House on the Rock

[Disclaimer: This post is an up-to-date revision of last year’s anniversary reflection, Joe Stepped In: A Tribute to my Husband. I recommend reading this one:)]

The anniversary post I typed on this day in 2023 was marked by left-to-right leaning back and forth, a desperate attempt to stay positioned in front of a rotating fan while sweat splashed on the keyboard. 90 degree temperatures scorched the Indiana earth beneath our feet, and for the fifth day in a row, our air conditioning was out. There was no sweet cuddling, celebratory hugging, or enjoying a romantic homemade dinner. It was pure survival. I wrote some pretentious metaphor comparing marriage to AC: stay plugged in, sweat it out, blah blah blah, but the reality is that I was miserable, grouchy, and hot.

Beautifully, Joe stepped in. He went into go-getter mode, sending out texts to box-fan owners in our church family, running around town to pick them up, positioning fans in every crook of the apartment, and being a pillar of peace, patience, and joy. Never flustered or frantic, just present. Prepared. Prayerful. Pointing me back to reminders of our good God and all He has blessed us with.

Flash forward to 2024 — our third year of marriage. We sat in that finally-cooled apartment, boxes packed as we prepared to move into our first home. We’d had no more AC outages, but that’s not to say we went without fiery trials. I’ll never forget the frantic phone call I made to Joe on August 11, the day I headed to the hospital to have my world turned upside down. My tearful voicemail was likely unintelligible as I panic-whispered through shaky tears, “I think something’s wrong with my mom.”

The hospital curtain slid open, and Joe stepped in. I didn’t even expect him to show up to the hospital that night, but he did. Bags packed so we could stay for the weekend, snacks and tissues in hand. Our world was rocked by the news of a terminal cancer diagnosis, and he didn’t leave my side. Present, prepared, and prayerful, once again pointing me back to reminders of God’s promise.

I remember the fourth-period phone call I got about Mom’s stroke — still the darkest memory I have of our walk through the valley. Joe stepped in to the hallway at school and called for a sub — no trace of I need to stay here or there’s work to be done. We were out the door in a heartbeat, praying the entire way. Crying together, his tears sometimes flowing faster than mine, which meant more than he’ll ever know. He arranged lodging for us at his parent’s house in Lafayette, preparing food and bedding for my siblings and me in his two-story childhood home.

There were many times during those days when I simply couldn’t be near my mama. The pain, the dread, and the fear of would she ever wake up? was crippling. Joe stepped in. Stood beside her once again, taking her soft hand in his as he prayed. Telling her he loved her, singing softly as she slept. Quick to grab water or a nurse when needed, never once complaining about late nights or long drives. Finding every spare moment to be with us, grieve with us, run errands, administer meds. He massaged her legs and shoulders, allowing her to lean on him when she wanted to sit up. Visitors told me time and time again, “You married an amazing man.”

The miscarriage came weeks later. As I cried in the bathroom, Joe stepped in. He held me – never preachy or passive. Just present. Marked with a Christlike compassion that couldn’t bear to walk away from wreckage. I had a procedure to remove the remnants of baby from my womb, and when I was convinced I was going to have to prepare for surgery alone, Joe stepped in. By my side every step, eagerly waiting for me to be wheeled back from the operating room so he could cover me with his love. The nurses said again and again, “You married an amazing man.”

Today marks year four, and our story took a turn. I think of this morning, when Joe stepped into the nursery of our sweet baby boy. He took our son is his arms and rocked him peacefully back to sleep so that I could have a moment of quiet. It was much like the way Joe stepped in to the delivery room, praying with me through every contraction, holding my hand through a horrible hemorrhage. Quick to supply water, massages, prayer. Insistent on changing the diapers every time he is there. Joe steps in to our home every evening after work, eager to help with dinner, to lead family worship, to read the Bible before bed.

In every heartbreak and tragedy, Joe stepped in. In every high point and triumph, Joe stepped in. He has proven his love on two feet, never stepping back, but embracing the hurt and the heat and the healing and hope. Wiping tears. Whispering prayers. Praying with broken people everywhere — weak and wounded family, friends caught in cycles of sin. Strangers who walk into church for the first time, and suddenly they’re coming back again. Joe steps into those conversations, those relationships, those dark rooms marked by death and despair. He’s well on his way into ministry now, and I can’t imagine him anywhere but there.

To the man who steps in again and again, thank you for marrying me. Happy anniversary!