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With God and a Good Companion

DISCLAIMER. IF YOU'RE REPULSED BY SAP, STOP READING :)


While serving my mission in the MTC in Provo, visa waiting in Tacoma WA and ultimately serving in Rosario, Argentina, I observed that I could get through just about anything with God and a good companion. I served side by side with 9 incredible women and I seriously love each of them. They each have unique talents and taught me spectacular things! Shout out to you Alicea, Telfer, Brown, Young, Ferraez, Martinez, Diorio, Rasband, and Briggs. (And for that matter, all the other ladies that were my comps for a day or two during splits. Love all y'all).

Well, I've come to realize that marriage is the exact same way. I've got a GREAT companion. I've still (and thankfully always) got Heavenly Father. Crap will still happen. But hey, with those two (and, well, a good attitude and willing part on my end) welp, look out world! 

Here's a few musings on life this week with my eternal comp: 

Monday night. 9:45pm, I'm scrubbing the kitchen floor while Kevin scrubs out the microwave. We may have been simultaneously listening to a conference talk or to the Greatest Showman. But I can't remember.

Tuesday morning. 9am. We drive somberly to a funeral for a perfect, beautiful daughter of God. We think constantly of her family. We don't say a lot of words. We cry a lot of tears. We squeeze each others' hands. We look out at the countryside and silently wonder and ponder and pray for peace.

Wednesday night. 10:30pm. The two of us squint at our budget and talk about a totaled car, graduate school, service projects, groceries, tithing, etc. I apologize for buying too much produce. Kevin has nothing to apologize about...he doesn't much spend money. We sigh, squeeze each others hands, crunch numbers, switch things around. 

Thursday night. 7:45pm. Baby boy is screaming after puking 3 of the 4 ounces he's just eaten before bed. His pajamas and my arms are soaked with a runny white goop. Kevin answers my plea for help, cracks a smile and wipes the two of us down. We read a story and sing a song and say a prayer and put the little munch in his little bed.

Friday night. 8:05pm. Surrounded by friends from all walks of our lives, Kevin and I hunch behind a black-painted plywood barricade with goggles and neon jerseys and nerf guns, battling our way through a game of capture the flag.

Saturday morning. 2am. 5am. 7:30am. Baby boy has trouble sleeping, he needs milk and cuddles and comfort. We trade off getting up.

Saturday morning, 8:55am. Kevin gathers some tablecloths and plates of food and carefully places them in our car so I can take them to a baby shower. He's legit crafty, btw. He made half the diaper cake himself.

Saturday night, 10:52pm. We slow dance in the kitchen to Ed Sheeran's "Perfect Symphony." I discovered it an hour before and listened to it six times and then forced Kevin to dance to it with me. I try to sing along to the Italian words and of course turn them into Spanish.

Sunday evening. 5:45pm. We stroll across Provo to our cousins' for dinner, baby boy in tow in his stroller. We chat about church, about goals, about youtube videos. Sometimes we have to repeat ourselves when a boisterous motorcycle zooms past. Sometimes we walk in front of each other to let the other pedestrians scoot past us on the narrow Provo walks and then resume side by side. 

These are just a few of our moments. We have tears and hardship and laughter and goof-ups. But I've got God, and I've got a great companion. And I'm grateful. This is God's plan of happiness. This is what the Family Proclamation talks about. We perfect? Heck no. But we be happy.






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