Routine and Rituals

I think most people who knew Cassie knew that she liked things scheduled and planned. She didn’t like taking the scenic route unless she knew that it was accounted for ahead of time. She hated being late. She hated feeling scattered. She wanted a regular schedule—to wake up early, get dressed, have some coffee while reading, then go to work, get some exercise, and come home for dinner.

Unfortunately, our lives were scattered most of the time. Between late nights, early mornings, changing shifts, and work that came home with us, it was hard to do anything the same for even a week at a time. In light of Cassie’s aspirations for regular and nothing-special days, I decided July 30^th would be a good day to try and get into a regular routine. I had just gotten back from West Virginia two days earlier. I had nothing scheduled on my calendar for a couple weeks. It was time for life to return to normal. Or it was at least time for me to finally decide on a new normal. And I felt good about it. Well for the first day at least.

Day Number 2

I woke up on the second day of routine-following and took Julep outside. I saw that my sister (in-law) Emilee had messaged me before she went to work, just to say she was thinking about me today and that she loved me. But she did that about once a week since April, so I just thought it was sweet and went on with my new routine.

I put together a bowl of cereal for breakfast and started boiling water. Sitting down with a cup of tea, I decided to read the book of Ephesians. I hadn’t sat down to just read the Bible in well over a month or two, but I knew Cassie was right to try and get the day started off with at least a devotion, if not the Word itself. In the past I liked to just read a couple verses and dissect them until I can’t get any more meaning out in one sitting. But not today. I felt more like taking a shotgun approach—aim wide and hope something sticks. Thankfully a couple of things did stick.

I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp 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.

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He who loves his wife loves himself. After all, no one ever hated their own body, but they feed and care for their body, just as Christ does the church—for we are members of his body. “For this reason a man leaves his father and mother to be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.” This is a profound mystery—but I am talking about Christ and the church. However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself.

I thought back to how I felt about Cassie—before we were married, as we were married, and while married. And I thought about how it felt having her torn away from me four months ago. I felt my heart sink, melt, break, and rip apart in my chest. I felt my stomach churn. I felt my legs get weak. The pain was more than just emotional or mental. I had never realized our love was this physical thing before then. I had never realized how much my body had grown to need hers to stay together. Knowing that this was how I loved my wife, I couldn’t help but think of how much that means Christ loves us, his church. And I think I grasped just a little bit more how wide and long and high and deep the love of Christ is.

Running Around

But even thinking on all this marriage stuff, dots still didn’t connect for me. So, I went on with my new daily rituals. I started to exercise a little bit. But just before I started my run with Julep, my aunt sent me a message saying she loved me. I didn’t think too much of this either; after all, she had done that at least once a month since March and I just got home from visiting her a couple days ago. I went on with my run, feeling better afterwards. I cleaned up and moved onto my to-do list for the day.

I really needed to clean up my apartment after having neglected it for a while. But before starting I checked my phone and found that a friend had texted me too. She also said she was thinking of me today. Weird that so many people were texting me today. But then again, this was the friend who had taken care of Julep while I was in West Virginia. I hadn’t checked in with them since getting back really. Plus, they were supposed to be getting back from a vacation of their own today. Crazy coincidence, right? Oh well. I gave my home the deep cleaning it deserved.

Again, I felt better afterwards sitting in a nice, organized living room with my dog. I made a little sandwich for lunch and checked my phone again. Now I had a text message from my mom-in-law. She also told me she was thinking of me with love. Now it was starting to get a little strange that I was getting so many messages saying the same thing. But maybe Emilee had messaged her because I didn’t respond this morning. I don’t know? I responded to Emilee’s and went on my merry way.

Now I had to work on an essay for my medical school application. I had run the first draft by an advisor at UCF who recommended I make some major revisions—he said it was done well but done wrongly. Some major revisions were needed. It was supposed to detail who I am as a person, even if I was struggling with figuring that out lately. But I felt great, more than okay, as I drove to the library to write, listening to one of Cassie’s favorite albums, Be OK, by Ingrid Michaelson.

I just want to be okay, be okay, be okay.

I just want to be okay today.

I sat down and started typing. But then someone else texted me. It was my mom. She said the exact same thing as everyone else, “Thinking of you today with lots of love.” I took a second. I thought. And then something clicked. I became furious at myself. Tears started welling up in my eyes.

Today was my anniversary.

Or it would have been. July 31^st was the one day I would have broken any routine for Cassie. It was the one day to celebrate that kind of wide, long, high, deep love I was just thinking about in the morning. It was the one day to forget about all the little things cluttering our home. It was the day that my wife would have come far, far before work and before med school.

I didn’t know what to do. I mean, was there even anything to do? I felt miserable for forgetting. I felt disappointed in myself. I felt so… so sad? I had felt so wonderful all day. Then with one flip of a switch I could only feel an intense and tragic longing for Cassie, mixed in with a bizarre desire to have done nothing all day but watch sad movies.

I went home before I started crying in public. I thought back to our last anniversary, I thought back to the one before that in California, I thought back to our wedding day and honeymoon. I tried to think of what I would’ve done for her this year. It only would have marked our third year of married life. I had no clue. And I definitely couldn’t think of anything on the spot. So, I settled for the first thing that popped into my head.

Spur of the moment

I started with something fun and new she would’ve wanted to do. I hopped on the brand new Sunrail train connecting Kissimmee to Orlando (the Kissimmee station had opened the day before) and rode it up to Winter Park. It felt adventurous and different. It felt like something Cassie would have loved because we had always talked about taking a train ride to Jacksonville instead of a car. It was spontaneous, and I just barely made it to the station in time.

We didn’t have too many routines of our own, but every time we went to Winter Park, we’d take some time to drive around and look at the houses. So instead of taking a Lyft to where I wanted to go, I decided to walk the two miles through neighborhoods to get there. I know we weren’t the first couple to do it, but it had always felt so special to wander and wonder with her about the kind of neat and tidy home she wanted 10 years down the road, instead of thinking about our little apartment that needed its own scheduled upkeep then.

I stopped at a record store on the way. We had gone there together a good number of times. They had mystery grab bags of records we would always buy even though they were usually filled with ridiculous stuff we’d never dust off even once. But there was no room in my backpack for 10 records. I decided that one record already on my mind and a grab bag of stickers were enough. Grab bags are still nice, after all; perfect for when you’re just rambling through your day, not organized enough to know what to shop for ahead of time.

Afterwards, I headed across the street to Cassie’s favorite coffee shop. While my mind kept looping through all the times we spent visiting coffee shops (this one especially), I wasn’t sad. I sat with my tea and tater tots, the light from the windows dimming from the rain starting to come down outside, and I looked at all the Christmas lights, the strange pictures on the wall, the eclectic furniture, and the even more eclectic crowd coming in. And I started to feel a little better.

Routine Kind of Love

Ingrid Michaelson sang,

I just want to know today,

Know that maybe I will be okay.

I know I’ll be okay. I was loved. I am loved. And apparently, I’m loved by a lot of people, considering how many more messaged me throughout the day. I’m reminded of the love in my life every single day—whether by friends and family, by everyday scripture reading, or by random trips into coffee shops. I guess that reminder had to be enough routine for this day.