I Chose Life and Love Has Grown

I Married Young

I used to say, “That story is for a different time.”

But that time is now.

When people ask me the secret to being married for so long—nineteen years—I usually hesitate. There isn’t a tidy answer. The truth is, I have renewed, repaired, and saved my marriage more than once. But my saving grace has always been service, distilled into a single phrase:

“Can I get you anything?”

I was twenty-one years old. So was my soon-to-be husband.

I had a positive pregnancy test, confirmed by the doctor’s office. I told him. We were scared. We told my mother. Then his mother. I was terrified to tell my father.

Before that moment, I had turned myself inside out trying to figure out how I would finish college, how we would support a baby financially, whether I should get an abortion. I remember hoping someone else would make the choice for me.

Do you want this?

Should I do this?

In the end, I could not abort my baby. I think I knew that from the beginning. What I was really searching for was reassurance—that I could keep this unplanned life without being condemned for it.

My future husband told me he would support whatever decision I made. My mother shared her own abortion story. The decision to keep my baby was the loneliest—and the best—decision I’ve ever made.

After all the telling, I remember a quiet day riding in my father’s truck. We were driving to Turner’s Outdoorsman in Riverside, California. He asked me one question:

“Will he be a good father?”

I said, “Yes, I think he will.”

I knew that the man I loved loved me completely. And despite growing up without much stability himself, I believed he would love me—and our children—unconditionally.

Around that time, he applied for a job with the police department where he worked while attending university. He became a parking officer, a role that eventually opened the door to leadership positions later on.

We went to Old Navy and opened a credit card to buy maternity clothes. I didn’t need them yet, but I was already excited—ready or not—to bring new life into the world. That credit card was later used fraudulently by someone across the country. Whoever you are, I forgive you.

My parents were adamant that we should marry.

Earlier that same year, after a significant breakup, I remember saying, “I don’t know if I ever want to get married,” and “Having a kid doesn’t mean I have to get married.” But when my father learned about the pregnancy, his first concern was when we would wed. I couldn’t bear the weight of his disappointment.

Then, sometime in May, I started spotting.

I went to the ER and stayed all night. They could tell something was wrong but wouldn’t say what. I dropped a class because I had a midterm the next day. Two days later, at my regular appointment, the nurse said the words I will never forget:

“It’s not viable.”

There was no heartbeat.

My baby—nine weeks old, the size of a grape—was dead inside my body. I remember a cold, decisive moment where I thought, I need to get it out. I felt responsible. As if my fear, uncertainty, and shame had killed him.

A D&C was scheduled.

There were already plans to go wedding dress shopping.

After the procedure, my fiancé drove me two hours to my parents’ home. When I arrived, my sisters were sitting around the dinner table. They hadn’t been told about the pregnancy but had suspected—and were excited about becoming aunties.

I couldn’t look at them.

Eyes fixated on the computer in front of me, I simply stated, “There was a baby. It was not viable.”

I remember silence. Sadness. No words.

The next day, I got up and went wedding dress shopping.

Days earlier, when my parents knew the pregnancy wasn’t viable, they told me, “You don’t have to get married.” But after making the loneliest decision of my life, I chose to honor my commitment—to the man who was willing to devote his life to me.

He had set aside the final years of his college education, applied for a full-time job without hesitation, and committed himself to being a husband, protector, and provider. He loved me without reservation.

The hospital had given me pain medication. I took it while dress shopping—not because my body hurt, but because my heart did. I was high when I picked my wedding dress.

Still, it was a good dress.

We were married at a chapel in Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas on June 16, 2006. It wasn’t a stereotypical Vegas wedding—no Elvis. Though I would have looked great in an Elvis wedding. My husband, however, is not a big Elvis fan.

Now, nineteen years later, we have two teenage children, five dogs, and an ever-changing number of chickens and ducks. We are still growing, still changing, still choosing each other.

We’ve known despair. We’ve come close to breaking. But we are still here.

If there was ever an arranged marriage, this one was made by God. He knew our hearts—our loves, our struggles, our future joys, and the ways we would challenge one another to grow. He knew the children we would bring into the world and the work it would take to stay together.

And maybe that’s the story for next time.

But the way I’ve saved this union—when we reached points of no return—has always been the same.

I asked,

“Can I get you anything?”

🌱 Good Beet Reflections:

1. On Choice

What decision in your life felt deeply lonely and deeply right?

Where were you looking for permission instead of listening inward?

What did that choice teach you about your values?

2. On Grief

What loss in your life passed quietly, without ceremony or language?

How does your body remember that season?

What would it sound like to name that grief gently now?

3. On Commitment

Who has shown up for you without guarantees?

What commitments have you kept—even when circumstances changed?

What did staying cost you? What did it give you?

4. On Service

When have you been most loved through small, practical care?

What does “service” look like in your closest relationships right now?

Where might service soften something that argument or explanation has not?