Training wheels

In three days, my marriage will be eight months old. In that time, Matt and I have had a stress or two: moved several thousand miles, started new jobs, and weathered a couple of lawsuits. Although not always a bump-free ride, we've managed each challenge nicely, learning to lean into each other. I like to think of our relationship as new, green bamboo, bending and swaying together in the wind, growing taller in the sun.

Cheesy, yes, but the image makes me smile.

Over the last couple of days, I've wondered if my sweet husband might be ready to get out a machete and lop the tops off the bamboo. A broken tailbone means I can't pick up a cooking pot, tie my shoes, or roll over. He has to lift me out of the car. And after holding my hand during this morning's hospital exam -- an extreme challenge to even the most robust romance -- the poor man had to pull up my pants.

Of course, Matt is a man of gentle grace and kindness. On his way out the door to work -- over three hours late -- he put a business card into his wallet for a tea shop in old town, and said, "I'll make reservations for Saturday. And we'll take your donut cushion."

The training wheels are off. Look at her go.