Rainy Romance

Last night Micah and I set out on a walk. It's a little luxury we've been enjoying lately, now that we have middle-schoolers who are old enough to hold down the fort for an hour or so. It's been our lifeline through the quarantine, actually, a chance to get away from the intensity of some of these days cooped up together. We usually walk a couple of miles around our neighborhood, talking about the day or parenting or whatever it is that's on our minds. 

Yesterday we were having one of those Big Conversations: the ones that take a good, hard look at where we are and where we're headed, that lay out the dreams we carry from day to day, and that take a chance at imagining what the future might be like. They're some of my favorite conversations, a chance to stop and correct course, set our sails, and venture on in the vast sea of our life together. 

We were somewhere between career aspirations and dream vacations when suddenly the sky, which had been just barely overcast, let loose. Big, wet rain drops fell all around us, splashing up on our feet as we walked. For a little while we carried on, but it soon became clear that the rain wasn't going to let up quickly--in fact, it was coming down harder! Thankfully, we were walking through an older neighborhood with beautiful tall trees. We ran to the nearest maple and huddled under its branches. Drops fell here and there, usually trickling down our necks. We crossed our arms, as if it would somehow lessen the chill of the rain. We couldn't help but laugh.  After a while, the rain began to slow. We stepped tentatively out from under the maple. Micah checked the weather app on his phone and everything predicted clear skies, so we continued our walk. 

 It was another few blocks and maybe ten minutes before the drops started to fall again. We knew what to do this time: we headed for the shelter of the nearest tree. There was nothing available as protective as the maple, but we found a smaller tree and stood together under it. By now we were soaked through, and the big drops that slipped between the leaves and down onto our shoulders weren't helping. We stood like that, trying to carry on our conversation, for a few minutes. The rain wasn't getting any lighter. And we weren't getting any closer to home. "We're already wet--should we just keep walking?" Micah asked. I shrugged and said, "Might as well." 

 The rain must have heard us talking, because just as we left our tree, it seemed to fall harder than ever. 

"Why do they always talk about walks in the rain in movies like they're something to look forward to?" I shouted over the storm. "This isn't romantic! This is miserable!" 

We laughed in spite of ourselves, now completely soaked. Water was pouring down my face and I was sure my mascara was leaving a black, smudgy trail. Our clothes were clinging to us. Micah's running shoes were making "squelch, squirt" sounds with every step, and my feet kept slipping inside my soaked sandals. 

 And do you know what? It will probably be one of my favorite memories from this summer. 

 When the rain began to slow down, I turned to him and said, "You know I'll have to write about this, right?" 

 "I figured." 

 We were almost home when I knew exactly what I wanted to write. It struck me that the walk was not unlike marriage on the whole. There are blissful moments, hours away to walk and talk and share our dreams and our hearts. There are opportunities to chart a course, to lay out plans. Sweet, stolen moments to get away and be alone. But there are also storms. Some of them, like yesterday's, literal. Many of them, though, take more subtle forms: financial pressures, job loss, illness, challenging children. In fifteen years we've weathered so many of them. Sometimes we're forced to stop and find shelter, a place to hide out and wait for the worst to pass. Other times we walk on--cold and wet and struggling for footing--in the midst of the storm. But always, we're together. 

That's the beautiful thing about marriage. The rain comes. Often it's unexpected. Usually it's unwanted. But we face it together. We get through it. And we are changed by it. Not every moment is wonderful and perfect. But more often than not, the most imperfect moments are the most memorable.