It’s been almost a month since Andrew left for Florida. Almost a month since I decided not to go with him when I very well could have. Almost a month of wondering whether or not I made the right choice.

When I had those words inscribed on the inside of Andrew’s wedding band, I meant them. I still mean them.

That aged board with those words strung together are the foundational scripture of our marriage; Yet I have known from the beginning I could not physically stay true to it. Detachments, deployments, missions; the Navy life is not an easy one. It promises distance, loneliness, anxiety and honor.
But even still, I lay my head beneath a board every night that reminds me,

Brooke, you are breaking your promise.

Did I trade having a great job, with potential for a very promising future career for a long distance marriage?

Looks like I did. Dang.

 Did I break my promise? Should I give up my career to follow him and his? WE discussed it. WE made the decision together for me to stay here, so why do I feel like I went back on a commitment? Why Do I feel like the promise I made is now invalid?

And then I realize. It’s not about my promise. It never was my promise to claim. It was never my promise to break. It was/is God’s. Those words are not my own; they were borrowed, meditated over and thought about, but never mine. 

It’s not about whether or not I can physically be where Andrew is by choice or obligation. It’s about God being where we are, and going where we go. That’s the connective tissue that keeps us together, and without it, we have nothing.

Andrew, I can still go where you go and stay where you stay, it’s simply a matter of perspective.