when words are few

words to share have not been many on here this year, yet God is keeping us, as we finish our book and search for a house to buy and wait for the breaking of spring.

ian continues to see God's help in therapy, progressing to walking with just the help of parallel bars and not his therapist. he's not giving up.

we're thankful that joy in our marriage is not granted because of our merit but because God loves us and treats us as His children.

thank you for sharing in His work with us.
L

invest

 this weekend was for flying south, far away from the below zero temps and white flakes.

to reward the work of writing 75,000 words

 and to invest in our marriage all that this coming year may drain from it.

and peace and rest met us, an answer to many prayers, and in the ways we wouldn't have thought possible.

and his dad might not have ever imagined we could have done it.

but we did. because God has done much.

the littles

"if i were him, i'd just want someone to hold me," steve said, one day, years ago, when ian was still really sick and steve was still alive.

i knew what he meant because in the desperation of ian's condition those first few weeks, months after the accident, there was nothing we could do for ian. except to show him we loved him.

but there was always a bed in the way. and i wasn't strong enough to lift his stiff torso toward me.

or there was always a wheelchair in the way, and he couldn't lean forward so i could get a good wrap in.

so at night, when steve and the care giver would help ian sit up on the exercise mat steve built, i would wait. and sit and wait. and cancel plans because i didn't want to miss that moment. that moment when steve would open the bedroom door and let me know that i could come in and hug him.

i could put my arms all the way around him. because he was sitting on the edge of his exercise mat, nothing behind him.

my torso was holding his up, but i was around him.

and he tried to lift his arm to be around me, too.

and i forget those times, when a hug was all it took to get me through another day. how ungrateful i've allowed myself to become, forgetting that one of the greatest gifts, holding and being held, is right next to me every day.

it's  there and it's so sweet. and he now always  wants to be with his wifey. and when someone starts to pray, he reaches for my hand. and when i sit next to him, his arm wraps my waist. and sometimes he squeezes the extra skin that wasn't there a few years ago and we laugh because he's not supposed to notice but we have changed in these nine years.

God gives us joys in the littles.

He gives us joy when we look for it in the most over-looked movements.

and even though i forget, what a great God there is surrounding me.

tonight, i'm thankful for arms that wrap me into him tight.

He followed us

she came to visit us, our life photographer, on a warm summer day to take photos to be on the inside flap of a book that was being scripted each evening after dinner.

that day was the first time he could do this,

stand next to me, with just my hand helping him, not with my arm around him, like we needed to in all of the photos from this day

 

where my arm was hidden around his back, helping him, balancing him, and we couldn't stand and simply hold hands.

this summer came to ian in strength, upgrading to a walker, and then a cane and committing to walking by year 30. he left the house without a wheelchair for the first time and he walked out the front doors of his mom's house for the first time.

2013 was a big year.

yet, on a day that becomes reflective for so many of us, that's not what i most see.

what i most see is a hard-fought year, with fears and exposure and costs and crying and days sitting in front of a blank computer screen wondering why we signed a contract- that were all swallowed up by what was following us. by what was behind us and before us. 

it was a year swallowed up in God.

it was a year that He swallowed us up, taking our inadequacies that were asked to put our story into 75,000 words, our legs that were asked to learn to walk again, our hearts that at times wanted out.

He followed us with mercy, and made our hopeless mornings and our sweet, quiet date nights and our laughter at his inappropriate jokes into beautiful life canvases.

He followed us with His goodness, keeping us, with his white-knuckle grip.

He blessed us, with two new nieces and nephews, bring number seven and eight into our hearts that four years ago didn't know that type of love.

He kept us, in each other, faithful and honorable to our covenant.

And all that we were given in Him will continue to be, so that this coming year that looms with exposure as our feebly written pages will be carried home in shopping bags and delivered with the mailman won't be faced apart from mercy. Or Himself. Or joy, in the most unexpected places.

He will follow us, and someday, someday hopefully soon, we will dwell in His house, forever.

With love,

I&L

a spark

we were talking about the acronym the pastor gave us, reminding us about the ways of love, how they look and feel and act.

we were sitting in a small room, circled together, thinking on how we distribute love and who we know that does it so well.

"ian, how are we to love our spouses?", our group leader asked.

"thinking of them before yourself."

we kept reflecting on love and what it looks like and then what i always fear happened, as i saw the effect of a catheter that decided to stop working. i saw on the floor what is always on my mind in public; i saw my own example of what joni eareckson tada has spoken of many times before, the fears that remain into adulthood when disability lives in your body.

i left the room quickly, discreetly, to find what i needed to hide it, remove it, fix it.

when i came back into the room, she stood up and moved closely to us, gently reminding us that we were family. gently reminding us that we need not be embarrassed, that they loved and would help us.

and there it happened, the love that we were speaking of, the acting out of Jesus death and what it did for us. they helped us to the car. they cleaned up after us when we left. they joyfully loved.

in the safety of our car,

"ian, i'm so sorry. i'm so sorry that those embarrassing things happen."

then tears because it was a hard week and because lies were making a home in my heart.

"ian, i don't understand this. i hate this."

"joy is closer than you think."

"how can you handle this? i'm so sick of this brain injury."

"God gives me joy in the stupid things, like caths breaking."

i asked him how, because i didn't get how he could be laughing, while he sat in wet sweat pants, and while i cried.

"because this is all so fleeting."

then quietly, in our little white car, his truth knocked out the lies in my head. his Psalm 73 truth cut through the lies that i was believing.

and there, in the midst of the week that was holding anything other than hope, i experienced the little miracles that i had read about earlier that morning. the little miracles of hope.

in the midst of a week of crying and longing and heaviness, the miracle of Jesus, living out in my husband, living out in our small group, who entered into our lives and put on Jesus love instead of selfishness or judgement.

and deep inside, a little spark grew, just a fraction, but enough to remind us.

"God is in this."

new

we tucked ourselves underneath the feathers of our big fluffy spread, our goose bumps giving in to their warmth. i sat with our bible opened on my knees, a hot cup of tea within my reach for us to share.

"what do you want to do for our quiet time," he had asked, a question that spurs smiles because it means he's feeling well.

we've been reading proverbs, and so made our way there again.

All the ways of a man are pure in his own eyes, but the Lord weighs the spirit.

we were sharing our hearts, how differently we see ourselves than how God sees us.

Everyone who is arrogant in heart is an abomination to the Lord; be assured, he will not go unpunished. 

our patterns, so similar, mine not as refined as his. the habit of anger and pride, that lead to destruction but are so hard to overcome.

"ian, i know i've been given a new heart. but sometimes my old self, that still wants to sin, feels so nearby."  

"it is. that's why we need Jesus."

in seven words he takes me to the heart of it, to the heart of my human-ness. in those words he takes me to the heart of our marriage - a relationship that helps me to love and fear God more.

these moments, they are beautiful.

love
L  

love is

 it's easy to recite the verse, the one that we hear at weddings and memorize in sing-song tones as children.

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;  it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.

it's easy to hear it, and know it, but to really sink into our bones is different. patience is still sinking in to mine, and nothing has pressed patience into me more than our marriage. because life with a brain injury is slow. and it's  unknown. and it's not clearcut.

which creates a greater void that needs to be filled with patience. which is exactly where i need to be stripped. which is why God gave me to ian.

i needed him to help me learn patience.

like when he doesn't answer me as quickly as i want him to. 

or when i just really want him to be able to walk on his own. (because even in the midst of the excitement of his progress, my heart still sins).

or when we don't yet have what we think we need.

i. i. i. that's what i make it about. the root of my inpatience is my selfishness.

and if someone had been watching, filming, observing my heart and outward acts for the last two days toward my husband, they would not see love that was kind, or un-resentful or patient.

i don't see that in myself.

but i do see my god, hanging on a tree for me, that my impatience might not separate me from him. i see his blood traveling down his body and onto his toes and drip on the ground so that i not be lost in my sin. 

i see his head slumped down by death so that i my face may be lifted up to gaze in His face on the ressurrection day.

this was done for me. and for our marriage.

all

this weekend we head to the mountains, to where this marriage began. as we prepare to reunite with those that sat beside us under the chandelier, i think about all of the details that made that day magical.

and all of the people that made it perfect.

 

and the husband who has made three years worth every cost.

we'll all be there together, again. and the babies that were in the bellies of the flowered dresses will be scampering through the grass. and all will feel well, for now.

it's not pity

i struggle sometimes with the focus of our blog, our book, our encouragement from others. sometimes the encouragement, unintentionally, makes ian into an object of pity. 

sometimes ian's value is sacrificed with a well-intended encouragement to me.

sometimes all i hear is that i've made a sacrifice. that i've made a hard choice. that i'm the focus.

sometimes we forget that the one who is disabled has made a sacrifice.

as we sat this weekend at a film festival, i looked at ian sitting next to me. i listened to the screen, to the documentary voices telling me about the gift of stepping into the darkness of loss and disability and grief.

i looked at ian who i came into this darkness with and who is a pure gift to me.

i didn't know how to love until ian. i didn't know how to love until God led us into darkness, together. 

ian has fought for seven years. ian has entered into marriage knowing that he would have infinite losses. he knew that he would be marrying someone who wouldn't always feel in love with him and who wouldn't always be kind. he knew that he would live an entire life of giving up his preferences and thinking of someone else first and making hard decisions for the sake of Christ, all with a disability. he could have given up or chosen despair or been afraid that God couldn't keep our love.

i asked ian last night why he married me.

laughing, "because I love you."

ian is not to be pitied. i am not to be pitied. God is to be rejoiced. 

the foundation of all that we are is love. love saved us. love moves us. love molds us. 

this, for us, was not learned in health.

how i'm fighting for joy

particularly in this season, our daily battle to believe and know that truth always conquers is a deeper and longer battle than usual. and so i'm trying to teach myself and pray for ways to fight for joy and mental clarity and hope. below is my list so far - of which all are underlined and supported by and kept in by grace.

marriage gratitude journal - a little journal, sent to me by a sweet blog reader, devoted solely to capturing the gratefulnesses i have in ian and him as my husband

exercise - to clear and empty my brain and keep me healthy to serve ian

date nights - wednesdays are reserved. and in a few weeks, after our first deadline, we're taking a week to devote solely to dates. no writing.

prayer - growing in my commitment. fasting on wednesdays. spending time thinking about and praying for something/someone other than myself

sleep - a time to escape

thank you for praying for our writing and our marriage.

fraudulent

"you shouldn't have said that today, maybe that sounded harsh, you're assuming a heart motive, that's not believing the best of that person, you're angry again, you're inpatient again," the voices in my heart and in my head drone on all day.

eventually my body sits to write - to be the means of a story God has written that has nothing to do with myself.

a calendar with dates for talking to people in public, at retreats, conferences - who am i to have this place?

my sins rattle throughout my brain all day and tell me that this is fraud.

that this experience, this public story we're telling, is not worthy of being told by me. that my sin somehow cancels out anything God would do through us.

that this husband, so sweet and foundational should have more than this sinning wife.

"the Lord your God is in your midst; a might one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exalt over you with loud singing." - zephaniah 3:17

my God still rejoices over me. he will quiet me.

so humbly and dependently we make our way.

"Who, oh Lord, could save themselves,
Their own soul could heal?
Our shame was deeper than the sea
Your grace is deeper still"

his heart

i was facing the screen, my gaze perpendicular to his. i looked over to see him looking at me, his left eye scrunched.

laughing, "why do you look so angry?", i asked.

"i'm not angry at all."

"what are you thinking about?"

"you. and how much i love you."

"what specifically?"

"how your smile works wonders for me."

deep inside his heart is a spring overflowing with the love that the Holy Spirit has placed inside of him. through loss and a thought process that can be compared to wading through thick, dense, jelly, he gives love and he gives me life. this man that i fall asleep next to every night has done more for my soul than i could have ever done on my own.

please continue to pray for ian.

i finally got guts

i avoided it for seven months, but today i had the guts to weakly type our names into Google. then i had the guts to read comments on people's blogs, primarily made after the release of our video on Desiring God.

not really so fun.

"ian, people are saying uncomfortable things about us on the internet."

"who?"

"people who have seen our video."

"what are they saying?"

"some that our marriage isn't legal and that you have the mentality of an eight-year-old."

"you don't believe them, right?"

"trying not to."

"they don't know us."

that's where it begins and ends. we've entered into a very public life, willingly, and we enter that with fear and trembling. we know and respect that we can have differing views. and we know that we are nothing extraordinary. we live in the midst of sin and fears and temptations. maybe we could have made the video differently. maybe i could have worded things differently. but eight minutes never sums up a life.

along with a public life comes scrutiny, and disagreement and other things that can feel really uncomfortable.

but, i can't help but feel the need to clear up two things, as maybe my lack of clearing them up has confused some people. ian does not have the mentality of an eight year old (an eight year old could not have given the answer of "stool pigeon" during a round of taboo last night) and yes, we do have sex.

we also love God and are in love with each other. we continue to pray for wisdom and discretion in this  public role, as we embark on speaking engagements and writing a book. but we mostly pray that heaven would  be oh so near.

thank you, for praying for ian.

love
i&l

his girl friday and hot apple cider

i showed him the abnormal cake that i had pulled from the oven, the partially broken circle that was disguised by a can of icing. he had requested one for our date night, that would be a wifey-cooked meal and time with netflix. i stopped for icing and orange sprinkes on my way home - a nod to fall.

as he looked at the mangled cake doused in sugar-induced chocolate glaze, he started smiling.

"you must really love me."

we sat with our cake, in our little suite attached to the den where he used to play indoor football with three brothers and a dad. 

little flutters of thankfulness came, quietly. so much rush in the day, so much to do at work, so much to do at home with year end insurances and medical appointments. 

but for tonight, our date night, we just existed together.

thankful.

i would

it was 3:00 in the morning, a very light and tired night, heading to bed.

"ian, i wasn't being very respectful of you tonight. will you forgive me?"

"yes. why were you having trouble?"

"just not responding well to your brain injury."

"you know that i would change it if i could, right?"

he's so good to me.

37

happy 37 years to our incredible parents. thank you for teaching us that love never gives up. we won't know until heaven the impact that your covenant has made on our own. 

we love you.

love

i&l

called, for the glory of God

"Paul, called by the will of God, to be an apostle of Christ Jesus" 1 Cor. 1:1

reading tonight, and listening to a teaching, and thinking of how Paul was called to be an apostle, and how as Christians we are called to a purpose for the glory of God - this strikes us.

this week  on vacation, we don't have a caregiver with us and we don't have murphy brothers with us who know just how to care for ian. and while it can be tiring, taking care of ian is what fills me, and teaches me, and humbles me and moves me toward heaven. when i have days with just ian, i am completed much differently than days at my office.

tonight as we read with the rain falling on the leaves outside, and as we draw nearer to our book really happening, and as we look at requests for speaking, our purposes become a little bit clearer.

this marriage, this hard and magnificent marriage, is to what we are called.

ian murphy, called to be a disabled husband, for the glory of God.

larissa murphy, called to be a wife, for the glory of God.

"but now thus says the Lord,

he who created you, O Jacob,

he who formed you, O Israel,

Fear not, for I have redeemed you;

I have called you by name, you are mine."

8/28

supposedly it takes a village to raise a child. we think it takes one to build a healthy marriage too. gigi and pa paid for our dinner. my parents paid for our room for the surgery. mary watched the kids so that ben and jan could come be with us for dinner. and so even though our anniversary was spent with day-before-surgery injections, we had a wonderful evening escape. even baby scarlett met us in pittsburgh for a lovely outdoor dinner and jazz concert. and now scarlett is officially the cutest fifth wheel.

and we casually mentioned our anniversary to the waitress, who kindly brought us this, pictured sideways.

for all the ways that our family served us, ian says "they're selfless" and it shows him that God is good.

one final anniversary celebration awaits us - setting off our two lanterns for the number of years we've been married when we head back up to our wedding spot next weekend.

for now, we're off to a week on a lake with the whiteley's. 

we're continuing to pray for encouraging test results next week and that ian's wounds heal quickly.

thank you, always

I&L

one beautiful day, two good men

from a journal:

1-7-07

"God is very kind to us. we found out yesterday that your jaw isn't broken, your eeg results were fine, and they cancelled your plastic surgery appointment tomorrow because your wound looks so good. also, this morning you were coughing as if maybe you were going to throw up, so the nurse asked you if you were ok and you said "uh huh." they asked you again and you did it again! God is so kind. and you did it in front of two head nurses and your doctor! i'd been praying that you would get your voice back soon and it seems as if you are well on your way. God is very gracious to us. you were really awake for me today. you were working really hard to bring your washcloth to your face, even when the therapists were done asking you to do it."

this voice did come back, even in a very tired body. and this meant that things could change.

4.21.09

"trusting God - the story of my walk with the Lord this far. last night steve had a long talk with me and then with Ian about marriage. we're starting to talk about it more seriously i guess. it makes me really nervous and really excited at the same time. i really believe though that ian needs to be in a different place physically for our marriage to work. but then again, what will that look like? what exactly are we waiting for? i'm not sure. but it's weird to think that we could be married soon. it's all wonderful, but if ian stays the same as he is now, it certainly won't be what we imagined it to be.

but when i look at my life through the lens of the gospel, marriage to ian looks very sweet and wonderful, even if we were to be married tomorrow. God has given me a deep love, joy and attraction to ian, that has only increased in the last three years. when i am away from ian, i want to die. not literally, but i don't enjoy it. and nothing brings a smile to my face like seeing ian, and hearing him talk, and hearing him laugh.

all of this talk though forces me onto my knees at the foot of the cross, acknowledging that i have absolutely no idea what is best for my life or ian's, or what would honor the Lord most. so we will keep praying."

we did keep praying. as did steve. and then cancer came. and steve went. but not before he taught us to take marriage seriously, and to keep God big in our minds.

we did. on his birthday in 2010. two years ago today. standing at the top of the hill, my arm resting in my dad's elbow, a quick breeze came through the corn stalks rustling behind us. the sadness of his absence welled.

my dad walked me, both weak, unsure but happy, toward my waiting, disabled fiance. the summer air greeted us and i'm sure God was there in it. my sweet, sweet ian, he was there. so very happy to marry me. my best friend. next to his best friend, who helped him to stand. and we met God there and we said yes.

i dont know if we have birthdays in heaven, but steve you are so missed by us. today, but always.

and ian, you may not read this unless someone reads it to you. but nothing here is a better gift to me than you. and no words describe what you do for me and my heart. through oceans of grief and loss, from being trapped in that car to now holding my arm as you fall asleep, you are a delight. thank you, for not being afraid of what you couldn't do as a husband, for not choosing to give up, for somehow loving me. you every day help me to want heaven more.

the words you sang to me on my voicemail, weeks before your accident, are a ditto:

I can't see me lovin' nobody but you
For all my life
When you're with me, baby the skies'll be blue
For all my life

i love you. and our two years. may many more follow.

love
your wifey

sometimes it's grueling

i know that comparisons lead to nothing for me. and probably anyone. if i look at another marriage that seems healthy, healthier than mine, it leads to discontentment. if i look at a marriage or life situation that seems harder than ours, it can lead to pride. either way, i'm doomed in comparison.

and when it comes to marriage, it seems like we're all so totally different. what ian and i struggle with is different than our brother and sister. some marriages have relational harmony what seems like all the time and others are wrought with conflict. the more i talk to girlfriends, the more i learn that God has an array of ways that he prunes and pursues us in marriage. for some, it may be through prosperity - which can do scary things to our hearts. for others, their marriage is a constant battle through conflict, differing personalities, unmet expectations and loss of romantic feelings.

but it seems, in our tiny little experience of marriage so far, that those marriage, that spend their lives battling, battling and battling, are simply so beautiful. because when those marriages last, through what the world wouldn't, it is like a megaphone to the world of God's design. when those covenants are kept, the rewards in heaven must be great.

i&l