THE COURSE OF LOVE #2

THE COURSE OF LOVE #2

It often strikes me how little control we truly have over our fundamental nature, and indeed, over so much of our journey. The ancient wisdom that questions who grants us our voice or our silence, our sight or our blindness, resonates deeply as I reflect on life's intricate journey. (Exodus 4:11)

And then there’s Reinhold Niebuhr’s profound plea for serenity and courage, a prayer clung to in moments of profound truth, seeking the grace to accept the immutable, the strength to alter the possible, and the clarity to distinguish between the two.

For decades, I occupied the role of wife, beginning as the spirited companion of early adulthood and continuing through the gentle unfolding of middle age and beyond. I was more than just a wife; I was the root from which my husbands children sprang and the matriarch embracing his grandchildren.

Each year that layered upon the last didn't merely pass; it etched an indelible story of shared moments, an accumulation of time so rich and specific it could never be replicated. It was a testament to enduring commitment, a deliberate choice renewed time and again. I was granted a privileged, front-row perspective into the evolving landscape of his existence, a constant witness to his triumphs and trials, his dreams and his quiet struggles.

Yet, despite this profound intimacy, our journey was rarely simple. There were times when my heart found only a reluctant joy in the blessings that poured into life, and by extension, into ours.

It wasn't always an easy acceptance of the unique gifts God had bestowed upon him, and on me, as his partner. We were, unequivocally, two distinct universes, each orbiting with its own gravitational pull, attempting to communicate a language of love and life that neither of us had ever/never truly mastered. Moments of profound appreciation, which in hindsight now feel so abundant, often slipped through my grasp, unacknowledged or unarticulated.

Our relationship, like any living entity, was a constant process of adaptation and transformation. The roles we assumed, the burdens we shouldered – those 'hats' we wore through the seasons of our lives – were heavy, demanding, and ever-changing. We frequently pushed the boundaries of our affection, testing its resilience, sometimes to its very limits. There were periods when our mental and emotional reserves dwindled, leaving us exhausted and struggling to bridge the chasm of understanding. In those vulnerable moments, my own shortcomings became painfully clear. My fervent desire to navigate life's challenges, to 'survive,' often unmasked a deep-seated selfishness I was reluctant to confront. I was, at times, far from my best self—lacking kindness, wavering in steadfastness, and falling short as a compassionate partner.

We certainly weren't the picture of idyllic romance often painted in stories or social circles. 'Couple of the Year' was never a title we aspired to, nor one we would have likely received. The illusion of a perpetually 'happy couple' is, I've come to believe, a dangerous myth, especially for those of us who lived a richer, more complex reality. Our marriage, with all its imperfections, its raw honesty, its peaks and its valleys, was an undeniably and extraordinary adventure. I learned early on to resist the temptation of comparing our intricate journey to anyone else's. Our union wasn't designed for external validation; it was uniquely woven , special in its own peculiar way, and yes, wonderfully weird. It was ours, and in that, lay its profound, irreplaceable value.