My sixth graders wrote last week about what it means to be dedicated to a cause.  They told me we first need a worthy cause, then be willing to invest in it, sacrifice for it, and above all, harness resilience to see it through.
One vulnerably unique twelve-year-old dubbed herself a mental health advocate, just like me, reminding me when there’s trouble in paradise, therapy’s a better bet than a lifeboat.  After all, marriage is a worthy cause for dedication.
Throughout the dead, dark winter months, I chased the sunrise.  Rain or shine, snow or clouds, mist or fog—it didn’t matter if I could see my breath, I was devoted to meeting God at the York River to see His mercies renewed with the crest of the sun.  This was dedication. 
Each day, it rises earlier.  By next week, I’ll switch up my morning routine and hit the gym after sunrise instead of before.  For this week, however, I’m skipping the elliptical and waking up in the darkness to walk through the dawn at Yorktown Beach.  And I’m discovering there’s still so much to learn in these moments before the sun peeks its head above the horizon. 

Unlike months past when I arrived at the fishing pier just at sunrise, this mini-routine lets me savor the transition from darkness to light.  I’ll take photographs five minutes apart, and when I review them, it’s hard to believe it’s the same sky.  One morning, I arrived at this sweet serenity, skies blue and waters orange, but fifteen minutes later, they’d swapped colors, reflecting reflections. 

Is it bold to say I’ve discovered more beauty in the pre-sunrise, where glory exists in potential?  I bring my journal, so when I’m done walking, I snag a stretch of sand, reflect on life, and pray for God to make me light, joy, love, and peace to those I encounter, despite the adversities in my own life. 
Troubles, my sixth graders could tell you, are inevitable. You might even experience a cycle of hope and hardship.  Yet, if you’re dedicated to a cause, you’ll harness resilience to persevere.
Reflecting in writing is a way of processing these difficult times.  A couple of months ago, I journaled through the struggle of adjusting to teaching full-time with the added responsibility of being a new wife and mother to a teenage girl.  When that balance was achieved, I was surprised to find more problems waiting for me at home. 
My husband and I are both passionate individuals with hot tempers we work to manage intentionally, and we’ve learned all too well in ten months of marriage that passionate words spoken in anger can’t be withdrawn.  Even if it was just a fleeting thought, our devotion to each other was in question beyond the easy moments. 
The promise of marriage is a sacred bond, a dedication to building a life together despite the inevitable challenges that arise.  However, when one partner signals a desire to exit the union, navigating the complexities of everyday life can feel like an endless night with no hope of a sunrise.
That’s why I’m so grateful to have discovered this transitional period between night and day, embracing the work before the sunrise, the cause for our hope. Colors abound. They shift and change and evolve.  God is at work, setting the moon, raising the sun, and there’s endless possibilities for each day’s landscape when you rotate variables like precipitation and clouds. At the end of the day—and at the beginning—it’s about trusting God is good and is doing good things in this transition.
Since our lives have similar variables intersecting and colliding to determine the big-picture portrait of our marriage, it’s easy to get lost in the details.  We needed a place to dig deep, confront our issues head-on, and show up for each other in the hard times.  We started couples counseling a few weeks ago, and since we’re not convinced we started with the right person, we’ve booked two more appointments with different therapists in the weeks to come.
So far, counseling has been powerful and painful, with the potential for promise. During my early morning walks, I taste the beauty in our struggle.  My husband and I are growing and transforming, moving from  shadows of misunderstanding into the light where there’s connection and healing. We need to improve our communication skills to build a life we love, together. 
And quite honestly, I’m living in the pre-sunrise right now.  Some days are more hopeful than others.  The commitment to our marriage isn’t a choice for me—it’s a journey, one that mirrors this daily ritual of waiting for the dawn to break.  Dedication requires intentionality, my student mental health advocate told me; we need to be willing to sacrifice and ready resilience for inevitable adversities to follow through on our commitments; in sixth grade, she’s got other matters on her mind, but the words ring truer still for marriage when two become one and form a new entity.
Being dedicated to my marriage means embracing challenges head-on, not unlike facing the chill of the dawn before the sun graces us.  Reading my students’ essays, they continue to teach me that true dedication is not just about sticking it out through the easy times. In fact, weathering storms together is inherent to the human spirit, so it’s natural to want to invest in our union and hope to someday count on my husband when clouds overwhelm, rather than be overwhelmed when he eclipses the sunrise.

While I savor the golden hues that appear just before the sun crests, I’m journaling about the mounting unknowns for our family.  Between counseling sessions, we dig into our communication patterns and target the root of our disagreements, living out the growth mindset to empower one another toward mutually assured greatness. These are moments of clarity where we find ourselves looking at issues from new angles, much like watching the colors shift in the sky, and those are the hopeful days I get to teach my kids without a lifeboat sitting on my chest.
Each revelation feels like cementing a piece of the solid foundation we are building, a ship that could weather all storms… until some offhanded comment reflects a mindset that Tony’s still eying that lifeboat.  Then it’s back to the endless, dark night of the soul where I fear this life we’ve just begun to build will crumble.  It’s amazing how the struggles that rise often require a measure of strength we didn’t know we had. That strength somehow surfaces, evidence to me of a loving, omnipotent Father.  I’m grateful for the evolving pre-sunrise and equally grateful for our challenges. 
Why?  Because I believe every moment of discomfort in therapy, every painful conversation we’ve had, pulls us nearer to understanding one another better, communicating lovingly, and living out the life we vowed to live only months ago.  It’s like watching the sky transform at the juxtaposition of moonfall and sunrise, where uncertainty gives way to brilliance and newfound depths of love and intimacy await if we’re only patient enough to experience the transformation stage.
Waiting for the dawn and healing our marriage, for me, are both sacred acts of faith.  I stand in the darkness trusting light is on the way, hoping amidst hardship where my students tell me resilience is born. 
Empowered by advocates and resources—our pastor at Coastal Church, marriage counseling, individual therapy sessions, and DBSA (Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance) weekly support group meetings—my husband and I have dedicated ourselves to being advocates for mental health. Each support we utilize presents another variable in our dynamic landscape that gives me hope for healing to come.
Each session or talk or walk, with my husband or alone, each moment in reflection… it teaches me to embrace both the light and the shadow.  In essence, dedication isn’t about enduring; no, it’s actively participating in the transformation of a relationship, the transformation of the horizon from darkness to dawn. I wait for the colors to change, assured by the Creator, that it will be worth it.
Beyond my dedication to the sunrise, my husband, and my students, I’ve committed to authenticity in this blog.  I made it a habit of reflecting authentically about my life. If I am unable to demonstrate this level of vulnerability with my readers, if I cannot write about what is really growing me, I should not write at all.  And that would be a missed opportunity.
There are those waking up before dawn in my reality, I know, they’re just not blogging about it. So, I’m asking you, dear readers, with my husband’s blessing on this post: What should a newlywed couple do (or not do) when instability of commitment shakes the bedrock?