Four days after Christmas my niece, Mary, floated down a wooden staircase on a cloud of white lace and ruffles into a new life.
I wondered, as I almost always do on these occasions, whether the new bride and groom could possibly know what they were getting into. There they stood before God and man, just babies really, pledging themselves to each other. Will you take this man? This woman? For better or worse? In sickness and in health? For richer or poorer? Of course, the answer is “I do.” After all, that’s what all this fanfare is about.
While there’s nothing wrong with the traditional vows, I wonder if they shouldn’t read more like the Corinthian love chapter. Will you bear all things? Believe and hope all things? Endure all things?Will you promise not to be rude or angry or self-seeking? But then, who could live up to these, for all of them cut to the heart.
A lifetime’s a long time, and the path takes us places we could never imagine. When we’re standing at the altar with love’s gleam in our eyes, who really believes anything but the best lies ahead.
It’s inevitable that the shine will eventually fade. As the years come and go, the daily grind can take its toll. We make a home, build a career, raise kids. The days steadily tick by until suddenly we look up and realize that the better part of life has passed by, and we wonder what has happened to the plans we made.
Chasing dreams often takes a backseat to keeping house, paying bills, and tending to the children’s needs. After years of clothes strewn on the floor, dirty dishes in the sink, and messy bathroom counters, we begin to think that this person we once thought hung the moon could at least hang up their clothes.
But love is patient and kind, right?
The reality is that two people who live together day in and day out are eventually bound to disappoint each other. Hurt each other. When that happens, resentment and self-pity come knocking, looking for a place to stay. We stand at the door, trying to decide whether to let them in. Then we remember that love bears no record of wrongs, so we close the door and send them away. Still, the years have a way of changing us. Both of us. One day, we realize the person sitting across the table from us isn’t the same person we married.
Year after year, we go along with the flow, trying to keep our heads above water. Then on a day just like any other, riding in the car together like we’ve done a thousand other times, we look over and see the wisps of gray hair just above his ear and the tiny lines at the corner of his eye. Our heart softens. For no reason, we think of the way he cries during the mushy parts of the movies. We remember the times we laughed at the silliest of things. Things we laugh at even now when we remember them. We can still see the baby lying on his chest as they both slept on the couch.
Here is the one who took care of us when we were sick and held our hand when we were scared. We know him, really know him, like we don’t know anyone else on the face of the earth. And he knows us.
From somewhere deep inside, the truth that he is our one and only rises to the surface, reaffirming everything we said on that day at the beginning. Except now, it’s been tested and tried. We know without a doubt that there’s no one else for us. He is ours and we are his to have and to hold from this day forward.
Looking back, we understand that this is how love looks. Good days and bad days all woven together into a tapestry. Two lives becoming one. It’s a series of “I do’s” spoken repeatedly at each crossroads along the journey. Sometimes shouted, sometimes whispered, but always a declaration of courage, faith, and the will to press on.
Till death do us part.
Terri R. Miller lives in Alabama with her husband of 34 years and their Boston terrier, Gabby. She loves gardening, cooking, and bird watching. On her blog, Life is Moments, Terri writes about everyday moments that connect us to God, ourselves, and others. You can visit her blog at https://lifeismoments.blog/.
