God has always spoken to me in themes. Big ideas that don't usually come in a whisper. Rather, they come rushing in with certainty – the Holy Spirit's ruah, breathing and speaking life into my existence. He usually sweeps up all of the current feelings in my life, weaves them together, and paints a portrait right before my eyes. That's usually when I write, when He has finally assigned the words, or a theme.

In counseling last week, I articulated how Josh and I's marriage has seemed to swing on a pendulum since the day we walked down that aisle 8 years ago. The justice scale doesn't always feel very just. When my mom died, Josh carried the weight of my grief on his shoulders. We lost a lot that season – an uncle, my oldest cousin, a baby, my mom, an aunt. He just trudged along, dragging me through all the muck and the mud. Thank God for that. Otherwise, I don't know if I would have made it through. Then, when we decided to build the house and simultaneously for Josh to start a business in Houston, it seemed I carried the weight of the responsibilities at home on my shoulders. I felt like a single parent, without a home to call my own yet, in the midst of the most stressful season of my life. We felt so distant in that season – so little time together, so little sleep, so little communication. I don't know who dragged who during that, but we finished the house and we moved in. And, we also closed up shop in Houston, realizing that working from a distance wasn't quite the vision for our family. We took one, big, giant breath. Then, almost immediately after that, the accident happened and that scale swung right back in the opposite direction. One season after the next, the ebb and flow of grief and struggle and exhaustion. In that realization, I've been begging God to breathe into it, to give me the words, to have it all make sense.Then, this week, I had the pleasure of attending a Ray Lamontagne show. In it, he played his beloved "Shelter." I've heard the song a million times. I can sing every lyric. But, somewhere in that moment, there came another breath, the ruah, rushing right in. A shelter. A place of refuge, of safety. A dwelling. Something sturdy. Protection from the storm.The fruits of our labor last year produced a literal shelter. All of that hard work yielded forth physical protection from the storms. A roof over our head. Walls that would harbor love and safety. Warmth, beauty, permanency. A place to call our own. Though always a work in progress, our home is our biggest physical accomplishment aside from our children.

And then, immediately after, I was physically sheltered in that accident. Though it may have been a shelter of metal (and Grace), it was protection nonetheless. I don't know why it was me who lived and not Tanya. But, the miracle of my survival is not lost in the midst of the grief that surrounds the loss of her.

Instantly, Josh became a tangible shelter for me. He commanded the dissemination of information and communication with friends and family like a boss. He protected me from information at the times he needed to. On so many days, he has sheltered me from so much emotional pain. He stood by my side in the most chaotic moments, carving out a safe place for me to think and to process. He has been the protection and strength I otherwise have not had for the kids and even our extended family. He has completed so many household tasks on my behalf. He has continued to provide a home for me, emotionally.

In this season of struggling through grief, trauma, and all the ups and down, I am thankful for this revelation. I am grateful for these themes as they seem to carry me through to the next moment. On this side of Heaven, the vocation of my marriage has certainly become my path to my own holiness and that of my children. It has rooted out in me some qualities that I am not proud of. It has shown me a glimpse of what unconditional means, in a world that is full of conditions. It has been a safe harbor during the uncharted waters of life. It has protected me when I was exposed to danger, or when I was heading in the wrong direction. It has certainly developed into the most beautiful Sacramental shelter I could have ever hoped for. And, as that scale continues to swing, we have certainly learned to rely on each other, to lean into the life that we have built together, and to weather the storms.

To Josh: "Listen, when all of this around us will fall over, I tell you what we're gonna do, Hey, you will shelter me, my love, and I, I will shelter you."

an excerpt from "Shelter" by Ray Lamontange