I Was Never Getting Married Again

If you’ve been here a minute, you know a bit of the story: I had little to no interest in dating. I would regularly joke with my friends that we would all need to plan to live next door to one another when we retired, because one of them would have to drive me to my colonoscopies. I planned on growing old alone. I met with a financial planner to see how many more pennies I could scrape off my teaching paycheck to put in an IRA that would actually make a discernable difference in twenty-five years. I got my own will. I set my own Peloton PRs, and I set them for me.

And mostly, I buoyed my own heart every single day by telling it, You will be okay alone. I told myself that until I believed it to my bones.

Here’s the thing: I still believe that. The tangible support of friends and community notwithstanding, I think believing that and living toward that end is why I was prepared to meet Benjamin exactly when I did. Because I wasn’t looking, and I wasn’t desperate, and I was working on my healing so that my life and testimony could matter for Jesus, so that I could be strong and whole for the six children he entrusted to me.

I was not trying to get better or flourish in my life so I could get married again, because I genuinely never thought I would. Romantic love was maybe a distant, Oh, if God just drops him in my lap, that could be nice kind of thought, but that is all it was.

So when Benjamin walked into the room and into my life—when God actually dropped him in my lap—what transpired over the next few months was a gift, an absolutely unmerited and gracious delight from the Lord.

And yes, Benj Quinn has brought a new dimension to my own healing, and there is absolutely no doubt he loves me so selflessly, like Jesus does. But he wasn’t a missing puzzle piece in my life. Because if singleness was the life God had called me to, I was content with that, and I was going to fight for the faith to stay content. Honestly, after a traumatic first marriage, singleness felt far easier than thinking about trusting someone again.

But my relationship with Benj is an entirely new puzzle, one we are working on and putting together as a team now, as we blend our families and build a new life. And with eight kids and a dog and two ex-spouses and something like five jobs between the two of us, I can assure you, our hard work has just begun.

But this distinction—between being people who couldn’t live without each other, and being people who are just so unspeakably grateful that we found each other—will always matter to me, and to Benj, and to our story together.

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I was pretty sure it was either Benj or no one after our first dinner date together. We had been to coffee twice, had a few weeks of texting in between, and it had never been so easy in my life to talk to someone. He’s kind, gentle, humble and also brilliant. There is no arrogance in this man; he never needs to prove or defend who he is to anyone. There is no one else I can imagine who would have been able to break down the walls I had built up around my heart to guard it from ever being hurt again. And no one patient enough to not leave when he ran into those walls (and trust me, he did). I knew after a four-hour dinner that his kindness would lead the way, and that I felt confident that this dating thing—that Benj—was worth a try.

Everything about dating Benj was easy. I mean, kids and full lives and jobs and trauma and trust issues—none of that is “easy” at all. But Benj? He is easy. His intentions were clear from the jump. During that first dinner together, he made a commitment that he has never wavered from: Whether it is next week or next month or when we die, I promise to leave you better than I found you, Katie. For reasons I cannot explain other than the peace of the Holy Spirit, I believed him when he said that. I always felt safe, knowing if we didn’t work out, it wouldn’t be because Benj hurt me, but because God had something else entirely.

He didn’t though. He had us in His plans, and that’s been so clear—that kind of clear that you just know, this is right—and I am forever grateful.

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We circled July 2nd on our calendar back in March, a week or so after we got engaged on a perfect evening on the white sand beaches of 30A. But we were ready. And our kids were ready. As ready as they could be, because you can only prepare little (and big) hearts for so much change—and then at some point, you just have to do the hard work of living it.

Our relationship felt fast to a lot of people who cared about us, and I get it. All I can say to that still, is that it has never felt too fast for us. And so when I told my parents—who I lived with and who got close up, real time experience with Benj more than anyone else—that we were thinking of getting legally married in April and then celebrating with family and friends in July, they were whole-heartedly on board. So that’s exactly what we did.

We spent the weeks between April 23rd and July 2nd baby stepping into our new lives as a married couple: being intentional about counseling, learning how to work through hard stuff, and giving the kids the space they need to process with the clear goal in mind: to become a family. I don’t know if we did it all perfectly. I don’t know if we are doing it all perfectly now. If anyone has a handbook for blending two families without making mistakes, I’d be so happy to read it! But I can say that God has felt present in every single step, and that’s all we could really ask for.

But as July 2nd approached, life did feel too stressful. Benj had a big project he was working against tight deadlines to finish, and so did I. I was traveling two weeks before the wedding, the kids were finishing school and starting new summer routines (read: Cannon was adjusting to the no-school schedule 🙃 and had a growing penchant for hammers that I am still navigating with dread on the daily), and then we were surprised and truly jarred by some extra life stressors that needed our time and attention the week of our wedding. Benj was staying awake until 2:00am most nights attending to that. The permits for the park were missing, and we didn’t know until the eleventh hour that we needed insurance. And then, my best friend suffered an unthinkable loss—which is her story to tell—but I couldn’t really be there for her, the person who has always been there for me, and that will forever be a painful reality. I told Benj the day before the wedding, “This doesn’t feel like I wanted it to feel.”

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One of the projects I am working on right now has me writing through the Old Testament, so I’ve been spending the last two months in Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers. If you know the story, it’s a record of the Israelites being freed from slavery in Egypt, and Moses leading them out toward the Promised Land. Except making it to that Promised Land is anything but a smooth journey, because honestly, we are people, and the Israelites were people, and we all know, people can be the worst.

Still, I am continually surprised when I read about the Israelites complaining again. And again. And again. Miracles upon miracles, glory upon glory, met with complaint upon complaint. In Numbers 21:15, they people actually tell God, “...we loathe this worthless food.”

Y’all, “this worthless food” was manna. The miracle food of provision the Israelites had to do nothing to receive every day except wake up, and there it was—enough for the day and a promise that more would come tomorrow. And that miracle had become monotonous.

How many miracles in my life, under the stress of responsibility and the weight of all I cannot control and the low hum of Cannon’s hammering downstairs, had I allowed to become monotonous, too? For a moment, right before our wedding celebration, I think a lot of them had.

But for two hours in the middle of the day on our wedding day, I somehow was alone in my house with just Cannon—who was not hammering anything in that moment, bless. My friends Emily and Aubree called that morning and asked to take the big kids swimming, Benj was running a few last second errands, my mom took my little three to her house, and my other crew of angel friends were at the park setting everything up. I never anticipated a margin on this day to just sit with Jesus but there it was, and there I sat.

And I’m not proud to admit this, but for the first time in weeks, I started breathing in and breathing out prayers to God. Prayers for peace, prayers for provision, prayers for my kids and my husband and my heart. It took almost no time at all for calm to wash over me, and quickly that calm turned to joy, the joy I had been wanting for a few days. Because no matter what else was going on around us, Benj and I were going to find each other in all of it, and we were about to celebrate what God had done in our lives with so many people who love us. And that is a miracle. The people in our lives are a miracle. The children God has given us are a miracle. Getting a second chance at marriage is without a doubt, a miracle.

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The wedding celebration was everything I wanted it to be. We rented a picnic shelter for $55 at one of my favorite local county parks, ordered sandwiches from the very best sandwich place in town, had the Kona Ice snow cone and the Crepe Sisters trucks park nearby, and told everyone to bring their own blankets and chairs for a picnic party. And that it was.

Pastor Joe welcomed the crew and prayed for the day. Benj’s mom blessed the kids in a sweet moment meant just for them. Benj and I each read something we wrote for each other. My friend Natalie led all of us in worship to one of my favorite songs, “The Love of God,” and almost 200 people sang in unison the most important words I know: for all our days we will sing our savior’s praise…

There were 75 kids at this picnic—which was as fun and crazy as it sounds—and they played Nine Square and football and threw frisbees and climbed trees and dripped red juice from their snow cones down the front of their shirts. My stepson told me he had eight Krispy Kreme donuts, but I guess when you leave the donut boxes open on the table that can happen 🫣 My two sister-friends, Ashlee and Emily, made us all simultaneously teary-eyed and laugh with their perfect toasts. And my daughter, Harper, brought us to tears with her words, her maturity, and her heart.

Nothing about the challenging things we have to carry in our lives went away because we were celebrating our marriage that day. But Benj and I got to hold hands and thank God for each other, and the people who have held us up for the last several years got to see the fruit of their prayers, and if this day—the one we circled on the calendar four months before—taught me anything, it’s that celebrating miracles is one way God sustains us for the long haul.

And for all of us, life is long, and it’s hard, and it’s miraculous.

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And now, I have a new last name, and Benjamin and I are committed to finding each other every day, no matter what. Are we perfect? Ha. Hardly. No one who has been divorced gets married for the second time with rose colored glasses on. But we have learned a few things. We have a good counselor, and I, for one, didn’t know how badly my first marriage really needed that—not to referee what was wrong but to help me examine myself more. Benj has the patience of a saint, and while that is a cliche, it is absolutely accurate. He’s my calm waters. And we have the Holy Spirit, who has not given up on me and gently gives me an elbow in the side when I’m being absurd (yeah yeah trauma responses maybe, but also, sometimes I’m just selfish).

So many people have told us, “Your story gives me so much hope!” and y’all, I’m so honored by that, I want it to! But I don’t want the only hope you draw from us to be about marriage. I want our story to scream of a good God, who is always doing far more than we could ask or imagine. Who will never stop providing grace for each day, each season of life, each moment we would never have asked for.

And I want you to also know, He can do that through community. He can do it through deep and sacred friendships. He can do it through the love of a spouse. He can do it through a life’s purpose you believe in so deeply, you’ll chase it every single day of your life. There is no limit to His creativity or His love, and I hope that is where we keep our hope.

P.s. Cannon is not in these photos, because he was safe at home with his dad, where the crowds wouldn’t bother him and the social expectations wouldn’t be too much. We missed him, but I am so glad he got what he needed that night, too.

P.s.s. As much as I’ve been writing about grace in the last few years, God still out-did himself with this story. But in just two weeks, a whole bunch of other stories that I am so honored to share with you will be out in the world, and I hope when you read this book, you’ll feel seen, you’ll laugh a little, and mostly, you’ll start tracing the threads of grace in your own life. Pre-order your copy today to have it on your doorstep on August 4th 💛