|“Was that how it happened, hon?”
“Well, that’s how I remember it; do you remember it differently?”
“No, no. That’s not what I’m saying”
“Well, what are you saying? How do you remember it?”
How did we get here?
How did we get this far?
Where did it begin, this never-ending story, that refuses to let go of me?
How did he and I become we?
How did we find each other, stay in each others lives;
never straying from the path of friendship?
And the most important question is when did it finally dawn on him and I
that we could, should, would
I confess marriage to me is an utterly horrifying prospect. Chalk that up to witnessing firsthand divorce up close and personal. I grew up watching a generation of divorcees find their way into the freedom that women’s liberation promised and a steady stream of the men who enjoyed the ride. Bottom line is I did not hold marriage in high regard. Nor men. Nor women, for that matter. I watched through the eyes of a child a masquerade of lies disguised as truth. I did not trust any of what I saw parade before my eyes. I did not want for it. The hope of it was crushed to me as a tender flower shooting up through a busy city sidewalk crack.
Dramatic and tragic, I know.
But God knows what He is doing. He allows nothing for nothing. He is not some “cosmic killjoy” who wants for us to suffer. But suffering is in the deck. In the end He uses every bit of our pain for His glory. And our good. This I know and believe.
Now, how does a liberally raised, rebellious, outspoken, sarcastic wild child end up with a conservatively raised, soft-spoken, somewhat reserved, quiet young man?
That is the hilarity of God, my friends.
He has the most amazing sense of humor.
Sometimes I actually do not find it funny, but revealing.
Often I find it brings, light, laughter and healing;
as all good humor does.
If marriage were a race and I was a horse, I would say I was the Long Shot.
I wouldn’t bet on me.
I struggle. I fail. I don’t have it all down.
I am utterly helpless and not up to the task.
What seems small and incidental to you, makes me want to flee.
Run to the mountains, hard and fast.
Away from people.
Away from perceived cages I long to thrash out from,
kicking down gates and running free.
Our story is not perfect.
Because I am not perfect.
It’s rough around the edges,
because I am rough around the edges.
The only thing I have going for me is a Faithful God who
holds my reigns. One who smooths my edges, in His way and time.
And a patient husband.
My God is a redemptive God.
His ways are not my ways.
They are also not your ways.
One thing all I have seen has taught me is to be careful with conclusions.
Be gentle with others.
You never know what someone has seen, experienced, or been through.
There is always a part of the story you don’t have.
Nobody gets a free ride in life.
We are not guaranteed the smooth course.
We all will face our share of challenges.
But before you place your bet or bank on the odds,
before you make a final judgement on the least likely;
before you draw that hasty conclusion, remember this:
The Long Shot belongs to God.
He knows the untold story. Every detail.
He knows all.
He is in it to win.
He gave it all for a love that would never lose.
You can bet on that sure thing.
I know I am.
|One “very tough filly” : Ruffian – Her heart and spirit
could not be contained. Still considered one of the greatest racehorses ever.
She stirred change for the better for her fellow Thoroughbreds.
Friends, I had not intended on writing these particular words, but there they are.
God had other plans for my writing this day…
So if you will suffer me a little longer on this journey, I will share a bit more
of the “Love Story” in my next post.