The first time my husband Elliott told me he wanted to be a firefighter, we were in college. It was the same year that Ladder 49 was in movie theatres, and we had gone to see it. Afterward, as I was still collecting myself (spoiler alert: it doesn’t end well), he decided to lay it on me that deep down, he had felt called to be a firefighter ever since the terrorist attacks on September 11.

What a noble, incredible calling. I should have felt honored to be dating someone who thought on such a selfless, service-oriented level.

I didn’t.

I never wanted to be one of those selfless women who have the spiritual gifts of sacrifice, patience and gentleness, who manage their lives and their households seamlessly while their soldier/police officer/firefighter husbands are away on shift or on duty. I applaud them. I have all the respect in the world for them.

But I never wanted to be one of them.

Several years into our marriage, we found ourselves having a similar conversation about his dreams. He had been volunteering with our county's fire department for a while at that point, and I had been hopeful that serving with them would quench this desire. But that night, I knew it wasn't enough. I realized that I was watching someone struggle with not living the life he needed.

Here was my sweet husband, sitting in front of me telling me that he wanted to live a life of service. Of impact. He felt a calling to help others when they are in their most desperate moments of life — when they don't have anyone else to call. He wanted to be one of the helpers.

“Other times, we are meant to be the supporting role in someone else’s story. And if we can get over ourselves enough to grab hold of this concept, what a beautiful role we get to play.”

I also realized that night that I was the reason for his struggle. I had known for years that he had this dream, but I truly felt like I had the right to get in the way of it because it wasn't my plan. It wasn't what I had pictured for my life.

For my life.

I realized something that night in that Italian restaurant. Who am I to stand in the way of anyone else's calling for their life? Even if (especially if) it's my own husband? Even if I'm the one who knows him best — the one who does life with him every day. Who am I to get in the way of his dreams and ambitions because of my own fear?

So, I made the decision that night to get out of his way. To say yes, when all my fear and anxiety and selfishness were telling me to say no. I said yes.

I've realized something over the years, as I've watched Elliott pursue his calling and find so much joy and satisfaction in it. Sometimes we go through seasons where we are the stars of our own lives. The focus is on us — as students in school, as we pursue our careers, as we struggle through parenthood, as we evolve ourselves through personal development.

Other times, we are meant to be the supporting role in someone else's story. And if we can get over ourselves enough to grab hold of this concept, what a beautiful role we get to play.

Maybe part of the calling in my own life is to love this man well. Maybe one of the reasons I was put on this earth was to support him, give him the space to pursue his path and stand with him on the good days and the hard days of this journey.

I can make the choice to let my support of him be a burden to me because it requires me to put someone else above myself. Or I can choose to embrace the honor that it is to play a part in the incredible story of someone else's life.

I’ve learned that life is certainly about growing ourselves and finding who we are created to be. But life is equally as much about humbling ourselves, serving others, helping others grow, and yes… sometimes getting out of their way.

I never wanted to be a fire wife.