It seems like the last few days, I’ve been confronted by multiple sources about the “disillusionment” of marriage. In fact, today, I heard marriage referred to as “the fairy tale that doesn’t work in reality.” Yesterday I stumbled across a book about all the things in marriage that are so difficult – those things that your mom doesn’t tell you about and you only find out when you’re knee-deep in unmet expectations and mutual insecurities. Unfortunately, most of the conclusions that I’ve heard this week involve either divorce or “muddling through” and hoping for the best.

Some of the things I’ve heard or read about this week:

Many women become disillusioned because they feel like when 2 become 1, one person ceases to exist – usually the wife. Others are completely blind-sided because they focus so much on the event of the wedding and have no clue about how to prepare for the journey of the marriage. One psychologist (and probably many more) claims that any marriage between people who are too young (which these days seems to mean before age 30) is doomed to failure. Why? Because it’s two people making vows about things they have no clue about to someone they really don’t know, and to top it off, they don’t even really know themselves yet. How could something built on that unstable foundation possibly stand?

By all accounts, then, Chad and I should be divorced by now. We married “too young” – I was 20 and he was barely 22. We were still in college and ended up putting his college progress on the “slow track” for financial reasons. We had a whole lot of growing up to do and about a ton of baggage to work through. Looking back now, we probably didn’t know ourselves (or each other) very well, and we didn’t know where we were going apart from some hazy images of how we thought things might turn out…someday. We hurt each other frequently in those early years, didn’t know how to communicate very well, didn’t fight “right,” and let our insecurities rule our emotions way too often. Oh, there were many delightful, loving moments too, but looking at it from the culture’s jaded position, some may not have held out much hope for us.

In spite of all that, we’ve been married for 12.5 years, and I love him more than ever. Chad is my best friend, my most trusted sounding board, my loudest cheerleader, and the man that I respect more than any other. But you know what? I don’t know if I would feel so strongly about all those things if we hadn’t worked through all the tough stuff together. We could have given up. We could have decided that marriage is too hard. Every married couple is presented with these opportunities to escape. But we never considered quitting. Instead, we believed that the answer to marital struggles was commitment, hard work, and communication. It was knowing when to let things go and how to let things go. It was working to find that harmony of sacrificing for the other person – putting their needs first – and maintaining who you are as an individual. It was, and is, being true to the vows we have made and always looking for the best in each other. And I believe that every successful marriage has to deal with these things at some point – whether they marry at 20 or 40.

No, every moment in my marriage is not roses and champagne. We’re still working on communication and insecurities, and probably always will be. But to be honest, most days are pretty great. I am so blessed to have a husband like Chad. And knowing that we’re in it for the long haul and that he is as committed as I am makes me love him that much more. And I feel sad for all the people who give up too soon because it’s “too hard,” who are so worried about “finding themselves” that they never find the amazing mystery of a marriage that has survived trials. I’m so glad to have that mystery in my life.

Perhaps you’ve heard that David Blaine is planning an attempt to break the world record for holding his breath under water; he’s shooting for about nine minutes.  He’s already been in his own personal aquarium for about a week.

This freaks me out.

Partially, because I wonder what drives him to do the things he does.  He has been buried alive, frozen, suspended…one death-defying feat after another.  But why?  What inner drive causes him to push the limits of human life?

The other reason it freaks me out is because I have water issues.  You know those movies where the final chase/confrontation scene involves water?  And the camera shows the good guy struggling under water to get free before his lungs give out?  Yeah, those.  Can’t watch ‘em.  If I try to watch them, I find that I have stopped breathing and I start seeing little sparkly things in front of my eyes… and then the edges of my vision get dark and before I know it, I’m about to pass out.  I turn away from the TV, gasp, recover, and then I’m okay…as long as I change the channel.

So, I’m thinking that I won’t be watching David Blaine make his valiant attempt on Monday night.  I’ll probably check the Internet the next day to see how he fared, but that evening, I’ll be watching something more subdued, like the Food Network.  Where they simply boil water, not immerse themselves in it.

Our cat, Sprite, is not exactly known for her intelligence.  She tends to do unexplainable things, like sit one foot from a blank wall and stare at it for hours.  I’ve often wondered if she’s putting herself in time-out for doing something bad that I’ll discover later, such as leaving a hairball under the bed.  All that to say that when she started staring out one of our windows a few weeks ago, where the only thing she could see was the middle of a shrub, I chalked it up to “normal” Sprite insanity and ignored it.

But, about one week ago, I discovered that there was more to her craziness than I had thought.  A pair of what may or may not be wrens (I’m not very good at bird identification) have taken up residence in said shrub.  They built themselves a cozy little home and I was thrilled to see that the mom was working on incubating four tiny eggs.  In a sappy way, I felt a bit of a kinship with Mama bird, since I’m incubating something of my own.  The birds, naturally, are rather flighty (no pun intended) and every time I get too close to the window to spy on them, or move too fast, off she goes.  And then I feel guilty because the eggs aren’t getting enough quality time due to my distractions.

Then, on Thursday, I got too close to the window, the bird flew away, and instead of four tiny eggs, I saw two gaping baby bird mouths.  They were no doubt wondering what had interrupted their lunch.  I’ve been trying to keep my distance, since I don’t want to disrupt their home life too much, so I don’t know if all the eggs have hatched or not.  But it was exciting to witness the natural progression of this little avian family take place right outside the window of our front room.  Congratulations, Mama and Papa bird!

And as I wait for the day my own little one will make his entrance into this world, I am comforted and encouraged by the fact that moms are doing this stuff all the time.  Bird moms, human moms, all moms.  I’m nervous about the newborn stage, even though I’ve done it once before.  But I know we’ll all get through.  And we’ll have a new little one to love and care for, and the excitement of watching him grow.  In the meantime, I’ll be watching to see when the little feathered guys (or gals) make their first flights as they venture out to explore their world.

And I’ll try to remember that Sprite isn’t always insane.  Sometimes she’s just staring because she’s found something interesting to look at.