It was different this time. There was no fanfare; no white dress; no aisle. There was a tiny bit of planning and we were on a beach, but one that was about as far away as possible from the first time without leaving the country.

I wore sweatpants. My hair was pulled back after a day spent in the sun. We ate fried clams and caprese salad on a bench. Our entertainment was watching one of the most extraordinary sunsets I have ever seen.

When the sun finally sank for a rest behind the glorious watercolor it left behind, people began to turn their backs and head home. We stayed.

As we left our bench and walked down the beach, we saw a patch of sand amongst some reeds and made our way towards it... barefoot, no make-up, no music, no friends or family.

Five years of marriage had changed both of us. We were tired from months of long hours at work, establishing an urban farm in our backyard, and the so-called normal craziness of life in LA. We stared into each others eyes on this Cape Cod beach thousands of miles from Southern California and there weren't any words to be said -- only vows.

"I, Kristin, take you Nate."

"I, Nate, take you Kristin."

"For better or worse." Our eyes welled up thinking of the better times and worse times -- we'd lived through them.

"For richer or poorer." The tears streamed down our faces recollecting hard decisions we made, family drama, and the discipline we've come to appreciate in our marriage.

"In sickness and health." As the rings we'd become so familiar with in the last five years slid into place again, scenes washed before our eyes of me in bed, in the hospital, at the doctor -- we knew what these vows meant.

Five years ago, we weren't naive. We knew this was a daily choice to show-up to our marriage every day. But you never know what's going to happen.  There are hopes, dreams, expectations, arguments, and disappointments that come with life. You learn you married a deeply flawed person and that you yourself are capable of great hurt.

What rose to the surface in those moments under the creamsicle sky was not how we conquered marriage or figured it out, but how it had deepened us. We live life together out of a marked place. There are scars and marks from good times and bad: celebrations and passion-filled times and situations where we didn't know how badly we could harpoon each other. But there were those vows, holding us to ourselves, each other, and God.

Without distractions in this Adirondack chair community we spent hours reflecting on our marriage -- on the crazy journey we've been on together. There are still challenges we're working through and therapy bills to pay, but as we kissed again sealing the sacred bond once more, Nate repeated the words he said to me before we walked down the aisle and into our life together.  On that day I think he meant, Did I have my bouquet, was I okay to walk, but as he said them, they carried so much more weight than we ever realized: "Are you ready?"

Are we ever ready? Maybe, maybe not. But as we learned the last five years: Actions are important, words leave marks for better or worse, but the most imporant act to be ready for was living life together out of a deep commitment. Our souls deepened as we realized we were ready to take a risk, take a chance and through most days we would have each other. Some days this was more true than others, but it's been more true than false in our marriage. We've had each other -- all of each other.  Ugly days and magnificent ones and the medium too.

We also spent time investing into ourselves individually which made us come alive and experience life lived with God in our own souls. We couldn't count on the other one (nor should we) to do that for us. So the deepening continued throughout the years as the path kept winding -- We're we ready?

As we continue into the mysteries of who God is and who we are to be, I am overwhelmed because God is ready. The Creator has always been ready. Jesus made vows to us long ago and because of that, I could look into my husband's eyes again and say, "'til death do us part." And I said "Yes." I am ready for the next day, the next month, the next five years.

(Pictures - Kristin Ritzau - do not use without permission)