The subway across town is so slow, it makes me late for our meeting with the neurologist. The doctor is ready, but you will not start without me. It touches me that you appreciate my opinions, respect my knowledge on all things Rhema and Landau Kleffner syndrome and anti-epileptic meds.
We go through that meeting confident in our discussions with the doctor. We’ve got a plan. We’re good together, a team. For each other, and this is how it should be. We can do this.
Suddenly, in the car, a fight over where to stop for gas. A fight because we’re ten minutes behind schedule. Seriously? We’ve stared down the autism-epilepsy behemoth; endured multiple deployments and separation of the heart, body and soul, and by God’s grace, survived.
Yet somehow the small thing turning into the big thing would destroy us piece by piece. And it’s appalling how fast, how completely it can all fall apart. Bitter, hurtful words flying out of my mouth like dagger and flame to the soul. My gosh, my love, what are we doing, undoing us? Lord, have mercy.
You’re the first to stand from the ashes. You reach out a hand to help me up. Still I want to wield my rubber sword, and you bring me flowers. The Lord has mercy.
“It is not your love that sustains the marriage,
but from now on, the marriage that sustains your love.”
Remember the day we met?
In a workshop called “Giving Your Life Away.” I had visions of a life of service, going back to Ethiopia, caring for impoverished children.
I could not have known that marriage would be the only way to learn how to give my life away.
A wise man once said that a good marriage involves a thousand little deaths to self… for the other. By God’s grace, that same marriage involves at least as many resurrections. It’s the glory of the Gospel. Every day, in so many ways, you lay your life down for me.
Just think, B. On a day over fifteen years ago, in a galaxy, on a planet, in a time zone, in a country, in a state, in a city, on a Saturday, at a conference, in a workshop, God sat me in a chair next to the most generous blue eyes. You. And all because of that, the world has Thing 1 and Thing 2 (Rhema and Hope).
It’s frightening to think I could have missed you, missed sharing this hard, good journey with you. Thank God, thank God, thank God for you. You, “my east, my west, my Sunday rest.”
Happy Anniversary weekend, doodlesnort.
I love resurrecting with you.