Fingerprints, DNA, snowflakes, personalities, and life experiences: no two are alike. Thus our infinite God has created infinite possibilities despite our finite minds. For that kind of math we use exponents, and maybe a statistician or two, and a graphing calculator with built-in algorithms. And any other help we can get for that matter. But for God it's easy.

Here's the theorem we husbands and wives are to prove: One man plus one woman equals one flesh for one lifetime.

That's a lot of ones that don't lead to a higher number. Like many of God's principles, this proposal flies in the face of simplistic, earthly knowledge. Marriage won't make it past a first grade math teacher, and we've always known one plus one equals two but it doesn't stop us from gambling a lifetime on fuzzy math. We turn our backs on simple addition for the lure of chemistry and the intrigue of melding into another, even if figuring out how to do this takes a lifetime.

Two becoming one involves more chemistry than what was present on the first date. It involves pressure, fissure, fission, friction, shedding, dying, living, and tears on the front steps together holding hands. It doesn't fit neatly in a test tube over a Bunson burner. It's the open-ended science experiment of chemistry in biology class with enough calculus and theology thrown in to baffle even Isaac Newton with his telescope and its prism that breaks white light into myriad colors. It goes beyond known physics, mathematics, astronomy, natural philosophy, alchemy, and theology, all of which Newton was expert in. For us it's hard; for God it's easy.


He made two from one, then asks the two to become one again.

Marriage is two distinct entities lessening to become a mere one, except they become more — somehow — instead of less. It cannot be explained by a math equation. So we wrestle with our inability to become less than the one we were in order to become one with another. It is abject, captivating oneness, a whole that's more than oneself, yet achieved only by the decomposition of that one self. It's white light that decomposes to refract the glory of the full spectrum from the heavenly side of Newton's prism.

One plus one equals one (plus God's beautiful, infinite possibilities).

For us this takes faith; for our infinite God it does not. Find comfort in that and trust Him.

For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully as I also have been fully known. (1 Corinthians 13:12)

I, Dawn, (the girl I was then, with my few life experiences and my naïve view of the world, together with my blood relatives somewhat in tow,  my friends, my pet peeves and my penchant for fingernail polish, with my fears and unfinished business, my short-comings and my need for ducks to line up in neat rows, and the fluidity of these issues that changed who I became over time)

Take you, Mike, (the man I was head over heels for, who also changed over time, with more education, future ventures gained and lost, with your career change, your zeal, your coffee too strong for me to drink, your daring, your love of softball and your unflinching convictions)
To be my wedded (joined forevermore on legal papers and in my heart) husband.

To have and to hold (that you are mine to share with none other, you whom I keep and treasure above all else and others, to think that you gave yourself to me — how exquisite indeed),
From this day forward (that moment that was monumental, when "I do" and "I will" changed utterly everything afterward, never to be undone),

For better (celebration hospital meals in the presence of a newborn, snow in Mississippi, promotions, honesty whispered in the dark cheek to cheek, Christmas mornings, and your earlobe),
For worse (there's been an accident, you're fired, it's cancer, you'll never understand!, burned pots, stranded and left on the shoulder of the interstate in Atlanta with a van full of youth, throwing a plate, disappointments, almost running out of gas, yelling, costly mistakes),

For richer (I start Monday!, Graduation Day (x2), Disney, automatic transmission and a sun roof, we got the house!, it's a boy followed by a few girls),
For poorer (dorm life, praying to find stray coins behind the back seat of the car for gas money, you're fired, Hudson's Salvage Center, U Haul, Disney),

In sickness (he's in ICU and may not make it through the night, lost in a strange city frantically seeking the hospital parking garage, all night prayer vigils that God will spare him  for the sake of a 10 month old, following an ambulance, hospital stink, both of us between the bed rails)
And in health (laps at the seminary campus, around Laurel High School track, and while the toddler watched from the storm door, P90X together in the garage — Bring it!, Jenny Craig, a kitchen cabinet full of whole food supplements),

To love and to cherish (toes that find each other in sleep, speaking volumes without a word, inside jokes like "good morning!", holding hands for no reason in the car)
Til death do us part (only one lifetime?)

And hereto I pledge (as in yes and amen) you my faithfulness (endless dirty dishes and laundry piles notwithstanding).

This is what I vowed (and what I now know those vows meant, and what I would do all over again given half a chance.)

Take Home: Have you thought about what your vows really mean?

People always want to know two things:  how you met and how you got engaged. Other than the fact that they both took place, neither is all that important. It's a bone of contention with me because we don't have a good story on either count, but I do have an amazing marriage. Why don't people ever ask you how that happened?

Mike and I have conflicting stories about when we met, and that's because we met over and over again with unremarkable results, until finally on separate occasions, we made enough of an impression on one another to actually remember meeting. And Mike's first impression of me (or eighth, we'll never know for sure) wasn't even a good one.

The engagement story is even worse. We had wandered into a fight about ex-boyfriends (not that I had many, but he'd have preferred none) and while we were making up Mike blurted, "Don't you know I want to marry you? I want you to be my wife! Will you be my wife?"

More certain of this than anything I had known in my eighteen years, I said, simply, "Yes." And that was it.

There was no ring, no kneeling, no plan, only a promise neither of us quite knew we were ready to make before that moment. We were nine months into a dating relationship and young: two more factors added to our spontaneity that were all non-recommendations for marriage.



Regardless, we forged ahead. Youthful ignorance kept us oblivious to the knowledge that a lifetime together would afford us a myriad of occasions to put our vows to the test, and equal opportunities to walk by faith in love.

Together.

Choosing to do so is where good marriages begin, not at an altar dressed in white; almost everybody manages to get that part right. It's the stuff that comes after the wedding that digs dirty roots down deep and blossoms beautiful. It's not nearly as entertaining to tell as how you met and got engaged, but it is exactly where God presses two together until they are one.

Take Home:  What are you two doing now to grow together?

Yesterday, I prayed for marriages, many of them. I made the offer, and people found me on Facebook: old friends, new friends, men, women, family members, and people I've never even met in real life. Some who have ministered to me in the past, others who knew me as a girl and never once saw me do anything overtly Christian. Some whose marriages I know are troubled. Some who are much further down the road of life than I. Some that I pray with regularly and still others I've never prayed for before.

I wanted to offer hope to those whose marriages might be in need. I think that happened. I hope so. I may have even prayed for a few marriages that are already strong.



But what I didn't expect was to be bowled over by the experience myself. Just that you said yes! You knew I was going to pray right there in cyber-public -- about you marriages for Pete's sake -- and you asked anyway. Some private messaged me about other issues, some offered prayers for me instead. But every response left me in awe of you. Each of you who reached out and even those who didn't but really, really wanted to.

And it was surprisingly humbling. Prayers were whispered and promises were remembered. Prayers will be heard, and life-love will be the answer. Seemingly spontaneous -- because the dark places just don't seem  so dark and lonely anymore. All of a sudden, they're aflutter with life and love on the wing of prayer.

Sarah just might have been on to something. The joy of it does kind of make you laugh happy.

Take Home:  Will you keep praying?

Take Home:   Selah

We lost Mike's dad to a massive heart attach almost fourteen years ago. He was a large man, but he was also larger than life in the figurative sense, too. We miss him on so many occasions for so many reasons.

Mike's parents fled Cuba for the U.S. with young children, and Spanish was their first language. Mike's dad used to insist that it was the heavenly language and warned me that I'd better learn it. He was kidding. I think.  But they both spoke some English as well.

One time long before Youtube, they came for a visit when Mike was going through his second country music phase. He had come across a song by Alabama called It Works. He couldn't help but think of his parents and he played the song for them on the cassette player in the car dashboard. This is what they heard.


{If you are reading in a reader, this post contains a video.}

When the song ended, Mike's dad, with tears in his sentimental eyes, said reflectively, "That song is right — it's work."

We laughed until we cried, after, that is, Mike explained in Spanish what his father had actually said in English.

Take Home: A cheerful heart is good medicine ... . (Proverbs 17:22, NLT)

What will it take for you two to get there? Are you willing to take those steps?

One lifetime's not long enough. It's what I tell him now. I've thought much about what life would be without him. He's almost left me for heaven too many times.

There was a nasty bout with pancreatitis mid-twenties and a relapse a few weeks later that boomeranged us back to the ER and another hospitalization. Our mid-thirties uneathed a cancer diagnosis that ran wild amongst a wiley second grader and two pre-schoolers. It was a touch-and-go month of hospital beds I prayed would not be a deathbed. Never mind the actual treatment that half kills.

And in those eleventh hour vigils enveloped by the organic smell of infirmity and strangled fear, I planned. I thought of mortgage payments and college tuition, a late start career and single motherhood, and made a morbid plan.

How would I live without him? 

And my thoughts were pragmatic because the practical was urgent and I couldn't bear the sentimental. But he is more than his paycheck, his stern daddy voice, and horsey rides for a house full of three-feet-tall laughter.

And I think of these things now, while he's healthy and lingers longer with me. He winks when no one watches, and for a moment, although we're five, it's just he and I hanging by a glance in mid-air. I hear him breathe life's rhythm beside me, steady and quiet through the nights. He hugs from behind when I'm anchored to a sinkful of suds, and I feel his palm on my middle holding me strong. I am filled when he eats from my dishes and am heady with the smell of him is in my sheets.

These are the things that make me know two things for certain when two-become-one are finally parted by death.  I will be but half, and one lifetime will have not been near enough.


Take Home: Are there defining moments in your marriage that caused you to take stock and stop taking your mate for granted?