Where His Grace Begins (And Where I Get Crazy Brave and Share a Song With You)

It was eleven o’clock at night. My husband was at work. My son was still awake, and since my daughter and son shared a room, my daughter was also awake.

It was one of those tough momma nights. You know how when the gas meter in your car gets right to that empty line and then starts to dip just below the line, and you start getting super spiritual about your gas level and praying you have enough to get the station??  Yeah, that’s exactly where my energy level was on that night. I was physically, emotionally, and spiritually tired, and worried that at any given moment, I might just completely give out.

My son wouldn’t go to sleep. I mean, he downright refused. He wasn't subtly refusing to sleep by reading stories in his bed or talking to his stuffed animals. No, he was outrightly and demonstratively refusing to sleep. With the will of a warrior, he had battled me for a good two hours. I had tried everything. Calm words, loud words, bribery, coercion… I reached for any and all parenting wisdom I had ever read or been offered.  Jed just refused to bend.

Finally, after sputtering words that were jagged at the edges from a heart that seemed to be breaking, I did the only thing I had left to do. I cried.

I felt desperate, like a complete failure. I was sure I was a terrible mom. For a half-minute I sat slumped in the hallway, defeated, hoping against hope that somehow if I just sat there and did nothing, my two year old would put himself in his bed, calm himself down, and go to sleep […and all the mommas laugh at how realistic that is]. I glanced up and saw my guitar tucked between the end of my cabinet and the wall. My thumb felt the ends of my fingers, remembering where my callouses once were—the way my fingertips used to feel tough and almost numb. I hadn’t played in months—no, it had been years.

Somehow, I had let myself forget how much I loved to play, how that in the space between my two hands turning out rhythm and sound on the guitar, my soul could breathe. I had forgotten how to worship, and I am not just talking about music.

At that moment, my son was crying. The edges of my frail momma-sanity were frayed. It was almost midnight. But I picked up that guitar and began to play.

Salve to my soul and sand on my children’s eyelids.

I was a desperate mom, a desperate woman, and the picking up of that guitar was my white flag. As I played, I began to let go, let the words form, made the cry of this momma heart known.
And God met me there.  

Because even though it is so damaging to our pride to be desperate, when we reach out, God always reaches back. It's that place where you feel clueless and like a complete failure that you find just how sufficient God's Grace is. And it.is.sufficient.  

I was worshiping in the hallway, pressing my fingertips into the fretboard. It took pressing in and pressing through, but worship created a sacred space--a healing place--a callous between life's struggles and my heart's deepest longing to know God.

For the first time in a long time, I felt something like restoration. Also, I slept good that night. :)

I wanted to share the song that came out of that moment…

But before I share it with you, can I just tell you that I have no desire to perform for you (not to mention the fact that I am not a professional youtuber, singer, song-writer or guitar player)? Could we just say that this is me inviting you, friend, into my living room to worship with me? I remember being in college, the zeal for the Lord, and how me and my friends would grab our guitars, shakers, and just worship--talent optional. We had no audience other than the God we sought to bring delight to. Could this be something like that? 

(Lyrics are below the video.)
(If you are reading from your email box, you can click here to see the video.)

Where Your Grace Begins

Verse 1

I think I know what it’s like to be the woman pushing through the crowd

Deep issues have haunted for years, and I just want to be found

I think I know what it’s like to be Zacchaeus climbing a tree

Drowning in vices but nothing seems to satisfy me

Chorus

It’s called desperate, it’s called empty

It’s called I’ve reached the end of me

It’s called broken, it’s called messy

It’s called I need You to find me (It’s called You are all that I need)

It’s called desperate (I’m desperate for You)

Verse 2

I think I know what it’s like to be Mary sitting at Your feet

One million things to do, but only thing I need

Bridge

When I reach out, You reach back

And I find myself undone

I’d do anything, make a fool out of me

Just for a touch from Your Son

I’m finding that where my sufficiency ends

That’s where Your Grace begins

Let Your Grace begin

Whew. We can do brave things together. (Because, like seriously, putting that out there... pretty scary stuff.)


I don't want to miss the opportunity to ask (and I'd love to know), have you ever felt that desperate? How do you worship in those really tough moments?


By Grace,
Amanda Conquers

This Thing Called Desperate

Almost a year ago I was battling depression and insomnia that had seemed to have suddenly overtaken my life. I have never weathered change well; this time in my life was no different.

I was sitting in my pew. Alone. My husband was at home sleeping off a graveyard shift. The altar call was made, it was a call for those struggling with addiction. Then, amongst the call for addiction, the pastor said something simple, “If you need a touch from God, come forward.”

Maybe he was still in the middle of talking about addiction, but I knew I wanted—no, desperately needed—a touch from God.

For maybe a minute, I wrestled with the idea of going forward. It’s not really for me. What will every one think? I’ve been on staff, led ministries, and here I am completely broken walking to the front during the addiction call. My pride battled me.

Ultimately, I didn’t care. I mean, I did care. I just didn’t care enough. I needed God. I needed His touch. I felt desperate, alone, weighted down with all the ways I was failing my kids and my husband… and I just knew I could not do one more sleepless night.

I made my way up to the front. It seemed like I was walking through the ending of Chariots of Fire, at a crawling-pace, slow-motion, a thirty-second eternity. I felt heads turn and watch me. I wanted to turn back, change my mind, but something like desperation had risen up in me. I would not be denied. I was headed to that altar. I was getting a touch from the Lord no matter what anyone thought of me.

I was desperate.

____________ 

I think of the woman with the issue of blood. The broken woman that she was. Unclean… unclean for years. She walked into a throng… no, she crawled through a throng of people. She reached out and touched Jesus’ hem. She didn’t know it would work. She was just desperate.

And without even knowing who had touched Him, Jesus healed her.

I think of Zacchaeus, little man, who wanted to just look upon Jesus so badly, he would climb a tree in a mass of people. He was willing to be the guy who everybody already hated publicly disgracing himself… just to see. He was a guy with everything… and nothing. He was empty, wondering what it was all for.

And in that crowd, Jesus called one man from where he was… the desperate guy perched in a tree.

I think of Mary who chose to ignore hospitality rules, who forgot about food and serving. She even forgot to think about what Jesus--guest--might need. She might have been a terrible hostess, but she wanted Jesus. To hear his words, sit at his feet, be his friend. She acted like hearing His words had the power to change her life. 

And Jesus told busy and proper Martha, Mary had chosen correctly.

_______________ 

I think there is a direct correlation between desperation and God in our lives. 

I think desperation increases our faith in some kind of strange way…that complete and utter reliance on God.

I think God wants us to care about Him most of all… more than we care what is proper and what people might think.

I think sometimes we get so wrapped up in acting like a Christian, that we forget the first thing we are is a people who run after God.

I think sometimes we think that the more mature in Christ we get, the less we need of God. Isn’t the opposite is true though? The mature, the more-like-Christ-ones, are the ones who refuse to leave God’s side, the one’s who know transformation isn’t just the initial act of receiving Christ, but the daily act of becoming more and more like Christ.

________________ 

Seven months ago, I refinished a forty year old school desk for my daughter. It was battered from years of small children jabbing pencils into its surface. There were natural imperfections, knots and gaps in the wood. I sanded it down, took a putty knife and shoved wood spackling into the cracks, gaps, and pencil holes. I pushed, shoved, scraped, waited, and sanded. That desk is now single-sheet-of-binder-paper worthy. Smooth like butter.

I think Christ is like that putty. He fills our gaps. Sometimes it’s more than just giving Him an invitation into our lives though. It’s this slightly selfish, completely desperate act of pressing into Christ that He might fill those broken, empty places.

We become smooth, full of this Christ-putty, and yet, somehow, aren’t we more fully ourselves?

_________________

Hi. My name is Amanda. I am a broken, gap-filled girl. I desperately need God. And somehow, in all this messy, I am becoming more like Christ. And that conquering thing?? Slowly but surely, one step at time, as this housewife leans into Christ, I am walking forward in this grace rhythm, with Christ.

I shall be called an overcomer.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

Ummm… I almost hesitate to write this, because just the thought of it makes me want to, well, barf.  God sorta gave me a song about this topic a few months ago. If I can find a quiet moment and a quiet corner to record it (and my brave, big-girl panties), maybe I will share it with you… if you promise, like spit in your hand and super pinky promise, that you will just love me no matter how it sounds and appreciate what I hope will be Jesus glorified in me, more than you critique the singing and guitar playing.  

So very happy to be sharing in this community:

Moving in the Rain

It had been raining all day. California is experiencing a drought, but on the day we needed to move, it rained.

We had 3 days to pack up and move. (3 days!!! I may have even needed to resort to throwing all our clothes onto blankets, rolling the blankets and throwing the blanket-wrapped clothes heap into the u-haul. Desperate times, desperate measures.) We ended up moving in with my parents short-term while we wait to buy a house. I think the combination of knowing how difficult it would be to move a family of four into my parents’ house plus the sheer enormity of the task of packing an entire house on short notice had me varying between taking lots of deep breaths, pacing, praying, and occasionally leaking tears.

After a long day of moving, I was sitting in my car driving my daughter to what we would call home for a few months. I was wet to my skin after walking through a downpour to the car. Five minutes into our drive, the clouds broke and it was as though the rain had wiped the sky crystal clear.  We saw constellations and all the little in-between stars.

Addy began to sing a song of her own making. “Let them glow. Let them glow. The stars are beautiful. God put them in the sky for us. Let them glow…”

I was quiet, content to listen, savoring her fleeting youth. After a while I said, “Oh. I like that song, Addy. Can we sing it again tomorrow?”

Then Addy said something rather profound. “No, Mom. This is the song for today. I can’t sing it a different day. Each day gets a new song.”

This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it.

This day, this hard day, where I feel stretched to breaking…

This day, this Jonah day where I can know change is upon me, not just nipping at my heels but overtaking me…

This day has a song worth singing.

This day has gifts that can only be found and received today.

Warm California rain sliding down my skin.

The smell of damp earth and mustard flowers carried in on the wind.

A field of a thousand geese

The sight of a tulip tree through rain drenched stairs. 

A former intern and dear little sister in Christ coming to watch my kids and her wanting to spend the whole rest of the day with me, even in my frazzled state.

Being present to hear an Addy original song.

Generous parents. A place to stay on short notice. Knowing I could be packing up a house for the last time in a good long while…

As we turned onto the bridge that would take us to our temporary home, I thought of how much my life feels up in the air, out of my grasp. A place to live, a church to call home… all up in the air, beyond my control, just floating there out of reach. I long for things to settle. I long for things to stop changing.

The grand adventure Christ leads us on asks us to pick up our cross daily, asks us to lay down our life, asks us to live unsettled. I place my life in Christ’s hands and then it’s no longer in my hands. (Profound, I know.)

Each day we change. Those babies that used to fit so sweetly under the crook of my neck have expanded the length of my arms and are not so easy to hold anymore. In the span of one year, we have now moved twice, my husband has become a cop, I have become a cop’s wife, our church has moved… so.much.change.  

Yet the Lord is here, with me. Each day is different and new. Sometimes we change in subtle shades and sometimes the Master dips the brush into a new color and paints with bold, surprising strokes on what might have seemed a monotonous canvas.

Whether changes are subtle or surprising, God is here. And He is good.

This day is the day that the Lord has made. And I can rejoice in it.

Each day gets a new song and I will sing it.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

The One Where I Am Back from a Long Break and Talking About Things Like Trust

I am back!

I have no idea if you want to shout, but I sure do: 

“YAY!!!”

I am grateful for the time away. I may be embarrassed to admit just how much cleaner my house stayed and how much more prepared-for our family meals were. I got bit by the reading bug and read something like 8 novels in two months’ time.

Just in case you missed these faces...

Jed totally busted his mouth on a brick fireplace the day before this picture. And the grass is in focus over the boy, but taking pictures of a 2 1/2 year old boy isn't exactly easy.

These last few months have felt like a bit of a whirlwind. The last week of December, we got word our landlords were selling our place. We hadn’t even lived here long enough to fulfill our one year lease.  This started us looking into places to live and realizing, at least in our area, the rent market had jumped up. Just to make sure we were making an informed decision, we sat down with a mortgage consultant just to see how far away we were from being able to buy our own home. As it turns out, we are far more ready (at least financially) than we had realized. So for the last month and a half, we have been showing our condo (or do I say our landlord’s condo?) and trying to find a place of our own.

We have to move this week. I started packing… um… last night (yeah, I know. I’m freaking out too). We are moving in with my parents until we can find a house. We are pretty sure we found the house for us, it’s just that it’s a short sale (which, by the way, I do believe it would be more way accurate to refer to them as long sales.)

Have I ever mentioned how much I stink at change?! All this moving business coupled with one other major change (which I will tell you about when I am able. And no, I am not pregnant. Though likely that would be a perfectly reasonable question at this time in my life) has left me feeling a bit like I am almost teetering on the edge. I have been able to put into place much of what I had learned last year when my world flipped upside down with a move, a church move, and my husband starting a career in law enforcement in the span of a month. I am walking forward not paralyzed by change, and that, friends, is a victory all by itself.

At the start of a new year, I like to think back at what God did and then make a prayer or a goal for where I know God is leading me in the next year. I had been listening to a song on repeat for almost a month, rolling over the words, comparing them against the words that might define the way I live.

“Spirit lead where my trust is without borders, let me walk upon the waters…Take me deeper that my feet could ever wander, then my faith would be made stronger…”

Before the move, before viewing houses, before all the change, before all the uncertainty. I made this my prayer: God, I want to trust You. Really trust You. I want to learn to walk upon water.

I keep thinking of the phrase “trust without borders.” A border is a marker, a line, a this far and no further. It implies laid out plans, blueprints. It also seems to imply what is within reason and what is not. It gives God a specific region of your life and heart and secludes Him from others: whether it’s not forgiving that person that “straight done you wrong,” not giving change to the beggar you are certain will use it for drugs, or even thinking that God can lead you to the dream you have for your life but prohibiting Him from trials that might prepare you for the dream.

I think of Abraham. God told him to “Get to a land that I will show you.” No borders, no road map, just one step at a time listening for God’s voice to tell him which way to go next.

God told Abraham he would be the father of many nations, that Sarah would bear him a son… and all this after it was physically possible. God later told Abraham to sacrifice his one and only son, the son that he was promised, the son that was a miracle in itself. And Abraham obeyed.

Trust without borders.

Of course, God had never intended to take Isaac. God wanted to be first in Abraham’s life… to captivate Abraham’s heart rather than the many gifts God had given Abraham. I think God wanted to captivate Abraham’s heart far beyond Abraham’s ability to reason and rationalize too.

So I guess what I am trying to say is that I do believe I have been afforded an opportunity to trust. To walk out on an open sea that is uncertain and a little stormy. To keep my eyes on Jesus when I want to give into the torrential flow of questions streaming through my brain, most of which start with the two words “What if…”

What if it doesn’t work out? What if we get in over our heads? What if we can’t find anything? What if we get it all wrong?

This self-professed over-thinker has been clinging to Psalm 139.


“…You have enclosed me behind and before,And laid Your hand upon me.Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;It is too high, I cannot attain to it.
Where can I flee from Your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, You are there;
If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.
If I take the wings of the dawn,
If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea,
Even there Your hand will lead me,
And Your right hand will lay hold of me. 
If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will overwhelm me,
And the light around me will be night,’ 
Even the darkness is not dark to You,
And the night is as bright as the day.
Darkness and light are alike to You...”

Where can I go that He is not? 

No matter how my geographical location changes or where we go to church or whether we get it all right or all wrong, God is with me.

I cannot escape His presence.

For some reason, for this first-born girl who has perhaps worried far too much about “getting it right,” that is really comforting.

Okay, and now I must go since there are mere minutes left before the sleeping bear I call my son awakens from his slumber and clamors through the house until I agree to just sit underneath him. (He's kind of going through a clingy phase...)

I can’t wait to share more with you about all the happenings here… and I even have some recipes in the works. Though I will say, all this sharing I can’t wait to do, may have to actually wait… till I pack this entire house and move! (Pray for me, friends!)

So looking forward to more of this. It is so good to be back!

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

Oh, and one more thing, since I am excited and can't keep it to myself. In the wee hours of Sunday morning, I became an AUNTIE!!! :)

Here's that song I was quoting. Oceans by Hillsong United

If you are reading from your email you will need to click HERE to see the video on youtube.

A Little Update And Why I Might Need a Social Media Break

An update:

Two weeks ago, my husband and I went away for our eighth anniversary. It was such an awesome time! We found a hobby that we love doing together (nature/hiking/bird watching), we asked some of those really deep questions that I don’t think we’ve asked since we were dating (like “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?”), we stayed up late, we slept in… ‘twas glorious.

The day after we got back from vacation, I had surgery on my sinuses. That was not glorious. I seriously overestimated my own abilities to recover from surgery and spent at least 4 days recovering and another week of feeling kind of crummy. I had actually scheduled something for two days after surgery thinking I would be fine by then (ha!). I am now much better. And hallelujah! I can breathe!

These pictures were from our adventure in Lake Tahoe. I will spare you the picture of me post-surgery ;)

My heart:

I know I haven’t been the most faithful or the most frequent blogger. I stumbled into writing and found myself loving piecing together words, telling stories, throwing my questions onto the white space of a Word document and seeing God somehow answer back. I think I have said it before, writing is a key-tapping word dance between me and God.

But it’s not just writing or relationship with Christ, I have loved connecting with you. I am not quite sure how it happened, but blogging has given me some of my most treasured friendships. It’s given me encouragement and camaraderie with other writers, moms, women, Christians. I can’t tell you how thankful I am for the space you’ve made for me in your life, even if it’s just the tiniest space in your email box and the occasional encouraging word. Thank you!

Lately, I have become negative. I have found myself trying to turn my relationship with God into a production. Like I want Him to speak so that I have something to write on the blog. I have forgotten the value of sacred—that maybe God wants to be intimate with me and doesn’t want the whole world to hear about it the next day. (Don’t kiss and tell?)

On the flipside, I think God has given me a message and a book to write, but it’s like I am back in my college days the night before a paper is due… I have found I want to write everything but what God has given me to write. I think I might be terrified. What if I fail? What if it gets rejected? What if I can’t complete it? It just seems like such a huge and daunting task and really who am I to think I could write a book that people should want to read? I think I need to put on my big girl panties and just write it.

I have found myself so full of negativity towards social media. Not because I don’t love connecting with you all. In fact, my source of angst is my own personal Facebook newsfeed. If I am completely honest, it feels like everyone has an opinion or is sharing an article in which someone has an opinion, everyone is promoting someone or something.  It just seems so loud, and I don't want to add to the noise. I think somewhere along the way, I started trading knowing people with just knowing about people. I long for the days when I could show up to my group of friends and just catch up without anyone stopping someone mid-sentence, “Oh yeah, I saw that you posted about that on Facebook.”

This isn’t me saying Facebook is bad. This isn’t me preaching to you or offering an opinion on Facebook usage. This is me saying, I think I’ve got some unhealthy ways of thinking and seeing. I think I have developed some bad habits. I think for my own emotional and spiritual health, I need to step away.

I know I am offering a lot of different reasons why I am taking a break because I want you to know me and know my heart even if it means you see that it needs a lot of work (because I think of us as being in this together). But really, explanations aside, I know in my knowing place that God is calling me away. I also know that He said 40 days. Not because it’s some kind of profound or Biblical number, but because it’s what I heard God ask of me.

That said. I have no idea what’s on the other side of 40 days. I like to think I will be back… and with great clarity and gusto and maybe even a book proposal completed. :)

So, I am saying a brief farewell. BUT, can I just say how much I value each one of you? And how if you would like to stay connected, be my friend, I would LOVE that? Seriously, and I don’t just say this, you can email me. I would love it! I am not taking a break from people or email, just stepping away from Facebook and posting blogs. (My email: amandaconquers at gmail dot com)

I now get the chance to wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving, a Merry Christmas, AND a Happy New Year all at once. And I mean it from the bottom of my heart. I will be holding you in my thoughts and prayers this season.

So, that said, how can I be praying for you?

I now understand the daunting task that is trying to take a family picture. This was THE ONLY picture where we were all facing forward-ish. Also, I feel the need to point out the location of my iced coffee. After going through 10 takes looking for a decent one, I died laughing when I saw that... as if it couldn't get worse. Just keeping it real, friends, and wishing you a happy holiday even if it isn't a photogenic one ;)

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

Okay… now I know I said I wasn’t offering an opinion about Facebook, but in between writing and editing this post, I came across this video about loneliness in our social media age. It really makes you think! 

(If you are reading from your email, click the link above; otherwise, the video is embedded below)

The Innovation of Loneliness from Shimi Cohen on Vimeo.

What Gratitude Means to Me

I think I first heard the phrase at Ann's.

Life is not an emergency, but a gift.

I say it when I am running late and my kids are pokey little puppies noticing every blessed flower on our walk to the car. I say it when my foot flirts with the gas pedal as though time is a thing that can be raced. I say it when my kids defy their bedtimes and I feel desperate for time that is quiet and for myself. 

I say it because the best gift I can give is the gift of being present. I say it because time is fleeting and cannot be held and because my kids will only be small once. 

I say it because I've almost missed those gifts before... 

I am over at Kayse Pratt's today sharing about one of those gifts that I almost missed... (it involves McDonald's, a pity party, and the day my daughter asked Jesus into her heart) and what gratitude means to me.

Would you hop over and join me? I'd really love to see some familiar faces over there. Is it okay to admit that even though I'm behind a screen, I still get nervous everytime I post and those nerves get amplified when I am guest posting? Yep.

Click ---> HERE<---to join me.

Of Dogs, Fishing Poles, and Awkward Christian Dating (Part 2)

This is the second part to a short story about the occasionally awkward business of Christian dating and the tale of two dogs and a fishing lesson. It's told from my real life.

If you missed Part 1, catch it here. 

If you are returning, I had left off in the middle of a fishing lesson that was not going so well. Enjoy the conclusion. :)

Ryan showed me the cast one more time.  He explained slowly and thoroughly.

I listened intently as if my fate depended on it. I practiced the motion. I pep-talked myself.

You can do this, Amanda. Focus. Think about where you want it to go and send it there. You can do this.

I really liked Ryan, and I thought Ryan wanted a girl who could fish.

I wanted to be that girl.

At the very least, I didn’t want to be the klutz sending the poor guy up the tree for misfired hooks every five minutes.

I gave it my best effort. I pulled back and swished forward, letting go of the reel at the right moment. I watched that hook go straight out in front of me headed for shallow water. It wasn’t far enough, but it looked like progress. Before I could celebrate my decent form, one dog went bounding into the water.

And then I felt a pull on my line.

The dog yelped. My eyes got wide. “Ryan! The dog is pulling on my line. I think I got the dog!”

“You… What?!”

“What… what… what do I do?!” I stuttered as I forced words to form on my lips.

“I don’t know. Don’t reel it in! I got to find where the hook is.” Ryan’s words were agitated and worried.

The dog swam in circles before coming back to shore. Then she ran around the clearing like a squealing pig in a pin being chased by kids at the county fair. Before we could catch her, she bounded back into the river and swam into deep water, whimpering the whole way.

We called for the dog. We reasoned with her. We begged her. Finally the dog swam back. We were intent on figuring out where the hook was.

We searched for the line… followed it with our eyes… till we saw where the line ended.  

It seemed to be coming from…

{I am not quite sure how to put this…}

The dog’s anus.

Ryan’s eyes got so wide they seemed to bulge out of his head. “Amanda!” He paused. “You hooked the dog in her…” His loud voice turned to a whisper, “butthole?!”  A look of horror washed over his face as he uttered that last ungodly word. I might as well have been showing up to church in black leather bondage clothes with thigh high boots, black lipstick and a whip with the way he looked at me.

He took a deep breath. “Amanda. Those are really nice dogs. What if the dog is seriously injured, and we get sued or something? I can’t believe this is happening.”

I tried to speak. Nothing came.

“Okay, well, we got to get this dog pinned down so we can remove the hook. I’ll take her at the front, you come at her in the opposite direction so she can’t get away.”

I agreed. A minute later we had the dog pinned. The fishing line had wrapped around her back leg and her tail. We couldn’t see a hook. (Hallelujah!) As Ryan worked at removing the line from the dog, I followed that thick clear thread to see if I could find the hook.

It was under a root in the shallows of the river. Thankfully, no where near the dog’s behind.

I am not sure how to properly salvage a date that’s been interrupted by a dog being potentially hooked in its arse. I thought maybe it could be one of those cute stories you tell your grandkids around the Thanksgiving table. (“

Let me tell you sonny. I fell in love with your grandmother that day… the way she couldn’t fish to save her life and almost hooked an expensive dog in the rumpus… I just knew she was the girl for me.”

Yeah. Not so much.)

Ryan just looked at me like I had committed some kind of grievous sin.

Thou shalt not improperly cast and thou shalt not hook or appear to hook a dog. Thou shalt get major negative points for hooking a dog’s anus.

I told a few awkward jokes in an attempt to lighten the situation. He was ready to go home. He said his parents were expecting him.

It was 2 pm on a Saturday.

We walked that dirt path atop the levee back to my house. There was an awkward silence that hung in the air, and the smell of sulfur seemed especially noticeable. The dogs were at our heels, black coats gleaming in the sunshine. They seemed to be bounding about chasing butterflies, not a care in the world, almost mocking me as I was so full of caring about what Ryan thought of me now.

When Ryan left that day, I think I knew our Bible studies were over. 

I ran into him a few months later on the college campus. After some how-are-you, how-are-your-classes small talk, I asked how him and God were doing. “Great.  I am engaged to be married now and I just know she’s the girl God has for me.”

I wanted to ask if she fished.

:)

How I envisioned the date going...

How the date actually went. :)

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Four years later, I fell in love with a man who is a little clumsy himself and who rolled on the floor laughing with me when I told him why I just can’t bring myself to fish. The abrupt ending to the Ryan-Amanda relationship might have seemed embarrassing and a bit painful… but I so appreciate that I am married to a man who doesn’t panic in the face of trials, who is still able to find his sense of humor. Michael likes me and all my clumsy. It’s a good thing too, because I have a whole lot of it. :)

Life has not been one perpetual glorious sunset ride since we wed, but there have been moments of absolute magic and moments of struggling and learning how to overcome. 

Oh, and a whole lot of laughing

at

with each other.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

I actually have a couple marriage posts planned for next week like the things I would love to tell my newly-wedded self if I could. (well, provided I get them completed before I leave for vacation.  Did I mention we are getting away for a few days for our anniversary?! Yay!!) Stay tuned, friends!

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Photo Credit:

First Picture is of a painting called

Courtship

by Yeend King

,

Second Picture