Still Saying Yes

Nine years ago, on a hot summer night in Memphis, Charlie knelt in front of a few thousand people during the fireworks show at a Redbirds game and asked me to marry him. I don’t remember what song was playing or what I was wearing—I just remember the way the world seemed to pause in the space between his question and my answer.

It was one of the easiest yeses I’ve ever said.

What I didn’t know then was how many more times I’d have to say yes.

Yes to the hard conversations.
Yes to learning how to love in ways we hadn’t needed to yet.
Yes to forgiveness, to growth, to holding space for the parts of each other that were still becoming.

Charlie and I committed early on to open communication and to investing in our own personal growth. We try—imperfectly, but sincerely—to allow one another to evolve in our own time, in our own way. We hold space for the inevitable struggles that come with blending a family of seven, with five kids whose ages once stretched from 17 to 28.

We’ve learned to expect unmet expectations. To meet misunderstandings and frustrations with curiosity instead of assumptions. To fight fair—really fair. We made a list of our ground rules for conflict during premarital counseling, and we still hold ourselves to them.

We encourage each other to pursue soul-feeding hobbies and friendships. We connect over shared interests like music, philosophy, and leadership. And when we disconnect—because all couples do—we try to assume good intent, give grace, and begin again.

If I could speak to the Ellie who said yes all those years ago, I’d tell her the truth: This is going to be the wildest ride you never saw coming. You’ll face heartbreak and pain that you can’t imagine. You’ll learn that love isn’t always a feeling. Sometimes it’s a choice. Sometimes it’s a lifeline.

But the man standing in front of you—he will show up. Over and over again, he will show up.

He will try his damnedest to be the man you and your children need. He will make hard decisions and quiet sacrifices for the health of your family. He will walk beside you through seasons that could easily unmoor you.

He will be your steady ground. Your truest anchor. And together, you’ll keep saying yes.

Charlie, Thank you for choosing me again and again. For steadying me when the world shook and holding space for who I am and who I’m still becoming. I wouldn’t want to do this life with anyone else.

Here’s to nine years of yeses—and all the ones still to come.