"Just Wait"

When you get married or have a baby, people love to say:

“Just wait.”

“Oh, you think you’re tired now? Just wait until the baby comes.”

“You think he annoys you now? Just wait until you’ve been together 20 years.”

“You think you have problems now? Just wait.”

Just wait. Two small words, almost always said with a hint of dread. A warning, really. Like—sure, things might be hard now, but buckle up! It only gets worse from here.

When D’Vante and I got married, we both somehow believed that marriage would fix us and that it would also be really hard. A confusing mix of optimism and realism—I know. But no amount of “just waits” could’ve truly prepared us for the past six years. Especially the last two. From difficult medical diagnoses to becoming parents in a somewhat traumatizing way (more on that another time), from mental health struggles and job losses to deep disappointments that still sting—so much of our marriage has felt like survival mode. Like we’ve just been trying to stay afloat. And honestly? Sometimes it felt like instead of keeping each other above water, we were fighting to stay afloat ourselves—even if that meant dragging the other down.

But this most recent season? This season has held me together. This season has given me life and revealed a truth I hold tight: The greatest gift I’ve ever been given is my husband. Someone to weather the storm with. Someone who, when the odds weren’t in our favor, admitted his fears—and held me through mine. Someone who stayed steady when I couldn’t be, and who led our family with prayer as his anchor. Now, this truth wasn’t handed to me. It didn’t fall into our laps. We fought for it. And I don’t mean metaphorically—I mean tooth and nail, limping to the finish line with two shattered kneecaps and three missing limbs kind of fighting.

I met D’Vante when I was 19. I joke now that it’s a miracle I made such a good decision that young, because I had the emotional intelligence of a cucumber. I was desperate to be loved. I wanted someone to look at me and think I was the best thing in the world. To worship the ground I walked on. I had a wildly unrealistic view of love—especially after my parents’ marriage imploded and left us all wounded. I was hellbent on finding someone who thought I was perfect. Who felt lucky just to have me.

But D’Vante didn’t do that. Yep, you read that right. He didn’t swoop in and make me feel like the center of his universe. He didn’t romanticize me. He didn’t pretend I was flawless. He did something better. He refused to settle for a version of me who didn’t know her own worth. He challenged me to find my value—not in his love—but in God’s. He loved me enough to tell me I had to know who I was in the eyes of the Father before I could ever fully receive love from another person. He tough-loved me to the point that I actually asked him once, “Do you even like me?” He smiled and said, “It’s because I like you that I push you. I see you.” And the truth is—he saw what I didn’t: that being loved by someone else would never be enough to heal me. That no relationship could fill a hole only Jesus was meant to fill. And you know what? He was right. (Don’t tell him I said that. He’ll be unbearable.) He pushed me to do the work. To face my pain. To grow. And he reminded me over and over that while he couldn’t do the hard things for me, he would do them with me. He wasn’t going anywhere. When I cried, screamed, spiraled—he stayed. He didn’t just love the curated version of me I tried to present. He loved me with his eyes wide open. He saw my flaws, my patterns, my broken parts. And he loved me anyway. He saw my loyalty. My fierce heart. My top-tier sense of humor. He saw me. And in doing the work first, he gave me exactly what I had been chasing all along: A love that knows me completely. A man who’s placed me at the center of his life. Someone who trusts me to raise his babies—and rejoices that I’m their mother. Someone who hopes they grow up to be like me (well, most of the time).

Honestly? I don’t think there’s a greater honor than that. It took a lot of work to get here. A lot of resentment. A lot of pain. A lot of “What the hell did I do marrying this person!?” moments. But it also took a lot of joy. A lot of laughter. A lot of refusing to go to bed angry, no matter how long it took. A lot of “I’m sorrys” and peace offerings. A lot of prayers.

So to the people who said, “just wait”— Yeah, you’re right. There will be moments you never imagined feeling. Thoughts you never imagined thinking. But I want to challenge you to just wait for the joy. Just wait until you see them hold your baby for the first time. Just wait until they rush home to tell you good news. Just wait until resentful silence turns into peaceful stillness. Just wait until you get a front-row seat to watch who God is forming them to be. Because I promise you—It’s even better than anything you could have imagined.

Happy six years, Nug Bug; I’d choose you again and again!