Monday, January 26, 2009

Two Kids in Love

I've been living long enough to know that there is a season for everything, and a time for every activity under the sun. There have been times in my life -- too many times -- when I was constantly busy, and my loved ones seemed like random strangers I occasionally stumbled across in my own house.

But I woke up one morning not too long ago, and suddenly remembered vividly the cry of my heart, from a season of life long since passed. There I was, in the darkest and loneliest days of my life. Not just single, but brokenhearted and abandoned. Everywhere I turned, there was darkness and hopelessness. All I wanted was a friend -- someone to share it all with; someone to stand beside me in my hour of need. I cried out to the Lord, and still there was no one for me. In desperation my heart cried once again, "If I ever find love again, dear Jesus, I promise I'll cherish it, and pour all my heart and soul and mind and strength into making it grow, and giving myself fully to the one you give to me."

In time, the sadness passed, and the activities of life filled the empty spaces. When love did come, I wasn't even looking for it. I had resolved to spend my life alone, and to enjoy the freedom that gave me. But there was love, standing in front of me with long hair and mischievous eyes, so I walked through the doorway to a new life. (Walked quite slowly, says she. But walked nonetheless, says I.)

It's been several years since the day we said our vows, in front of family and friends and God. Several very good years, by any measure. But on a day recently -- suddenly, mysteriously, without explanation -- I awoke and remembered with stark lucidity the cry of my heart from all those years ago. The time and season has seemed right to remember my promise to the Lord. And for wonderful reasons I may never understand, this wife of mine has been feeling the same way about the whole thing lately, at the same time as me.

And so here we are, living in the renewed dream that is our reality. Life is good. We're in love, and feeling like two teenagers who have borrowed my parents' car for the night, and don't have a curfew.

The night is young. Come away with me, my love.

4 comments:

  1. That was so incredibly sweet! And I can totally relate to much of what you've written here...and perhaps, those moments of solitude are what make us appreciate that much more the ones who have chosen to share their lives with us once we finally stumble upon them when least expected! ;)

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  2. Tully - Thanks. You're right, and I think many areas of our life are the same way. The sad times make the joy more poignant, the times of shortage make us appreciate when we have plenty, and so forth.

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  3. No recent entries for you? :)

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  4. Hi there, Tully! Long time, no see.

    Yeah, I sort of lost interest in writing my blog, and have had a very busy year since. Not sure if I'll write in it again or not.

    Nice to see that you're writing again. I've added you to my reader -- looking forward to someone who will actually make use of her blog! :-)

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