Lucky

by Babette Wallace

withdrterri

I'm excited to have Babette Wallace as our first "Reader as Writer" for the month of March. As you know, we're dealing with our journey into well-being throughout this Women's History Month, so her story is right on time and on point. See how she made the journey with the love of her life--and nearly 30 years later, how they are still on the journey of love and well-being. Read on...

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Many family members and friends say I’m lucky. That “we” have figured out the secret to falling and staying in love. With almost thirty years together as evidence, perhaps my husband and I are lucky indeed. I’d like to declare there is a clandestine checklist out there that guarantees long-lasting love, but that would be a lie. Do I still love this man? Yes. Deeply, passionately, I do. But endless love can’t fly on the wings of just great looks, great sex and great chemistry. Prayer is the wing that allows relationships to soar.

I met my husband at Kean University of New Jersey in 1986. It was my first day of class as a freshman and a mutual friend and I were walking across the stone bridge to the registrar’s office. My “future” was walking in the opposite direction when he stopped dead in his tracks. After reminiscing a bit with our friend, his attention quickly turned to me. “You’re the woman I’m going to marry!” he nervously avowed. The look on my face said it all. I waited until his figure was out of view and I began my verbal attack. “Who the hell was that? He doesn’t know me like that! I’m engaged already!”

A year later, my engagement had fizzled and I was hot and heavy with him. Yes, the guy who had the audacity to proclaim our union by that stone bridge. The beginning three years of courting and eventually moving in with one another proved to be challenging and sketchy. We were in our early twenties, naive and relationship--deficient (me more than him). In fact, it wasn’t until I chased him down Murray Street in Elizabeth, NJ (butt naked), the street where we shared a one room apartment, that I realized I needed to make some decisions about our future; that I had to make the humble decision to change. I had to pray on us.

We avoided the “seven year itch” and dove right into marriage in 1996. I know many will judge me for “living in sin” for so long, but it really allowed us to iron out all the bends and twists that outline any relationship. Prayer opened up the opportunity for atonement and redemption. By now, we lived through a lot of our “for better or worse”, enough for us to realize we were strong enough to weather any storm.

And boy did more storms come. We had to endure two miscarriages before finally conceiving our beautiful son, Brandon in 1999. Dealing with post-partum depression was a curse and a blessing. It is the worse mental and physical pain one could ever imagine, but the support of my husband during this challenging time confirmed our vow and responsibility as husband and wife. Unfortunately, we would suffer two more miscarriages, until the doctors decided it was time to stop beating up my body. We knew it would be best for me to tie my tubes. This caused an unspoken division between us. We both wanted more children. Praying and more praying occurred, along with self-reflection. We both decided to change our reaction to the unfortunate situation.

God blessed us years later (thirteen years to be exact) with a daughter. Jesenia didn’t grow in my belly. She grew in our hearts. She is the product of my now deceased brother and an Ecuadorian hooker. She had also been the product of the state of New Jersey since birth. My brother requested that my husband and I adopt his baby. It was a difficult decision at first. For one, the thought of having to deal with my irrational brother in this process was agonizing, but not as agonizing as it would be to go through with it and have the courts decide to keep her in foster care anyway. After my brother called me from his death bed, demanding we get his daughter out of the system, we knew it would take a collective effort, but would fight the courts and secure his legacy. Twenty-thousand dollars later and with radical prayer, Jesenia would be ours, adoption papers and all.

My husband and I are now in the age of meno/manopause. If that ain’t enough to deal with, we are also anticipating becoming caregivers to our elderly mothers. I’m pretty sure this stage in our relationship will prove to be just as interesting, challenging and satisfying as the others. With love, devotion and extreme prayer, I’m confident we’ll be lucky enough to survive.

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Babette Wallace is a middle school Language Arts teacher in the Atlanta, Ga area.