By Janel Breitenstein This past year found me reveling in fifteen years of marriage to a man I deeply admire and who has remained my best friend for all fifteen. I say this carefully, knowing this level of intimacy in marriage is indeed rare—but trusting that all of us, even without it, long for that kind of closeness. Earlier this year, my in-laws hauled out our wedding VHS. We all joked about our fresh, hopeful, adoring faces admittedly clueless to all that would unspool in years now chronicled in photo albums or vivid memory. I marvel at how much more I cherish my husband than even that giddy day—simply because of the elaborate journey we’ve paced together, with all its potholes, summits, tears. We’ve journeyed through pregnancies, births, his mom’s death, and most recently our exodus from the known to the vast unknown of Uganda. Our path has made us more
My Jesus I Love Thee
My Jesus I Love Thee
My Jesus I Love Thee
By Janel Breitenstein This past year found me reveling in fifteen years of marriage to a man I deeply admire and who has remained my best friend for all fifteen. I say this carefully, knowing this level of intimacy in marriage is indeed rare—but trusting that all of us, even without it, long for that kind of closeness. Earlier this year, my in-laws hauled out our wedding VHS. We all joked about our fresh, hopeful, adoring faces admittedly clueless to all that would unspool in years now chronicled in photo albums or vivid memory. I marvel at how much more I cherish my husband than even that giddy day—simply because of the elaborate journey we’ve paced together, with all its potholes, summits, tears. We’ve journeyed through pregnancies, births, his mom’s death, and most recently our exodus from the known to the vast unknown of Uganda. Our path has made us more