Okay. We all know it’s an immensely ridiculous title. But it’s true, and I couldn’t help it.
Every so often, I will post a #wifelifewednesday, or if you don’t know what that means – like me – I will simply be posting a piece of my life as a wife… on Wednesdays. Who knows why they put a number sign in front of words without capitalizing or spacing or anything… And then make us feel like eating hashbrowns by calling it a hashtag.
I’m very excited about this first Wife Life Wednesday because it not only shows how great my husband is, but it shows that I am not the wimp that we all thought I was! You’ve probably already learned that I’m sick a lot, but there was a particular time about three years ago that I came to New Zealand to visit my now husband, Mark, and we went camping with some friends in West Auckland’s Waitakere Regional Park, inside the Waitakare Ranges. So, in effect, mountains. We camped in mountains, or a valley. Apparently what I think is a mountain is a hill. But, to be fair, what Kiwis think are mountains are actually volcanoes.
The place it was called is Huia. And, so begins our story. #boyfriendlifethreeyearsago
It was a damp, but sunny day. Not a dark and stormy night. We had just risen from our tents – the boys doing camping things, and us girls just sitting around looking pretty. And then it happened. The boys suggested a hike.
Everything started out fine. It was just a “hike” after all. In my part of Texas, a “hike” is not that hard. Everything is flat. But the chronic fatigue was strong with this one. Five minutes in, and the clouds (figurative, mind you) came rushing in. And the rain (again, figurative) came rushing down my cheeks.
I can’t do it! I (puffy breathing) can’t (puff puff) do (puffffffff) it (wheeeeez)!
And even with the encouragement and patience of four other people, there was nothing to be done. I would go back to camp.
But, then… my hero came to my rescue!
Against my will, he maneuvered me onto his back and up we went. It took a long time… because as Point of Grace once sang: “The climb is steep. The road is long.” Or was it Avalon?
And I basically slept while he carried me up. When, finally, though all the odds were stacked against us, we came at last. To the waterfall.
Thus you can begin to see, Mark and I have a long and rocky history of us both wanting to go hiking, but I always end up crying…. And he always ends up carrying me. See this story on my last blog if you want a very extreme case of this. I’m sure I almost died.
But NOW, we are married. And I’m not gonna lie. I wanted to do things differently in marriage. I’ve heard women just “let themselves go” after they get married. They’ve nabbed their man and he can’t do anything about it now. I’m not sure if this is even true, but I did not want to spend the rest of my life hiking and climbing.
So I went to the GYM!
Which is very uncharacteristic of me. Ask anyone.
So when I told Mark that we should hike to the waterfall last week, well…. Basically, he tried to stop me. He says, “Are you sure?” quite a bit anyway. But I got extra questioning this time. I’m sure it’s very hard to carry another human being up mountains. I wouldn’t know, though. But he has some experience.
The next morning, he woke me up with the kisses of a man ready to go out of the house and on an adventure. And off we went.
Ooooooooooooooooooooh, I was so very nervous. I got nauseous and we almost turned around. It was almost exactly like when I drove him to his interviews the week before, except I wasn’t being interviewed. I was just going on a Kiwi-mild walk.
You’re wondering when the fungus comes in, aren’t you?
Well, here it is: We found fungus.
We weren’t very far along the trail when Mark pointed out some mushrooms. And, oh my goodness. They were so cool.
And so it was that after a while of trudging through mud and up rocks – through a rain storm, under trees and over dales, we came to a waterfall.
But it wasn’t the right one. Haha, we had to go further.
And so it was that after another while of trudging through mud and up higher rocks – over roots and around trees, across a stream via rock jumping, up the bank of the stream and down a small cliff of more rocks, we came to THE waterfall.
And Mark did not have to carry me once. I had conquered. We had conquered. Our marriage would be a success.
But, then, it happened that we had to go back. But it wasn’t difficult enough to go back the way we came – because I. Could. Do. Anything.
We went the long way back. And found more mushrooms. And more mushrooms. And things that looked like mushrooms that my husband corrected me on and told me that they were fungus. And he pronounced fungi in a weird way. And we laughed at the mushrooms and he laughed at me and I laughed at him laughing at me. Because we’re in love. And I have a newfound love of mushrooms, too. (Cough cough) Excuse me. I mean, fungi.
And the moral of the story is: Go with your husband to a waterfall and if you’re not going to be sore enough, squat up and down thirty times taking photos of fungi with your fun guy. Laugh until you finally cry, because the mountains in life won’t always tear you down. Sometimes they are there so that, later on, you can do learn and grow and do better next time. Sometimes in life, you won’t cry from sadness or failure or feeling inferior. Sometimes in life, you’ll only cry from sheer joy.