Manna beneath my pillow

There's a term that's been coming up lately that I was sure did not apply to me: orphan spirit.

I was raised by two parents. I have always been provided for. I have never gone hungry. So I put this spiritual-sounding word away, and made no plans to look at it more closely.

Until last night. Until today. Because here's what I realized: I am not an orphan, but in so many ways, I have been living like one.

I have heard stories about adoptive parents—that they often catch their children slipping bits of food from their dinner plates into their pockets, and surreptitiously storing things beneath their pillows for safekeeping. Although these children now have a family and a full stomach, their former status as orphans has taught them that they must fend for themselves; fight for provision; expect the worst; shield their hearts from disappointment; not count on or trust in anyone or anything else.

I have been hiding manna beneath my pillow. I have been opening my hands to receive God's blessings and promises, then stuffing bits and pieces of them into my pockets just in case He decides not to come through for me tomorrow. I have seen Him do countless wonders, and yet time after time have questioned whether or not that last miracle was the final one I'll ever see. "I'm probably on my own from here on out," I've thought to myself. I've decided it's best if I fend for myself; fight for provision; expect the worst; shield my heart from disappointment; not count on or trust in anyone or anything else.

. . .

In Exodus, God miraculously provides food for the Israelites so that they will live and not die while wandering through the desert.

"When the dew was gone, thin flakes like frost on the ground appeared on the desert floor. When the Israelites saw it, they said to each other, 'What is it?' For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, 'It is the bread the LORD has given you to eat."

Soon after, Moses added, "No one is to keep any of it until morning."

Moses' directions were pretty clear. And yet, what did the people do?

"However, some of them paid no attention to Moses; they kept part of it until morning, but it was full of maggots and began to smell." (Ex. 16 has the full story)

I would probably be tempted to judge the Israelites for the total lack of faith demonstrated here if I hadn't done the exact same thing so many times in my own life. Let me just tell you about some of the miracles I have personally experienced:

• One day while living in France, I locked myself out of the home I was staying in. It was hot outside, I did not have a key, and I was panic-stricken—no one would be returning home for another eight hours. I did that thing in the movies where the actors throw a shoulder against the door over and over, but to no avail. So in that moment, with nothing else to turn to, I prayed: "God, please open this door. You have to open this door." And He did. The door clicked open, and I walked inside and retrieved my key.
• Last year I had the opportunity to work with an incredible 90-year-old woman who needed help writing her autobiography. I remember feeling distinctly one day that I was to go and print out the entire manuscript before our visit, and so I did. She was delighted to have a copy of her story; to know that all of the words she wanted to say had been recorded and kept safe. She passed away just three days later.
• In July of 2012 in Hilton Head, South Carolina, I heard the Lord tell me that Taylor Kiker was going to be my husband. In July of 2013 in Hilton Head, South Carolina, I became his wife.

These are just a few of the things I have experienced and seen. These things have been powerful. They have transformed my thinking and increased my faith. And yet so often, I have reverted to that same orphan spirit -mentality. The one where I hoard manna in a corner of my heart, so fearful of running out of blessings that I turn the ones I've already received into rot. Most recently, this has been happening in conjunction with my book.

. . .

Throughout the process of writing and producing Hitched in a Hurry, the Lord has been evident. He provided an editor, a designer. He gave me more contacts in the wedding industry than I would have ever dreamed possible. He inspired an event planner to reach out and help me plan a launch party. He even arranged a photo shoot so that I would have a wedding-themed author photo to use on the back cover of the book.

But last night, I chose to worry about a few elements of this forthcoming project that haven't fallen into place yet. I chose to reach for control. I chose to forget everything He has done and wring my hands about everything that still needs to be accomplished. Today, I'm choosing to do the opposite.

Today, I choose to stand in faith as He puts the finishing touches on this forthcoming project in accordance with His will and timetable. I choose to release control. I choose to remember everything He has done and clap my hands in anticipation of everything He will accomplish.

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. A better way of saying that: "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." James 1:17

We don't have to fend for ourselves in this world. We don't need to manipulate or control the circumstances around us, fear the future, or reserve our trust for ourselves alone. We don't have to live like spiritual orphans. All we have to do is abide in the Father's love for us and rest in our identities as children of the Living God.

Time and time again He's proven that He'll provide the manna; that He's the giver of our daily bread; that His provision won't run out. Isn't it time to stop storing manna beneath our pillows, now?

. . .

"He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?" Romans 8:32

A cover and a calling

Today I'm officially releasing the cover of my first book, Hitched in a Hurry: The ultimate how-to for a speedy "I do," and I couldn't be more excited!

This book hasn't happened traditionally, or perfectly, or anything like that. But working on this project has been a huge learning experience and lots of fun. And you know what? More and more, it's felt like my calling.

I struggled with that for a little while, the "calling" part, because Hitched in a Hurry doesn't involve orphans or Africa or ending world hunger. I'm thinking specifically here about Katie Davis, a blogger, 24-year-old adoptive mother of 13 (yes, 13) children, Ugandan missionary, and author of the New York Times bestselling memoir Kisses from Katie.

This girl is just a rock star. Her humility is palpable, her love for Jesus and for others is unshakeable, and her desire to give all glory and honor to the Father's name is unquenchable. She is on fire, and she has invited the world into her Ugandan village to watch her burn through the pages of a book. If you don't want to be challenged, don't read her book. Because it will shake you up. Why do we have more than enough, when children all over the world are going to bed hungry, alone, afraid? If you don't want to consider these questions, acknowledge these realities, this book is not for you.

It was for me, though. I have learned much through reading about her life.

It's easy to look at Katie's sacrifices and the fact that she doesn't wear makeup and say, "Wow, she's really incredible. She's really doing something." The truth is, though, that Katie Davis is just a woman, as I am just a woman. But she is changing a nation, and I am not—not yet, anyway. The reason? Katie Davis has completely opened herself up, completely poured herself out, to be the hands and feet of God. She has gathered everything—her talents, her vision of the future, her plan, her desires, her American dream—and stacked them all like so many pieces of wood, and she has called the fire of God to fall upon her offering and consume what she thought she wanted, replacing it with what He says is better.

I may not be called to walk the red dirt roads in Uganda or adopt 13 children. But like Katie, I am called to gather everything—my talents, my vision of the future, my plan, my desires, my American dream—and stack them all like so many pieces of wood, and call the fire of God to fall upon my offering and consume what I thought I wanted, replacing it with what He says is better.

I don't want to take Katie's place in the body of Christ. I want to take my place, the place that He has ordained for me to fit and to go. After all,

"For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us. If your gift is prophesying, then prophesy in accordance with your faith; if it is serving, then serve; if it is teaching, then teach; if it is to encourage, then give encouragement; if it is giving, then give generously; if it is to lead, do it diligently; if it is to show mercy, do it cheerfully." Romans 12:4-8

I have not written a memoir about binding wounds, treating diseases, feeding the hungry, or adopting children. But I have written a how-to guide for brides planning weddings in six months or fewer, and there is room for God to be glorified in that, too.

Cover Design by Jaime Williams

 See, Hitched in a Hurry isn't just about planning a wedding. It's about building a marriage. Hitched in a Hurry isn't just about celebrating the bride. It's about encouraging the bride and groom to love each other; to listen to each other; to give themselves up for each another. Hitched in a Hurry isn't just about a couple making it to the altar. It's about a couple making it to a porch swing when they have gray hair and grandchildren and years of memories behind them, and it's about them still holding hands through it all.

I want people to read Hitched in a Hurry with excitement at the prospect of loving their spouse with the forever kind of love that Christ has shown the Church. I want people to absorb the advice of each and every Real-Life Love couple and say, "If humans can show this kind of love to one another, how much more can my God—who 'did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all'—love me?"

If you read the Our Story series, then you know that I had nothing to do with writing my love story. The Author and Perfecter of my faith took the script from my hands, whispered, "Trust Me," and proceeded to blow my mind with His goodness, mercy, and love. Oh, and a really, really hot husband.

And so I give this book right back to Him.

Without You, Lord, there would be no story to tell, no tips about dress-hunting, no warnings about over Pinterest-ing, no registry lists, no To-Do-Before-"I do" sections...nothing. This is a small thing, this wedding planning book, but you are Great and Mighty. The works of my hands are Yours. May You be seen by all who purchase this book, and may marriages be blessed and strengthened by the words on these pages. May Your inspiration and wisdom come through, and may all else fade away. 

Grace and peace to all of you as you are strengthened day by day to walk in His unique calling upon your life.

. . .

Colossians 3:17—"And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him."

Psalm 90:17—"May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us; establish the work of our hands for us— yes, establish the work of our hands."

. . .

To learn more, please visit:

www.hitchedinahurrybook.com

www.karleykiker.com

www.facebook.com/authorkarleykiker

www.twitter.com/karleykiker

I have decided

My junior year of college, my New Year's resolution was to talk about others less. That same semester I began interning for US Weekly magazine, a publication based entirely upon celebrity gossip.

Whether that was an example of irony, a test of faith, or both, I don't know. But I do know that making and keeping New Year's resolutions can be really, really hard.

Which is why this year, I spent a few extra days thinking about the kind of commitment I wanted to make. My first thought was this:

I will be more selfless. 

That sounded great—noble, actually—until I realized that even the word "selfless" does not omit "self." So I revised my resolution:

I will be less.

But then I realized that my resolution to "be less" still began with me. "I" will do this. "I" will be that. So finally, I landed on this:

He will become greater.

The fact that it took three attempts to seat the Lord before myself is proof that "He will become greater" is a necessary and vital resolution. You see, I am tired of thinking this life is about me.

I am tired of accumulating experiences, of treasuring affirmation, of consuming compliments.

I am tired of forgetting to be overwhelmingly grateful for the food on my table, the warmth of my bed, the love of my family.

I am tired of thinking constantly about how to elevate myself, gain exposure, showcase my talents.

I am tired of meeting someone new and forgetting their name because I was too focused on saying my own.

I am tired of seeking comfort, tired of wondering how far His provision will extend, tired of looking back and wondering, tired of looking ahead and fearing.

I am tired of watching as we, the church, fail to identify sin as sin under the pretense of "accepting others."

I am tired of watching the enemy siphon away joy, and hope, and life from believers and non-believers alike. 

I'm tired of sitting in church and seeking a feeling, tired of closing my eyes to the fact the Lord called all believers, even me, even us, to leave everything to follow Him.

I am tired of censoring myself, wondering if I'll lose or offend friends, or readers, or fans, or whatever, by "talking about Jesus too much."

I am tired of measuring success by the standards of the world.

I am tired of comparing my walk, my spirituality, my experience with God against the walk, spirituality, and experience of other believers.

I am tired of I.

After all, I cannot fix, manage, or carry the weight of any of these things. But He can. So I have decided to follow Jesus. Not for this day, not for this year. Forever.

. . .

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders / Let me walk upon the waters / Wherever You would call me — "Oceans (Where Feet May Fail)" by Hillsong

I love to sing the words to this song. They stir me up. They make me feel alive. These words are what I long for.

At this moment, however, I'd say that my trust extends about as far from my body as a hula hoop. Yet I celebrate, because for me that is huge, astounding growth from where I've been in the past.

In March of last year, I quit my full-time job as a society columnist and staff writer for People Newspapers, which is owned by D Magazine. That job was hard, but let me tell you, it sounded really glamorous when I told people about it. People were impressed by the places I was going and the people I was meeting. And to be honest, I loved that.

When I quit, people wanted to know why. Most times I said, "Because I'm getting married and I need time to plan, plus we might be moving to North Carolina."

I don't know why I settled for saying that. I mean it was true, but it wasn't the whole story. The rest of the story was that God had called me to leave that job. On a plane back from North Carolina, He lovingly, gently asked me to use my words and my writing and my time to say things that matter. To talk about Him. To bring life. To proclaim the freedom I've found in Him. To say goodbye to fluff, to status, to position, and to wholeheartedly seek to bring Him glory.

I have not done this perfectly. Not even close. I have not been spared from moments of pain, or doubt, or human weakness. But I have witnessed His constant flow of provision, and as He has become greater in my life, my hula hoop of trust has finally started to expand.

Here is a testimony: Since quitting my full-time job, I have never been without a freelance project. Never. I have not sought these projects out—the Lord has provided them, and He has done so more abundantly than I could have asked or imagined. Not because I am special or talented. Because that is who He is.

Because that's who He is, I know that one day my trust will be the size of a field, allowing me to lie down in the Lord's promised green pastures without fearing I'll be attacked while resting. One day my trust will be the size of a country, allowing me to move and go and see and find that I am "home," no matter what state I'm in. One day my trust will be the size of the world, equipping me to love as He has loved me without wondering what I'll get in return, or who will notice or praise my efforts. One day, when both the pain and the pleasure of this life have ended; when feelings of sadness and joy have faded away; when the exhilaration of adventure and the light and momentary struggles of this world are behind me; when I'm standing at the feet of Jesus, my trust will finally, finally be without borders. Limitless and infinite in the presence of my Limitless and Infinite Savior.
 

Until then,

I have decided to follow Jesus;

I have decided to follow Jesus;

I have decided to follow Jesus;

No turning back, no turning back.

Though I may wonder, I still will follow;

Though I may wonder, I still will follow;

Though I may wonder, I still will follow;

No turning back, no turning back.

The world behind me, the cross before me;

The world behind me, the cross before me;

The world behind me, the cross before me;

No turning back, no turning back.

Though none go with me, still I will follow;

Though none go with me, still I will follow;

Though none go with me, still I will follow;

No turning back, no turning back.

Will you decide now to follow Jesus?

Will you decide now to follow Jesus?

Will you decide now to follow Jesus?

No turning back, no turning back. 

— S. Sundar Singh 

. . .

"And if it seems evil to you to serve the Lord, choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve, whether the gods which your fathers served that were on the other side of the River, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land you dwell. But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” — Joshua 24:15

This just in: Victoria does not have a secret

On Tuesday, December 10, millions will watch as women parade around in lacy thongs, push-up bras, heels, and body glitter.

Oh, and wings. The women will also wear wings. What else would you expect—we're talking about Victoria's Secret angels, after all.

Let's set the record straight. Angels are celestial beings. The good ones announced Christ's birth (Luke 2:9). They're known for bringing tidings of comfort and joy (Luke 2:10). They protect believers (Psalm 34:7). They give glory to God in the Highest (Luke 2:14). I don't know about you, but never once in the Bible do I remember Gabriel or any of his counterparts doing any of these things in their underwear.

. . .

I don't hate or feel animosity toward the women who pose for Victoria's Secret catalogs or walk the Victoria's Secret runway. I don't judge them either—that's not my job. Plus, full disclosure: I competed at Miss Texas. As a competitor, I once walked a runway in heels and a bikini. I cannot, and will not, throw stones.

Do I regret competing at Miss Texas? No. But now that I'm married, do I feel differently about the concept of walking around in heels and a bikini than I did before I truly understood what the phrase "men are visual" really means? Quite honestly, yes.

Ladies, we could talk about a hundred different things that fall into the category of gray Christianity—conflicts of faith that don't take away our salvation (praise God, nothing can!), but do pose a threat to the purity of heart and mind that we desire for ourselves and for the men around us. Wearing a "two-piece" to the beach. Watching movies and television shows saturated with sex. As if the title wasn't a dead give away, reading 50 Shades of Grey.

But for the sake of clarity, let's put all those rabbit trails aside and take an in-depth look at just one area of deception. 

Simply put, it's like this: Victoria does not have a secret. Click to tweet.

She is flaunting full-out, in-your-face, unapologetically public sexuality. And she's convinced us all that it's okay.

We've bought into the lie that Victoria's Secret is a hush-hush club for women only. That it's a sanctuary of frilly frocks only us girls know about. That the images of stunning, nearly-naked women advertised on billboards, window displays, catalogs, and commercials are meant to catch our attention.

Let's be real. If Victoria really wanted to appeal to our egos and vanity, she would sell us lingerie on a mannequin instead of a supermodel with better hair and abs than we'll ever attain this side of Photoshop.

"But it's aspirational! Victoria's Secret angels demonstrate how fun, carefree and glamorous we, too, will be if only we'll just buy their lingerie!"

Is anyone seriously buying that? Here's what I think: They're using the angels to grow their demographic. To catch the eyes of women and men. You and your husband. Children too.

"Okay, now you're just being dramatic. Victoria's Secret does not target children."

Do you consider a 12-year-old a child? If so, consider the following.

Per Media Bistro earlier this year,

"Top underwear brand Victoria’s Secret, in an apparent attempt to expand upon the runaway success of its 'collegiate' brand Pink, wants to tailor more of its marketing efforts to the middle-school-aged 'tween' crowd."

And let's not even get started on that Victoria's Secret billboard hovering over the floats in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. "Mommy, there's SpongeBob! And a lady in a red bra!"

Married women, am I saying that you shouldn't buy lingerie? That you should only buy granny panties (yes, I just said granny panties) from Walmart? That you should fear your own sexuality? Not at all. I'm asking:

Why are we not fighting for what's sacred? 

Why are we okay with broadcasting what's meant for the marriage bed on national television? Click to tweet.

Why are we not actively protecting the purity of our minds and hearts, and the minds and hearts of the men and children we love?

Why are we among the millions tuning in to watch women walking around in their underwear? Click to tweet.

We don't want our boyfriends, our fiancés or our husbands to look at porn. We are devastated by the mere thought of our boyfriends, our fiancés or our husbands desiring another woman. And yet...we watch the Victoria's Secret fashion show, and we invite our boyfriends, our fiancés or our husbands to watch alongside us.

You know how things get taken off the air? When ratings drop. When interest wanes. When viewers stop watching.

My television will be turned off on Tuesday, December 10. How about yours?

That's the spirit

Despite the fact that my husband professes not to like Christmas music (excuse me, what?), we are officially getting in the Christmas spirit around these parts. Today especially, since it looks like this outside:

 

Texas is so crazy. Two days ago I was wearing flip flops. This morning I ran to the window, gasped, grabbed my camera, and felt the freeze all the way through my Ugg boots the second I stepped outside. It's the first time this season I feel justified in singing "Oh, the weather outside is frightful."

Also, Tom Thumb was a madhouse yesterday. Said a checkout guy who hails from Maryland (paraphrase): "How come all you Texans go nuts over a little bit of ice, but when a tornado comes y'all act like it's nothing?" 

Let's be honest. He makes a solid point. 

. . .

CHRISTMAS DESIGN ON A DIME

Inside the Kiker residence things are looking decidedly Christmas-y as well. Since this is our first holiday season to spend together (awh!), it was important to me to create a warm, homey atmosphere perfect for kicking back and sipping on cocoa in front of a blazing fire. (Actually, we don't have a fireplace. But you know what I mean.)

But there was just one problem. We're on a we-just-got-married budget. And Christmas decorations can get pricey! Which is why I'm proud to say that we only spent $17 dollars to get our apartment looking like this:

We're rocking a true "Charlie Brown Christmas tree"

 

I wish I could say that I achieved this look by taking a walk outside our apartment, gathering berries and pine cones, and creating my own garlands from popcorn and oranges. But really, my process was more like:

1. PICK THROUGH MOM'S REJECT DECORATIONS (she has A LOT)

2. RE-PURPOSE REJECTS BY ADDING FUN LITTLE EXTRAS (like faux pearl strands and/or fresh ribbon)

Old tree in the works

Revamped!

Crumply old bow

Cute new leopard bow

3. PUT BEADS, NECKLACES AND BERRIES...EVERYWHERE

4. MAKE STUFF

Pinterest wreath

Mini paintings accent our bookshelf

 

Hand-painted and glittered ornaments

5. USE GENEROUS AMOUNTS OF FEBREZE

Mom's old Christmas pillows, freshened up. Perfect for our couch!

Frost is frozen on our windowpanes. Orange peels and cinnamon are currently boiling on our stove (the mixture makes a great homemade potpourri...thanks for the tip mom-in-law!). Josh Groban and Brian McKnight's duet of "Angels We Have Heard on High" is on repeat in my headphones (still working on the husband's tolerance of Christmas music).

So yep! I'd say we have all the ingredients to have ourselves a "[festive] little Christmas, now."

Thanksgiving + giving thanks

First off, my apologies for the blog absence. Here are a few excuses for the recent posting gap:

1. The "Our Story" series (episode 1, episode 2, and episode 3, and the final chapter) really took it out of me, writing-wise. Not in a bad way...more of a "that was really powerful, and now I feel at a loss for words" kind of way. It's hard to follow up a God story with human words. Does that make sense?

2. I recently completed the manuscript for a how-to book based on my column for D Weddings, "Hitched in a Hurry," and am working toward a spring book release (more details to come!). I'm also juggling a few freelance projects. So bye, free time.

3. Basically, I've just been doing a lot of reveling in God's goodness.

Speaking of which...

The Kikers just celebrated our first Thanksgiving! It looked like this:

It went like this: North Carolina, in-laws, crunchy walks through fallen leaves, football and fireplaces, coffee and hot chocolate, oranges and cloves, light tours, a castle visit, ornament making, and FOOD. Like, the best Thanksgiving meal I've ever had. So many good things packed into just one short week.

My mother-in-law's Thanksgiving table was beautiful, and decorations included "leaves of praise." One in particular caught my eye.

It just kind of "popped," you know?

My favorite decorations, of course, were of the human variety. I love having a second family that's not afraid to make a good silly face when the occasion arises.

I should probably mention that Taylor and I also purchased our first home during our visit. Formerly known as Asheville's "Biltmore Estate," this beauty is now officially referred to in my mind as "Kiker Castle."

It boasts a casual 250 rooms, huge gardens, a huger kitchen, and statues of cherubs, so...Christmas at our place this year? Literally, everyone I know is invited.

. . .

On a serious note, more than ever this year I was reminded that Thanksgiving shouldn't be a one-day thing. A lot of concern has been expressed about the fact that Christmas (or rather, the world of retail) has staged a takeover of Thanksgiving as a holiday. At first I kind of hopped on that ship, and said things like, "YEAH. Why IS Hobby Lobby putting up Christmas trees in mid-September?"

Actually, I'm still presently saying that. But the point is, it doesn't really matter. What really matters is that every single day, we bring a sacrifice of thanksgiving and worship and praise before the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. That every single day, we remember the many ways that we have been and continue to be blessed—and that in response to God's immeasurable Goodness and Kindness, we lay our lives, our plans, our everything down at His feet. We tell the world the reason we can have joy no matter the circumstance. We speak His name at every opportunity. We live like this:

Hebrews 13:15: "Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise—the fruit of lips that openly profess his name."


Happy continued Thanksgiving!

. . .

UP NEXT ON THE BLOG: "Christmas Decor on a Dime"—tips and tricks for decking the halls without breaking the bank! (Preview: We spent a grand total of $17 to decorate our entire apartment. Stay tuned!)

Our story: the final chapter

When I was 14, I penned my first entry in a brand new journal. It had blue and white stripes on the cover and a title written in Sharpie: "Only You." 

Separate from my prayer journal and everyday journal-journal, I began "Only You" to write letters to my future husband. See, I had braces on my teeth. I wore a back brace to school to help correct my Scoliosis. I was skinny, lanky. Male attention of the "I want to date you" variety was non-existent (never mind the fact that I wasn't even allowed to date until I was 16). But one day, I knew that would change. My future husband would desire me, pursue me. He would call me beautiful. He would see what all of the lame 14-year-old guys surrounding me couldn't. He was out there somewhere, and over the years, I took great comfort in writing him pages upon pages detailing the strength of my affections for him...despite the fact that I didn't know his name.

"Just think," one early entry read. "I could know you in five-six years."

My husband was always real to me.


Through the years I would forget about the journal until a breakup, a bad date, or a particularly lonely day reminded me of its existence. Of his existence. My 18-year-old self shared a laugh with him about the dramatic poetry penned by 15-year-old me. At 19, I told him I was pretty sure he didn't attend Pepperdine, and if he did, he was taking his sweet time trying to find me. At 20, I told him to keep growing and discovering who he was in Christ—to see the beauty that can come from pain, to grow into the spiritual shape of a man after God's own heart. At 21, I let him know that I was a bridesmaid in two weddings, and that I was still waiting for him. That I always had been.

And then, on July 27, 2012, I told him I had met him.

I didn't use Taylor's name in the journal until his ring was on my finger—that had long been the unspoken rule of the journal. But in faith, three days after saying goodbye in Hilton Head, 22-year-old me pulled out "Only You" and let my future husband know that finally, finally, I was his.

"This is the beginning of our story."

On Thanksgiving, I wrote about his handmade turkey card—the one that kept me from thinking I'd made the whole thing up in my head. I wrote about how I didn't know there was a note written inside...until my dad started reading it out loud. I wrote about how I compared the size of his hand-shaped turkey feathers to my own hand, and wondered how the two would fit together. I wrote about reading that little card again and again whenever I began to doubt what the Lord had done at the beach. 

When his family invited mine to celebrate the New Year together in Tennessee, I wrote that I was nervous. I admitted that I didn't know what I would do or say when I first saw him. Would I hug him? Give him a high five? Immediately pour out my soul and tell him that we were meant to be together...forever? 

In January, I wrote that it was hard to find the words to say. That God was so good. That I was blown away. That I couldn't believe he had felt the same way all along...and never asked for my phone number! I wrote that I was honored when he asked my father for permission to date me, and told his parents he intended to pursue me—despite the fact that he was still living in North Carolina, and I was in Texas.

In March, with his ring on my left hand, I wrote his name for the first time: Taylor Ross Kiker. I let him know that everything that had transpired in the past, and everything that would come in the future, I accepted wholly and took on as a part of myself. That I couldn't wait to begin our joined adventure. That I had always been his. That I always would be.

In July, on the night before our wedding, I wrote that I loved him deeply, expansively; more than I knew was possible. But I also confessed that I would never be enough for him—that he would always and only be found in Christ. I promised to celebrate the good in him forever, and call him back to his true identity when he could not see or feel Truth for himself. That always, always, my heartsongs had been written to only him. "Only You."

And then, on July 27, 2013—one year from the date I journaled that our story had begun—no written words were necessary. Because waiting for me at the end of the altar was my faith personified; my prayers in the flesh. And with his hands holding mine, he spoke these words:

"According to the will of God and my desire, I, Taylor, take you, Karley, to be my wife."

14-year-old Karley, you are chosen.

"Leaving my father and mother, I cleave to you."

15-year-old Karley, I'm forsaking everything I've known to unite myself with you.

"Through every year and every circumstance, I will remain constant in my commitment to you."

19-year-old Karley, I've always been there, and I always will be.

"I will love you as Christ loves the church, giving my life to you."

21-year-old Karley, your waiting has been worthwhile—I am yours completely, and I vow to love you how my Savior first loved me.

"I will always hope all things and believe all things in you and for you, turning your eyes constantly to Him who gave us one another." 

23-year-old Karley, 45-year-old Karley, 62-year-old Karley, and 89-year-old Karley, I will never stop pointing you in the direction of the One who loved you first; the God who joined us together in His service until death do us part.

. . . 

It's my prayer that in reading this series you have become more aware of how "wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God." (Eph. 3:18-20) That those who have considered compromise in their dating relationships will be encouraged to hold out for what's real. That those who, like me, have attempted to write their own love stories will lay down their pens and just rest at Jesus' feet for awhile. That those who have questioned God's goodness and faithfulness or feared that His provision can't or won't reach them, will experience the healing power of His love and better understand His heart as a Good Father. That those with longing hearts will soon-and-very-soon exchange vows with their own God-given answer to prayer, and experience the strength of Christ's love in human form.

 

Please understand that the movie of "Our Story" doesn't end with our vows, our first kiss as man and wife, or waving goodbye while boarding the plane to Mexico for our honeymoon. It carries on still, marked by scenes of washing the dishes, going to the gym, making Crockpot dinners, and doing all of the ordinary things that ordinary people do (yes, even arguing). But there is a new-found richness in the everyday and the mundane. That's because...

Every time I look at Taylor, I marvel at what God has done.

Every time I share our story, I am overwhelmed by His goodness. 

Every time I say "my husband," I stand in awe at the provision, the creativity, and the story-weaving ability of Jesus, the unshakeable, inescapable Lover of my soul. 


The bottom line: If you read episode one, episode two, and episode three very carefully, you'll realize what we've realized. That if you took God out of the equation, we wouldn't have a story. 

Why? Because He is our story, and He is our song. 

Ephesians 3:20-21: "Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen"