to labor: to strive, as toward a goal
Throughout our marriage, we’ve been goal-setters, dreamers, task-setters of the most eclectic kind.
Our goals are goals of adventure, goals of added simplicity or getting grades done, of writing more and reading deeper; they’re goals fixed in finding Spirit in our midst, of finding each other’s eyes despite the chaos whirling around us.
So to labor is to strive toward a goal, and to co-labor is to do it hand in hand, heart with heart. And that’s what I’m so thankful for.
These goals may be tiny: I love editing and reading, re-reading and discussing. Wasn’t it just a month ago that you said, “You know you’re getting this PhD with me, right?”
Because we’re in it together.
These dreams that seem tiny to me grant the sweetest of affirmations, and you know how to walk the tricky path of helping me write music and speak what’s deep in me wanting to get out. Remember all those awkward recording sessions that just didn’t work? Co-labor.
That’s what it was when we stood in the church, our heads together, prayers escaping our lips. Prayers that we’d walk in peace and trust, prayers that we’d do it all together and find joy.
And I’ll mention the boys here, but labor with you is a dream, and I don’t know how you did it with me. And every day there it is again, perhaps more of a re-labor, over and over until we come to peace and grace.
So, here we go, on to more adventures in another city with new churches and new faces and new schooling, new dreams and new struggles, all bringing us side by side and to each other and to our peace.
Stay with me, Love. Let’s continue the strive.