Living in the And: 24 Years Later

Allyson and I just celebrated 24 years of wedded…ness. Weddedness. That’s a word, right? Well, I’m sticking with it. There’s been bliss… and there’s been some very un-blissful moments. Not just the big, highlight-reel milestones—but the quiet, ordinary days too. The routines. The inside jokes. The arguments that felt like everything in the moment and somehow faded with time. And somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, I crossed a line where I’ve now spent more of my life with her than without her. And through all of it, we’ve kept choosing each other… again and again.

Marriage, at least the way we’ve lived it, is not some polished, picture-perfect thing. We’ve been on the brink—more than once. Three or four times where the question wasn’t theoretical… it was real. It would have been easier in those moments to walk away. To believe that maybe there was something simpler, something less complicated waiting on the other side. Because when things get hard, the idea of “different” can start to look a whole lot like “better”… especially in the middle of an argument that probably started over something completely stupid—or at least something that felt very important at the time.

But here’s what we’ve learned—“better” is often just a story we tell ourselves when we’re tired. The grass isn’t greener somewhere else; it’s just different grass. And different grass doesn’t come with our history. It doesn’t come with the years of building a life together, raising kids, celebrating victories, and surviving some of the hardest moments we’ve ever faced. The idea of something better is easy to imagine… but it doesn’t carry the weight of what we already have. And what we have… means more. Way more!

So we choose each other. Not because it’s always easy—but because it’s ours. Because of the life we’ve built, the partnership we’ve created, and yes, even the scars we’ve earned along the way. Life has kicked us in the face more than once—but getting your ass handed to you with someone who’s right there beside you, taking the hits with you and fighting like hell alongside you? That changes everything.

There’s also a layer to our story that doesn’t always get said out loud. How someone with my history would choose to build a life with a woman—and yes, she knew then. She’s always known. It’s never been a secret. That reality has come with questions, assumptions, and more than a few people trying to make sense of something that doesn’t fit neatly into their understanding—and at times, even our own. We’ve heard it all—“Does she know?” “Is this real?” “Are you REALLY happy?” And we get it. From the outside, it doesn’t always make sense. But what people don’t see are the years of conversations, the honesty, the prayerful faith, and the intentional choices we have made for both of us to stand in this life together. This isn’t a cover. It’s not a compromise. It’s a choice. One that we’ve made again and again—with our eyes and hearts wide open.

Allyson is my person. And I know that doesn’t always make sense to everyone. Our story doesn’t fit neatly into what people expect, and I’m aware there are questions, confusion, and probably a fair amount of head-scratching that happens when people try to understand it. But what I know—without question—is that this life we’ve built together isn’t accidental. It’s intentional. It’s chosen. And it’s ours. And we believe God has been in every detail.

Through every high and every low, we’ve never been alone in it. There has always been something greater guiding us, steadying us, reminding us who we are and what we’ve built together. In the moments where we didn’t know how to move forward, somehow we found a way. Not perfectly. Not easily. Not because we had it all figured out—but because we were being led, one step at a time, with a faith that we weren’t meant to do this on our own.

So yes—we’re happy. And yes—we drive each other crazy sometimes. We’ve lived in the tension of love and frustration, joy and struggle, commitment and questioning. And maybe that’s what this has always been about… learning to live in the AND. Not choosing one or the other—but holding both, trusting that somewhere in that tension is where real love lives and something deeper is being built.

You are my favorite person. The one I love to the moon and back… and yes, sometimes the one I consider leaving there. And somehow—through all of it—you still choose me. Which feels equal parts romantic and mildly suspicious.

And after twenty-four years… I wouldn’t trade this life we’ve built for anything. Half my life has been with you—which means everything after this counts for time and a half. And honestly… at this point, we’ve earned overtime.

I’m all in.

And if you’re wondering how a story like ours even begins—or how we found our way here… that’s a story for next time.