of spiritual obedience that lasts a lifetime.

“Honor and obey,” two words that don’t taste that bad anymore.