It happened again last night. A group of people getting to know one another and the typical “couples” questions came up.
“Tell about yourself. Let’s get to know one another. How did all of you husbands and wives meet?”
We, my husband and I, don’t like telling our story. It’s gritty. It’s ugly, really. And our hearts still feel raw at times. I skim just the top off the story, and I’m still reeling a few hours later. It’s not that we mind the question. It’s hard to answer, but in order for anyone to truly know us as a couple, or even as individuals, the chapter must be told.
It’s not the question we mind.
It’s our story itself.
It started out all well and good. I was seventeen and I had all the butterflies and hopes and dreams over a certain brown-eyed, brown-haired, brilliant young man. We were best friends. And then . . .
we fell in love.
We planned on marrying from the start.
It felt like a fairy tale. Our families loved each other. Our families spent lots of time together.
It all fell apart. Our parents’ marriages disintegrated right before our eyes. Within two weeks of one another, both sets of parents were separated. Accusations flew. So did denials. But, relationships between parents became too close. It can no longer be denied.
We surveyed the devastation and thought it was all our fault. If it hadn’t been for the two of us, falling in love, our families would still be intact, we thought. We broke up. Again and again. Wondering how we could ever navigate a marriage in the midst of two families that were now feuding.
But we loved each other.
We couldn’t stay away.
God sent us counsel.
And in September, after Hurricane Ivan left our hometown flooded and our honeymoon destination shutdown, we woke up to a beautiful, blue-sky kind of wedding day. The kind of wedding day every girl dreams about. Ivan means, “God is Gracious.”
We stood on the rocks of a Mountain church and pledged our vows to one another. Looking back, I realize we kept the vows before we ever even said them. I hope to live them for the rest of my life, by God’s grace and only His.
When the seemingly normal questions come, my hearts shrinks back in the wanting to hide. In the wanting for the simple beauty of just a regular love story. In simple family ties.
But God gave us something different. And I’m learning to accept that a little grit, a little lightning, make the most beautiful vessel-like glass.
Ah, yes. I must find the eucharisteo of the past . . .
that I might live it in the present.
#327 the necklace with nine and twelve . . . my comfort in the not understanding
#328 that we had two years before each blow
#329 Jonathan’s roommate’s encouragement, when we thought we were crazy
#330 that we can understand each other’s wounds
#331 that our siblings have never blamed us
#332 for truth-speakers when we didn’t know what to believe
#333 that He helped us to hold onto one another through it all
#334 that we actually went through with it, we said the vows
#335 that we can be honest about the wishing our story was different
#336 that we recognize that it made us stronger
#337 that our story is not finished
#338 that God builds on chapters
#339 that I love him more than ever
#340 two beautiful baby girls
#341 that if I knew this would still be the result, I’d marry him all over again