The black dress stuck to my damp body, the southern September Sunday in full heat. It was hard to imagine that Jeffrey was gone. She would always be part of our story, since it was she who set us up on a blind date just two years prior. I was emotionally worn from the funeral and ready to make the 2-hour-drive and get back home.

“Let’s go for a hike!” Robbie said. “There’s this amazing park right here in town.”

Oh boy, I thought. Here we go.

I like the outdoors. Well, I like the idea of the outdoors. I don’t know, maybe I just like the indoors. But I seem to have this great apprehension when Robbie wants to do something outside, because I never quite seem prepared for it. Whether emotionally, physically, or both, I am ill-prepared, and I almost never have the right clothes.

The pajamas I’d packed for the overnight stay were my only other clothing besides the dress I was wearing, so we rolled up to Dollar General and purchased the only clothes we could find: a pajama tank top and a pair of blue and green boxer shorts emblazoned with toads saying “Toadally Awesome.” The irony was THICK.

I had an overwhelming sense of dread as we approached the park, stopped at the restroom, and looked for the trailhead. You would have thought he was asking me to climb Everest as I picked my nails and pouted. He was oblivious. 

We got to the trailhead in the deserted park and were presented with 1-mile and 3-mile options for our torture hike. He was almost giddy as he exclaimed with delight that we should do the 3-miler. “In these shoes?” I said. “No way!”

I could tell he was disappointed, but he succumbed to my wishes and off we went down the 1-mile trail. I tripped over roots on the winding trail and got bit by every mosquito in the county. 

As I lumbered behind him, the soles of my feet began to burn as they rubbed against my new Target dress sandals and my eyes filled with tears. He bounced along ahead, repeating how much fun he was having.

It wasn’t a challenging course by any stretch. One mile shouldn’t have been a big deal. And yet, I felt like I was dying. Sure, the heat was a little oppressive, and my feet were hurting, but my tear-streaked cheeks told the truth that turmoil was brewing in my heart.

With every step, I had to continue telling myself that I could do this. I could do it because I loved him. I knew it would ruin his time if he knew just how much I hated our activity, so I suffered silently.

I didn’t know it then, but that walk in the woods four years ago became a turning point in my marriage.

In those days, I would’ve told you Robbie was needy. I felt like he was constantly asking me to prove my love to him, and I was constantly failing.  I imagined him saying, “You better go on this hike, or you couldn’t possibly love me.”

We had struggled since we met to find activities that we both enjoyed doing together. Everything felt like a sacrifice, certainly not like fun. The truth is that he often didn’t feel loved, and I didn’t know why.

I had said “no” so often to the things that mattered to his heart, unknowingly wounding him. I now realize that my reasons for saying no were in part misunderstanding his needs and part due to my own fear. Fear that I wouldn’t be good enough, fear that I couldn’t physically keep up with him, fear that I would fail.

Thank the Lord for that terrible hike in the park! I needed to get to the point that I was willing to get uncomfortable to love him well and help him to feel safe. That day he was asking me to speak his language. It wasn’t just about hiking or some physical feat he was asking me to accomplish, like I thought it was. He longed for time with me. What I know now is that quality time is his love language. (Learn more about love languages here.)

I’m grateful that so much has changed and grown in us since that day. Now, if Robbie knows I am having a hard time with something, he wants me to tell him, and he is gracious and loving. We are continually working toward a marriage where the other feels safe, free to share and show our true heart, and not taking it personally when the other finds offense or doesn't see it our way.

That day in the park, God gave me the grace to choose Robbie. I spoke love to him in a language he could hear. I chose his heart above my comfort. I chose his activity, and therefore, I chose his heart above my fear.

In the same way that those who are deaf cannot hear themselves speak and find it challenging to pronounce simple words, fear deafens us, disabling us from speaking love plainly.

Fear deafens us, disabling us from speaking Love plainly.

But when we allow God’s work in us to silence fear, we are free to speak and act in love. And love chooses the other. It goes to any and all lengths, any effort to get to the heart of the other. It’s not easy, but with Jesus’ help it’s possible.

“Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.” 1 Corinthians 13:4-7

Love is radical. 

Love presses in even when it’s not convenient and especially when it’s not easy. 

Love is willing to sacrifice. 

I chose love that day, a love that looks like boxer shorts and blistered feet, and my marriage is better for it.

The cart sat just outside the hospital room, filled with bright yellow paper gowns that each of us had to don along with masks and gloves before we could enter. As an ICU nurse, I took great caution with these patients on “contact isolation.” That cart signified they had a highly contagious bacteria that I needed to protect myself from. I covered myself to keep from getting infected or spreading it to others.

I thought about those paper gowns a few weeks ago when my husband was sharing stories from his life just before we met. He was in a small town, working full time, and living in a dark apartment his friends nicknamed “the dungeon.” To make matters worse, the small beach town where he lived went from bustling with life in the summer to deserted and desolate in the winter.

He spoke of how difficult that season was for him spiritually and emotionally. Then he shrugged his broad shoulders and spoke the hard truth he’d learned: “Isolation breeds depression.”

When we are left alone and isolated, there’s nothing to stop our dark infectious thoughts. They breed and fester when left unattended.

The opposite is also true: healthy vibrant relationships breed hope. And hope is contagious. 

Communities full of joy and hope are contagious. When we come in contact with other believers who have encountered hardship and who continue to trust the Lord, we are inspired to do the same. We become infected with hope. 

“And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.” Romans 5:5

My friend Ellen just recently moved to town. We’d worked together at the hospital a few years back in a different city often donning those yellow paper gowns, and now we found ourselves gladly together again. She messaged me this last weekend and asked if we could get together and go for a walk. We strolled and talked, then when we got back to my house, she came in and stayed. She stayed through my toddlers’ needy afternoon snack hour, then through dinner, and only left shortly after I put the kids to bed. My extroverted heart was so full. 

She shared some truly personal things about her family history and how it has affected her present day. I thanked her for trusting me to tell me. It’s a treasure when friends are open about deep things. Toward the end of our time together I remarked how glad I was that she had come over, and she said, “I didn’t want to have to get dressed up, or spend money on dinner, or go to some event to be with friends. Today I needed a couch friend.”

I needed a couch friend.

She needed to feel accepted just as she was, uncovered by a yellow paper gown. Not fancy, just sweatpants and her whole heart. 

We find hope in places like this. Places where we are known and still loved. We are vulnerable and still safe and secure. 

If we are longing to grow deep roots in the Lord, community is the necessary soil our hearts need to thrive. 

Ellen understands this truth. Even as an introvert, she knows she’s created in the image of God who is a relational God. She is, by human nature, relational, and needs friendship and community to thrive. She and her husband have been intentional in their short time in town so far to cultivate life-giving relationships. 

But…sometimes this requires risk. She had to message me and ask to hang out. I could’ve said no. I could’ve rushed her out of the house and made her feel like an inconvenience. I could’ve rebuffed when she shared her heart with me and wounded her. But she risked that anyway. 

Relationships require risk. Healthy relationships grow trust in spite of the risk and become a place of safety, but starting at ground zero can be a scary place. Let’s take that risk anyway. Let’s reach out and be intentional to cultivate friendships. Let’s be the one who suggests to hang out. Let’s also be the one whose couch is a safe place. Let’s have open hearts to those who are different than us. Let’s help others feel welcome just as they are. Let’s be couch friends.