They gave us a 13% chance. My Man and I were only about 20 years old at the time, and we sat side by side in a large convention center, listening as a husband/wife counseling duo spoke to us, a room full of “Adult Children of Divorced Parents”. Our parents’ marriages had recently disintegrated and according to the speakers, if both spouses in a marriage come from divorced families, you have a thirteen percent chance of your marriage lasting. A tough statistic for the both of us to swallow, considering we’d already been dating three years and had been planning on marrying. I’ve often wondered if our particular statistics are even slimmer, considering our families’ situations, but that is a story for another time, as it is a story that belongs to more than only me….
Thankfully, we have a God who created all science and therefore has more than enough power to defy it.
A year later, we sent out wedding invitations. Because as our invitations quoted:
Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away.
Song of Solomon 8:7
Ours could not be quenched by outside forces.
But there have been plenty of times when I have quenched it. I, who need his love more than anything.
I quench it.
Most days, I allow the rivers of busyness, self-doubt, fear of vulnerability and just my plain old pride, wash over our marriage and we both struggle for air. Where I feel most safe, is often the very place where I suffocate the fresh breath of true, unrepressed love. And I am married to a gentleman in the true sense of the word. He does not push himself on me. He waits.
But when I’m taken by the hand and led outside myself, out of my hiding, and into the light of loving, letting go of my comfort and pretense and fear, I am only given more freedom, love, and confidence in return.
And as I’ve thought about Christmas and all I want to do for everyone to make the day “magical” . . . what I want to gift and cook and how I want to buy goats or something for a family in Africa (and those things are beautiful and
important) . . .
the tugging at my heart is for my husband.
Because the one closest to me is the one who often gets the leftover, worn-out scraps of me.
And is it not the same with Jesus? We hide from him, we try to keep Him appeased, we try to love Him in the way that is easy for us, but how can we best love Him who is the Truest Gentleman, our Heavenly Bridegroom? He does not push Himself on us. He is waiting too.
It may sound trite and it may sound like common sense, but how often I lose sight of it: I would venture to say that if you are married, and if marriage is truly a picture of Christ and His Bride (Eph. 5), then there is no greater picture of how we love the God-Man, than how we love the men by our sides. And isn’t it just like our you-must-lose-it-to-find-it-Jesus, who takes the sometimes seeming shackles of giving ourselves away, replacing them with life-abundant ties that bind?
Let me lose my life this Christmas.