A seasoned perspective…
Deborah Raney, married 33 years

After three decades being married to my husband, I’m convinced that God has quite a sense of humor when it comes to marriage. When I met Ken thirty-three years ago I was attracted to his quiet, thoughtful ways. He seemed to calm my always-on-the-go, doesn’t-know-a-stranger personality in a way I’d never experienced. I liked that.

Until we got married.

Overnight, what had looked like mysterious and shy, suddenly seemed more like rude and antisocial. What had felt like calm in the storm, started to look suspiciously like stuck in the mud. And what I’d deemed "practical and analytical" morphed into "unromantic and critical." I sure hadn’t changed. So it must be him, right?

Well, of course, that’s just one side of the story. Seems my "fun and outgoing" quickly started to get "annoying and loud," and the virtuous part of the virtuous woman Ken thought he married suddenly became judgmental and demanding.

I went into marriage certain I could, if not change, at least tweak the parts of Ken’s personality that weren’t quite what I’d ordered. I spent too many years on that frustrating project. I finally gave up. It was impossible. He was impossible.

With tears, and a lot of prayer, I conceded that, much as I loved him, I was stuck with a man who didn’t have a hospitable bone in his body, who didn’t share my deepest dream (to have twelve children!) and whose inner alarm clock didn’t go off until ten a.m., while mine rang sharply at six.

How could we have been so wrong about our compatibility? Was there any hope?

Long before we said, "I do," we settled one thing: we meant it when we vowed "till death do us part." So once the option of changing the other person was off the table, that left acceptance as our only recourse.

A funny thing happened on the way to acceptance. I woke up one morning and realized that not only had I slept in a bit, but Ken was already up and at ’em. Our clocks gradually continued to adjust, and for the past ten years, we’ve pretty much risen and gone to bed at the same time. A small miracle.

Our first (unplanned) son was such a blessing that Ken decided he wanted another one — at least one — right away. By the time we had four, it seemed like a dozen and I couldn’t have been happier.

And this woman who wasn’t content unless she had someplace to go and some people to see, now cherishes her time at home. So much so that my ever-more-outgoing husband sometimes has to persuade me to go out with him.

On the way home from church last Sunday, he planned a spur-of-the-moment dinner for twenty (twenty!) at our house, and as I questioned his timing — and the size of his guest list — I couldn’t help but laugh at how far we’ve come.