Ten years ago, Vanessa and I walked down the aisle and became husband and wife. Starting from a little condo on South Congress, we’ve seen eight-ish jobs, six-ish kids, five cars, and one house. We’ve grown together, challenged each other, and supported each other. When we married, I didn’t know how I could love someone more than I loved her that day, but somehow, it doesn’t even compare to my love for her now.
She doesn’t read my site, so I’m not going to gush anymore here. But, sorry ladies, I’m still very happily married.
Vanessa and I got into it over the weekend. The details aren’t important. Typically, we follow our Ephesians 4:26 “rule”: Do not let the sun set on your anger. But not this time, we got into a heated discussion on Saturday, let it cool down, but left it unresolved. On the way to Mass on Sunday, we attempted to find resolution, but didn’t.
Sunday afternoon, I was off by myself steaming inside. “Vanessa did this and that, if she didn’t, this wouldn’t be so difficult.” “Vanessa made this happen.” “It’s her fault that this didn’t go as planned.” I wasn’t coming to peace.
Sunday late afternoon, all was calm but unresolved. I caught the end of the Broncos game—the last five minutes of regulation and the 11 seconds of overtime when Tim Tebow threw a direct pass to Demaryius Thomas, who himself threw a great stiff arm, and took the ball 80 yards to win the do-or-die game for Denver.
Twitter exploded. “Was he Tebowing?”, the name for his kneeling and praising God after a win. Tebow threw 316 yards (3:16…) and won by throwing to a guy born on Christmas. Read More