Reflections on 25 Years of Marriage-- The Grace of Vulnerability
There is a grace—a quiet, steady, deeply human grace—that comes from being loved by someone who removes your fear of vulnerability. On the occasion of my 25th wedding anniversary, I’ve been reflecting on how profoundly that grace has shaped my life. Somewhere in the blur of years, busy schedules, and the complexities of careers and parenthood, I realized this: I am most myself when I am with her. And not the polished, professional version of myself—but the flawed, unsure, overly analytical, sometimes anxious one. The real me. And she never flinches.
When I look back, I remember entering our marriage like many do: with joy, hope, and also a quiet pocket of fear. Fear of not measuring up. Fear of not being enough. Fear of showing too much of the insecurities I usually masked so well. But those fears didn’t last. Because she didn’t just love me in spite of my vulnerabilities—she embraced them. And in doing so, she freed me from them.
There’s something remarkably disarming about being truly known. Not just the things you say out loud, but the things you don’t—the doubts, the paralyzing moments based on fear, the old wounds, the whispered lies you still sometimes believe about yourself. She saw those and still stayed. And that truth—that unwavering presence—began to chip away at every old story I had once accepted as fact.
Anyone who knows me is acutely aware that I am not Mr. Music---far from it. And yet, there’s a line from the song Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol that has always stayed with me—one I listen to over and over, just thinking of her.
"If I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?"
Yes. With her, the answer has always been yes.
There’s peace in that kind of companionship based on “agape” love—a peace I didn't know I needed at 25 but now can't imagine living without at 50 plus. To simply be beside her, even in silence, is sometimes more healing than a thousand conversations with anyone else. Watching the world pass by, the metaphorical cars rushing by on highways we no longer feel compelled to chase. She is the one with whom I can forget the world and, at the same time, remember who I really am.
Vulnerability often gets framed as weakness. But after 25 years of marriage, I’ve come to understand it as a gift. To be vulnerable is to invite someone into your unguarded spaces. And to have someone enter those spaces with love, care, and gentleness—that is grace in its purest form.
So today, I celebrate her—not just for the years, or the milestones, or the memories—but for the peace she brings by simply being who she is. And for the truth that with her, I’ve never had to be anyone but me.
Here’s to the next 25. And to every quiet moment of laying still and forgetting the world—together.
