And I'll cry if I want to!

But I won't want to because it's the best day of the year!!  Woohoo!  It's my birthday on Friday--my party!  It's all about me!  I get to be selfish, spoiled, and demanding full of requests.  Yes, it's a big day at the Kirksey house and in all fairness, everyone knows what to expect.  Momma begins reminding all members of the household well in advance that the best day of the year is approaching.

I've heard it mentioned before that the whole idea of celebrating a day about one's self is wrong--even sinful.  
But I disagree, and I am making up for lost time.

When I had my kids, I learned the importance of a fantastic birthday.  On their special day, I wanted them to have love volleyed at them in rapid fire succession all day long with little surprises and big ones, too.  Of all days, on their birthday, there should be no question that they matter--even if I didn't spend a dime.

Because, you see, growing up, our entire family, Grandpa, mom, dad, sister and I all had birthdays in July--my dad, sister and I were all within five days.   Now, if that wasn't enough to make a birthday a little less special,  we shared celebrations to save on something.  
Still not sure what that saved...Time?  Effort?  
Paper plates?  

Also, my mother stunk at gift giving.  I mean it.  Ask my sister.  We usually got the same strange item, like an earring holder crafted by some ancient lady at a church craft fair from yarn and white plastic. Of course, I might get a red earring holder and she, blue, since  we were, after all, totally unique people.  And since my mother knew me so well, I usually got a dessert that she made special that she also forgot--or never knew--that I hated. 

Truly, I don't remember one birthday I had or even one gift except the year I turned double digits (a big deal in any 10 year old girl's life) I got a..........
drumroll please.............

Umbrella.  
Yup.  Still feeling pretty bummed about that one.  

For the record, it's not that I get really greedy on my birthday, although I'm sure it must sound like it by this point.  To this day, I don't want money spent.  I just want a day to be considered.  That is the most meaningful thing in the world to me on any given day.  Like, "Oh, you have a lot to do today! Let me unload the dishwasher!" Or, "Wow! You must be exhausted.  Let me rub your shoulders." 

And my family is simply FANTASTIC about these things EVERY day.  I just spent a lot of years waiting to be seen, and I happen to really like a day where I can ask away and it's allowed. 
I don't ask for much on Mother's Day.  I don't particularly like that day.  It's a Hallmark holiday that's pretty contrived, in my humble opinion, and I don't usually ask for anything.  Save it up for the real deal, baby.

On my birthday, I sleep in.  Sleeping is my favorite.  
No, I take it back--eating is my favorite.  On my birthday, I don't cook.  I eat out somewhere great--my choice.  On my special day, no one fights or squabbles, and when they have to keep their mouths shut, I smile.  I don't work (unless it's a piano day--you know, that whole pesky JOB thing). But other than that, I don't lift a finger.  It's a.m.a.z.i.n.g.  I love every minute.
(If I was single, I would do all this for myself, so if you are just, please, give yourself permission.)

It doesn't matter that I'm getting older.  I feel great, and that's most of it, isn't it? Attitude. 
To me, the key is to keep learning, setting goals, and having folks ask if your child is your sibling.  These are the things that really count.  And, yeah, that just happened to Kyrsten and me.  Love that.

And this year, despite my agedness, I have set out to learn some neat things--like an amazing piano song that I've been working on entirely too long.  And I'm teaching myself to can things like peaches and tomatoes and pickles--neat, huh?
I've accomplished some huge personal achievements (Friday being day 59 of 60 grueling days of suffering exercising to whip this body back into shape--okay so I'm going to add 30 more, but I'm working harder than ever on this horrible new skill and seeing some results for the first time ever--go me!).  

And, I'm looking ahead to a fantastic new year in which my daughter gets married, I am hoping to take a trip that I've waited for since age four, and we are contemplating a move! 

Wow!  It's gonna be a great year!  Which is great news because I fully intend to stay this age (that ends with a nine) for the entire rest of my life.

Storm the Gates

When I was a little girl--three to be specific--I began singing publicly. My dad was a phenomenal classical guitarist and I was doggone cute and could hold a tune, and this seemed to make folks happy. So, I started singing (while he was playing) at nursing homes, various churches, and by the age of five weddings, and not long after that, funerals. Evie Tornquist was my role model and many of her songs were in my repertoire including one that said, "I'm only four feet eleven but I'm goin' to heaven and it makes me feel ten feet tall."
Only, I sang three feet eleven 'cause I was (and may still be) so darn short. Cute, right?

Well, it was until I hit my awkward stage...

And this one is thrown in just because there are so few pictures of my dad and me and this one just hit me square in the heart.

So, I guess you could say that pretty much all of my life, I have been singing.

And hating it.
No matter how many times I sang in public, I despised it. I hated the upset stomach that preceded it, I hated the way it made my entire being shake to the core. I dreaded worrying about what people thought of me.

I despised in myself the love for the attention and the need for praise.

I was told by my mother that I was given a gift, and if I didn't use it God would take it away from me. That fear of the awful moment when my voice would be snatched away from me (think Ariel and Ursula) worked well on a people-pleasing, afraid-of-everything personality.

So I sang.

At some point when I was in my twenties, things got rough for my Dad and he forgot how to use his gift well. We didn't perform together anymore. I missed the camaraderie and the bond that came with it, but we just let it fade away.
I still sang alone at weddings, funerals, and once in a while at church, but when I did, I was still battling epically on the inside every single time.

And then I quit.

I just decided that it was not worth it. And I had never found the purpose in it anyway. The suffering that surrounded it just outweighed any benefit. I vowed to myself to quit forever. I never wanted to sing in public again.
Big, huge sigh of relief.

Enter into my life a time where my heart felt like raw meat. I was in the midst of separating from my parents, beginning youth ministry with Christian and telling God He could do whatever He wanted with my life. It was a time of charging forward and storming the gates, if you will.
You see, until then, I was a soft-spoken girl afraid of my own shadow, operating entirely in a life of shoulds. I did what I should because I should and because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn't. Anything I did that looked brave was usually bravery resting on someone else's laurels. Not Alison's.

I remember taking a self-defense class with Justin at some point in my twenties and punching someone for the first time in my life. Once I started I couldn't stop. It felt so good to feel powerful. I punched so much I left bruises on my teacher and came home exhilarated.

This is how I felt when I surrendered all and whatever to my heavenly Daddy. I literally felt infused with a power that was not my own. Whatever stood ahead faced my "BRING IT ON" attitude. I had ceased being afraid.

And then someone asked me to sing. Not just any someone. A professional musician needed a singer for a youth event we were hosting. Despite my intimidation of him and much to my own dismay, I heard my own voice agreeing.

It was an entirely new page that had turned in my spirit. If there is such a thing as praising defiantly, I was doing it. The only singing I vowed to do from this point forward was worship. That's all that had merit to me. And so I began to worship in a new way. I worshiped from the hurt, afraid, and broken part of my spirit. And like a balm, the worship began to cover those deep places and I began to heal.

Through the entire time that things were at their absolute worst in my life, I was passionately worshiping until my body would hurt from the exertion. Like a good coach, the aforementioned musician (who became a brother to me) was still pushing me to worship and he will still laugh at me for the times I literally fought him by stomping my feet as he pushed me out front to new levels of bravery in my ability to take the mess the enemy had tried to ruin me with and turn it into words of public praise. There were days when, during practice, I would go from sobbing in a corner over the latest developments to wiping my face and taking the stage.

It was the most powerful time of my life. A huge part of my testimony about the absolute power of words and even more about the power of a God who saved my life.

I learned that I was made to worship. I was not made to sing, and that's why any type of singing with the wrong motive felt like torture to me. I was created to tell my God how amazing He is. Whether that's on a stage or in my kitchen or in the words I speak to my family or a stranger in the grocery store, I am here on this earth to reflect the love of my God. It is my purpose. It is my intention.

It's about looking evil in the face and declaring a new thing. To see the impossibly high gates ahead and storm them with whatever weapon I have been given.

May I encourage you to open your mouth and use your voice?

Click.

Now I know...

What I've learned from the best daddy ever.

Well, really, it has nothing at all to do with Father's Day, except that he inspired these lessons and, in effect, me so let's just chalk it up to a great Father's Day post, shall we?

How Christian burst the happy bubble I lived in.

If you know my man at all, you know this. If he meets you, you are now his friend. Our family says that everywhere he goes, he has to make a friend. Like, he can't leave a conversation until a friend is made. This means that we might wait forty-five minutes in the car while he makes a friend with the cashier. Or the hostess. Or the guy in NYC selling homemade dvd's of his amazing "music".

We complain. Yes, we do. I've said it before, and I repeat it daily. I spend my life waiting for Christian.

But, his friendliness has changed folks' lives. He has impacted people around the world. He has made a difference. He thinks the best of folks whether they deserve it or not.

And, in turn, inspired his family to try to do the same.

Granted, we try to sum it all up and do in two minutes what he might need a half an hour for, but he really burst our little--stay-in-our-own-worlds--bubbles and taught each of us to reach out and make an effort in other people's lives. And, I'm proud to see it in my children, and even in myself every now and again.

I've learned that there is a song for every occasion. I mean every sentence. If he hears someone say, "It's a beautiful day!" he will (like clockwork) always sing a song by Bono. In fact, he is so known for it, that song is his ringtone.

My man can change any words he hears spoken into a song he recalls from various decades. It's fascinating what he's stored up in his brain. Sometimes I tease him for it. It's true. But, life is a bit easier with a song, is it not? And I can't tell you how many moods he's lightened.

The beat goes on. Life has its rhythms, and those rhythms take up residency in Christian's head. And they turn everything into complicated beats--on steering wheels and the back of my arm--or head.

His mind works in ways I couldn't repeat if my life depended on it. No matter how bad the day may be, the beat goes on. And a happy little rhythm ticks away and marks the time.

Strength wears different faces. Some days it is brute strength that can carry a tired, pregnant wife up a steep hill while pushing a stroller.

Other times, strength is holding up a weeping, broken wife who cannot stand on her own. Or standing in the way of a verbal rock being thrown. Or just taking "that phone call."

And it may just look like a man in tears as he prays for his children to know the love of his God the way he does.

Whatever shape it's wearing on any given day, when I think of strength, I picture a guy who embodies it every day in a million ways. And I am grateful.

Happy Daddy's Day to all those guys who hold our worlds up and make them keep spinning the right way; who make us smile and hold our hands and those of the little punkins they stand as a models for.

Because of mine, I know what love looks like...

 

Extravagance

I'm lying in my hammock right now on a stunningly beautiful summer afternoon. The birds are singing their happy little bird songs. The air smells like freshly cut grass and the white pine I am lounging under. The air is so warm that even this usually cold, sun-loving girl is perfectly content in the shade. All I hear is the buzz of a bug nearby, and the gentle breeze as it tickles the new leaves in the woods that create my view. To have this moment makes me feel so loved.

All morning my heart felt so quietly worshipful. I put on my music as I drove over a hundred miles on my Thursday morning errands, and two songs came on that spoke of extravagant love. Though those particular words have never processed in my brain before, today I heard them twice before noon. Extravagant Love.

I am in awe of a God Who gives and takes away, and all the while loves extravagantly.

Let me explain.

Two families I know have had major life crises recently. One family faced a medical diagnosis that rocked their world and left them reeling. After many weeks, the husband and father was relieved to hear his story isn't ending quite yet.

Just yesterday, another family suddenly and tragically lost its husband and father. Their world will simply never be the same.

I lie here in my hammock contemplating how these two families have the potential--through the worst life has to offer--to know more than ever the extravagant love of God lavished upon them.

Extravagant--Exceeding reasonable bounds

Lavish--Expended or produced in abundance

Many would say, I'm sure, that a loving God would never allow these things to happen to His children. It's a deep discussion that cuts to the core. For all of time wounded hearts have questioned His love based on circumstances.

I don't have anything all figured out, but this is what I know deep in my spirit that no one can ever take from me. I wasn't created and given my life on this earth for my own happiness. There are most certainly blissful moments of it, but my happiness is not my purpose.

I was created to fit perfectly into a plan that draws me, and those around me, safely and securely like a puzzle piece nestled into the heart of God. All that has happened to me until the day I leave this world has been and will be to help me hear His voice more clearly and draw me closer to Him. My purpose is so much bigger than this life. My joy, my pain, my sorrow, my success is all about knowing Him more. It's up to me how quickly I learn the lessons.

There was a song by Ginny Owens that was popular several years ago that really hit me hard. I used to quite boldly sing this song, and it is powerful. So powerful, in fact, that I think God took me up on it.

It goes back to the power of words. I've posted quite a bit about it--here for instance where I tell the story about how my family got sick after singing words from a song.

We, as a family take our words very seriously. Remember that song, "Be careful little mouth what you say"? The rest of it says, "For the Father up above is looking down in love, so be careful little mouth what you say." He's not waiting to pounce on us for saying the wrong thing, but since He first created the world with the very words He spoke, He gave words power and it's up to us how we use them. They can be used for our good or we can use them against ourselves.

So, can I just ask you to listen to what you're saying and singing?

Back to Ginny. Click here to listen.You see, it was as I told God that I was willing to go through any trial if it would draw me closer to Him, that He gently took me by the hand and walked me through the valley of the shadow of death. Through some very dark moments and unusual circumstances, I lost both of my parents within six months of each other. In that same time frame, Christian and I were brought to a place of surrender in our lives and in our marriage that taught us in a way we can never forget about the extravagant love of God.

Would I go through it again? In one way, that's tough to say. In fact as I heard those words again today in the song, I hesitated before I was willing to sing them. That stove He let me touch so I would learn was hot! And I learned!

In another way, all I want is more--more of the clear vision deep in my very soul that knows how loved I am.

When I was in school, I had a teacher (Christian school, remember?) tell the class that when we heard that someone else was going through something tragic, that in our hearts we shouldn't ever feel relieved that it wasn't us, but rather we should wish it was us, since we know God well enough and could handle it better than that person could.

Wow.

I can't wrap my head around that thinking. I find in it some major flaws. But you can't help but wonder (can you?) when you hear of someone's suffering, how you would handle it.

I have had days when it felt like darkness had settled on me like a blanket. Days when it felt like my tears never dried up. There are songs for those moments. Words that I would whisper aloud because I had no others. Words of praise. Words of life. Even if my voice would be shaky, my heart was confident that I was loved no matter the circumstance.

I am nowhere near perfect, but my roots go deep. I love the verse that says,

But blessed is the man who trusts me, God, the woman who sticks with God. They're like trees replanted in Eden, putting down roots near the rivers—Never a worry through the hottest of summers, never dropping a leaf, serene and calm through droughts, bearing fresh fruit every season.

There are definitely times when I fret and question and wrestle. But He's a big enough God to wrestle with! He can definitely handle everything I bring to the mat!

Christian said today that if he and I are talking and he asks a question of me, he is really caring about my response if he waits to hear my answer.

Ever talk to someone who doesn't even wait to hear what your asking before they give their answer? These folks just want to be heard. They don't really care to hear the answer.

He said that some people approach God, in the wrestling, with that attitude. As if they already have the answers.

Some, however, are seekers waiting to know what He says so they can know how to respond.

So, go ahead and ask God the tough questions. But do it when you really want to hear His answer, not just because you already have your mind made up with what you have to say.

When was the last time you were lavished upon with something extravagant? Ever?

I can honestly say that the only time in my life I have known extravagance, is this love I've found.

Just so you know, it's right there waiting for you, too.

 

It all started with the dish brush...

It all started with the dish brush.

You see, I have a brush used for dishes. There's one for dishes, one for scrubbing the sink, and one for scrubbing veggies. They are clearly marked. Except, of course, the dish brush.

One day, I wasn't feeling well, and my beloved husband, who is fantastic about doing the dishes so I don't have to, decided to scrub the sink--the job I usually do. But, he used the dish brush.

I was nearby and within three seconds, I had an argument of epic proportions in my mind. To correct or not to correct. I know, I know. The man was helping me out. I needed to keep my mouth shut. But, you know I couldn't. Those were my extra neat dish brushes from IKEA and last time I tried to get more they were gone and it's 3 hours to IKEA!! And he was getting sink crud all over it. Do you know how many germs are in a kitchen sink?

According to MSNBC, "Kitchen sinks are dirtier than most bathrooms. There are typically more than 500,000 bacteria per square inch in the drain alone. Plus your sponge, basin and faucet handles are crawling with bacteria as well."

While I'm on the subject, please go wash your dishrag. Within two hours of use a dishrag has 30 million germs. By the next day, it has 18 billion! Can't even count 'em after 3 or four days. Nasty!

But, I digress...

So, you probably already figured I spoke up. I tried in my three epic seconds to come up with a way to say it in a way that wasn't too jerk-like. I said, "You know there's a brush for the sink, right?" and I even said it with a smile.

You know what my husband heard? "Why are you doing it all wrong, idiot?"

This led to a great conversation. Once we all calmed down. ;o)

This reminds me of something my dad used to say all the time. "I know you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant."

You know what we learned? We think completely differently from each other. That's not exactly new information, but our discussion was. He let me know that his brain works like the traffic in the many lanes that circle the Arch de Triumph in Paris. No real rules or organization. Everyone just goes.

My brain? Oh, my. It has traffic cops and well-organized lanes and everyone knows the rules and obeys them.

I'm a planner. It's true. Prior proper planning prevents poor performance. I believe it, and I live it. I wake up planning everything that makes our world go around. I have two meals planned at the beginning of every day. I have calendars and lists and reminders and a constant voice in my mind telling me what needs to be done. It's the hamster on a wheel that I wish I could turn off when my head hits the pillow.

I can, however, definitely and very happily, fly by the seat of my pants. For example, we do take off frequently and unexpectedly on road trips and I don't need to have a plan or map or schedule. I thrive that way as well. But for twenty-ish years, keeping my home running smoothly has been my job, and I really do try my best.

I know that a lot of people plan better and are much more organized than I am. I have too many messes around me to fit into the world of the ultra-organized, and I just now got my first label-maker. One such ultra-organized person I know was known to say that God is in the planning. Hmmm...not too sure about that. Not that He can't be, but I think that often I can plan Him right out of things. He doesn't need my schedule or my ideas. He doesn't need me to keep a list for Him or play traffic cop.

The Bible would read quite differently if it was based on human thinking. When Moses arrived at the Red Sea with bad guys chasing him from behind, he was told to step in faith into a situation that made NO sense. With human thinking, there would've been a boat-building committee and a project manager and a few dozen meetings about how to get the people across. With God working it was GO. Just go. And He took care of the details. And, didn't He?!

When it comes to the big stuff in my life, I have totally learned to let GO. When you know love, you can fully trust.

I do not know what my future holds. Our family is in the process of standing at the edge of our own Red Sea and waiting for the GO. We don't know exactly what it looks like, but we are enjoying watching the puzzle pieces start to take shape. And we dream and hope and wait. But faith doesn't look like a plan. Faith is non-sense. It doesn't look like a list or a project. It has no definitive shape. It's stepping forward into all and whatever when God gives the word.

It's like a road trip with no plan or map or schedule and no savings account. Can you imagine? I sure can. We did that a couple years ago and made it 13,000 miles and had the time of our lives. And it was such a beautiful picture of the word GO. Perhaps we needed to see it played out like that so for the rest of our lives we would take Him at His word, and know that there is simply no such thing as God dropping the ball.

And, life's a lot more fun with a few surprises isn't it?

Leave nothing but footprints...

I heard a quote this morning as I took some time to myself to watch a movie. The story was about a mother who is conflicted between her own needs and dreams, and the need to follow through with the choices she had made and do what she knew was right.

She said, "When a woman makes the choice to marry and have children, in one way her love begins but in another way, it stops. You build a life of details and you just stop, and stay steady so that your children can move and when they leave they take your life of details with them. Your expected to move on again, but you don't even remember what moved you because nobody has asked in so long. Not even yourself."

Every single woman has a story. The grandmother you knew with gray hair and a worn-out body was once a woman with plans and dreams. She became a mother at some point, and if she was a good one motherhood became her world. Loving and serving those around her replaced the things that she had envisioned once upon a time.

It is the constant laying down of self that looks the most like love. Every mother that stands out in that role has succeeded this way.


“We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”
― Joseph Campbell

It's so easy to get lost in the shuffle of details. I lose myself all the time. I get so busy making everything happen for everyone that I forget Alison. I leave her in the dust somewhere wondering how to find her way back. And then I do exactly the opposite of my intention to do everything right by making the family around me miserable instead of creating the happiness I'm working so hard to create.
But, I must say, I have never felt like I've lost any dreams along my path. What God has given me became a dream that I never knew I had. As my children grow and are at the very edge of the nest, it sure does make a girl think about who she is and will be after all the commotion.

At this point, I find myself daring to dream some new dreams. It's a fascinating view.

Now, I'm going to be honest here. I think there is a generation of mothers and wives that have begun to think of the commitment to being a wife and/or mother as a hobby. They've left themselves an opt-out clause in the back of their minds. These women are bent on the pursuit of their own happiness above all else and have no qualms making sure that their own needs are met.

It's a far cry from the kind of woman I want to be. I made a commitment to be a wife and there is no opt-out. I chose to become a mother and until these children of mine are firmly established on their own two feet, I am here for them. Above all else, God has given me the responsibility to love Him, my husband and my children--in that order.

It's the balance that's the rub.

The other day, I was hiking in some of God's most beautiful wilderness with my family. As I walked, I thought of the hundreds of walks our family has taken together all over this country. I thought of mountain trails with snakes, and beaches with dolphins. I remember taking home with me a beautiful acorn or seashell or stone and hoping that that token would be a reminder of that moment.

I then remembered a sign I had seen in some national park that said, "Take nothing but memories. Leave nothing but footprints." There is no item that can magically transport me back to a time I'd like to revisit. Although I've told God several times that I hope in heaven we get to revisit a favorite moment or two. What I wouldn't give to snuggle one of my toddlers again and smell their little necks and get a big, ol' sticky kiss. But, for now, I take with me the memories, tucked safely in my heart, and pull them out every now and again and roll them around in my mind like so many seashells from so many precious moments.

As I walked behind my husband on our hike, I tried following in his footsteps for a few minutes. I could do it for a short while only since my stride isn't quite the length of his. As I walked, I hoped he'd walk in a way that I could keep up. That he would consider me behind him, and make sure I was taken care of.

Don't we owe that to these children we've committed to blazing a trail for? To find the balance in such a way that they are not our burden, but our gift. And that we are committed to walking in a way that honors them and makes a way for them to be all they are called to be.

To consider them as we create the path

Today, I want to thank my friend, the single mother who has shown me what sacrificial love looks like as she blazes a trail hand in hand with her God and leaves clear footprints for her son. She has chosen to find the balance between her dreams and the commitment she has to being the kind of mother her son will always be thanking his God for.

I honor my friend, the mother with several little ones. Juggling her work, the constant needs of a household and her babies, the needs of her husband, taking care of an elderly grandparent, and fending off the ever-present option of getting lost in the details. She does it with selflessness and love and it shows.

The proof is in the pudding on this one. When you look at the children, you see the love of the parents. When you get one of their hugs, you can tell the love they get from their mothers.

My prayer is to love. It's that simple. To love and not get lost. To love even a fraction of the way my God loves me.

Hats off to you, moms. And Happy Mothers' Day.

Young love and other such engagements...

Sometime this year, my Addie-girl will take on a new title and a new last name.  She will move out from under our covering and under the covering of another.  Yes, very recently, on top of a very high sand dune overlooking the lake, the boy I had been praying for my daughter's whole life confirmed that it was him all along.

I knew it would be this particular guy from the moment I first heard about him, but that was my secret to keep until he and I had a long walk and heart-to-heart talk.  And there have been lots of those talks since then between him and each member of this family. 
You don't just casually walk into this group.  Too much love and closely knit ties to just barge in upon.  Those who know us, know that truth.  Here trust is hard-earned.  
He has done well.  
The other day, I heard him describe our crazy family to a newcomer who looked a bit overwhelmed at the dinner table by our lively, jovial dinner.  He said something like, "At first, I thought it was strange, too, but it definitely grows on you." 
Now, he says he wants in.  (mwahahaha)

Last week he sat across the table from his FFIL (future father-in-law) and bravely asked for our daughter's hand.  My husband, I'm sure with big tears in his eyes described how she's been ours for so long to love and protect and handing her over into his care is not something we take lightly.  He reiterated the need for the new guy to be able to provide spiritually, emotionally, and financially for her and be willing to take on that commitment wholeheartedly if Daddy said yes. 
And then, Daddy said yes.  I'm sure with a few memories running around in the back of his mind of asking for my hand once upon a time.  Only my daddy wasn't so sure about my boy, and we were both hoping he didn't get met at the door with a certain shotgun.

These two are silly and giddy, smart and committed, young but with God's help, capable.  We know firsthand that the road of a young married couple is not always easy.  We know firsthand that the road of ANY married couple is not always easy.  Age is not the determiner.  And if we all waited until we had it all together until we joined hearts and hands with another, there would be no such thing as marriage.  It's pretty neat to go through all that life has to offer with a hand to hold and a shoulder nearby for crying upon.  And a nearby high-five every now and again.  
When God lines it up, you don't really say no.  
Folks will have opinions.  Don't they always? Two eighteen year olds would have to beat the odds to make it in this world, right? Well, then.  Let's cheer them on!  God's right in the center where He should be, and a cord of three strands is not easily broken.  So, for the love of Addie and Austin and what God is creating in them, please just pray for them.  Pray that they will continue to be a testimony of the goodness and graciousness of their God.  And that they will know His joy and be established firmly in His love.  
And two former eighteen-year-old-young-married-folks-who-beat-the-odds thank you for that. 

Click here for some more about why we support young marriage if God is in it.