You Think You Know Your Husband?

You think you know somebody when you marry him.

You don’t.

Yesterday I posted a reel in tribute to my husband, and an influx of comments came forth… “Happy anniversary!” “Congrats, you two!”

Funny thing? It wasn’t our anniversary.

And I realized most of us don’t bother to shout out our husbands or celebrate marriage unless it is an anniversary or a birthday or some milestone that sparks a sense of nostalgia or obligatory gratitude.

Why is that?

My hubby and I have been through the wringer these past few weeks—I’ll spare you the details. Suffice it to say we thought parenting was hard when the kids were toddlers, but teens are a whole new level of relational and emotional commitment. Our kids both experienced some serious kicks in the gut recently, therefore so did Chad and I by association. And I learned a deep truth in the process.

My husband is the guy you want beside you in a crisis.

Remember when you stood at the altar, eyes bright with promise, and the entire world was laid out before you? Back then the wedding was all about possibility and hope for the future.

A couple decades or more later and we’re battling wrinkles, menopause, dreams both dashed and fulfilled—and a big part of us as women in mid-life misses that old promise, that fresh optimism that defined our younger days.

It’s easy to focus on what’s gone or shriveled up.

And yet.

What about the rich blessings we’ve gained?

I might not have smooth skin or pre-baby abs anymore, but I’ve collected 20 years of memories with my husband that can’t compare to any earthly gifts.

Chad and I can look back over a string of disappointments in plans that didn’t pan out, versions of our future that didn’t materialize the way we imagined on our wedding day. Yet we also have the advantage of hindsight, and seeing how God brought us to where we are for a purpose, realizing His destinations are always more trustworthy than our own.

Twenty years ago I hadn’t yet witnessed my husband crawling on the living room floor, hauling a flashlight into the sheet-drawn fort to read books with our preschooler.

I hadn’t yet discovered his talent for diffusing tension at the dinner table with a cheesy dad joke.

I couldn’t have imagined glancing at his face, mesmerized, with tears threatening to leak past his eyelids, while he watched our daughter perform a marimba solo on stage or walk down the stairs in her prom dress. 

And I didn’t yet see the bond he’d form in the tree stand with our young hunter, the one who relates to her dad’s love of the outdoors and frosted-mug root beer at the tavern down the road from the cabin.

Oh, I know Chad loved me when we got married. I knew he was a man of integrity. But time hadn’t yet given us the treasure of unfolding, discovering countless layers of what that love would look like, and how it would build a joint narrative out of moments that add up to a legacy.

Mid-life comes with the discouragements of aging, it’s true. But it also delivers the deep satisfaction of a life well lived, blessings forged through waking up every day and choosing commitment over selfishness, and the kind of knowing and being known that only happens after years of saying “I do” all over again, day in and day out, through every kind of challenge and victory.

I looked at my groom 20-plus years ago and thought, “Life is gonna be great.”

I look at him today and know, “Life HAS been great. It can continue to be great—I know this now from experience.”

And there’s nobody else I’d rather walk alongside through the next 20 years, 30 years, 40 years… however many God gives us.

So while time might indeed be the thing that adds years to our faces and aches to our joints, it also draws us closer and deepens our wisdom. 

Therefore, let's celebrate longevity in life and marriage, not just on special occasions but every day. The days when adversity reveals who your husband really is. The days when you catch him being the dad you always hoped he'd be. The days when nothing remarkable happens except you chose each other again.

Because you think you know somebody when you marry him.

But it takes a lifetime to really see him.

And that—the slow unveiling of enduring love through ordinary moments and hard seasons—is the greatest gift time can give.

“Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot sweep it away.” (Song of Songs 8:7)