Eight months. In the grand timeline of life, it could be just a heartbeat. When we compare it to the sixty-four-plus-year marathon my grandparents have run, it is merely “seconds” to their “decades”. But when I count the mornings I’ve woken up to the buzz of my phone, your voice reaching out before the ward rounds or surgical procedures begin, it feels like we’ve lived a thousand small lifetimes already.
I’ve grown to love our ‘home-taught’ medical classes at the end of the day, and it’s a beautiful, funny thing to see my old biology classes come to life and finally being put to use, the last time being at my first-aid training in the Bundus. I’ll never forget how baffled you were when I blurted out ‘Deep Vein Thrombosis’ as we were travelling the other day, without a single stutter. I am officially a student of your world, and nowadays, I no longer say I have a simple neck ache. Rather, I say that I am experiencing Torticollis. We have our own shorthand for the sedative drift of Midazolam 😜, and your ‘theatre chronicles’ have become the soundtrack of our time together.
I am still trying to understand the training you guys receive at Med school, because tell me why I would be running around in panic like a headless chicken because of an infection here or a weird pain there, and you remain calm and steady all through, actually recommending some interesting home treatments. Heh! But as much as I enjoy the beautiful times, the laughter, the memories created and the shared learning, these eight months have taught me something much more rugged.
Growing up, I was lost in the pages of beautiful fairy tales. My mom actually got me one big book that had all the stories I would ever want, and I devoured those thousands of stories hungrily looking forward to the “happily ever after.” The same lie was sold in the telenovelas that we watched: that love is a seamless, rosy path of effortless beauty.
However, the reality is far more transformative. I’m starting to understand the magnitude of the statement that one of my pastors likes saying, “if you want to know how much of a sinner you are, get married.” It could be easy to love at arms length and be perfectly composed because you don’t share the same space or have conversations that could ‘make’ or ‘break’, but in the proximity of “us,” the real self always pops its head out. The fairy tales never mentioned that the “happily ever after” is actually a forge, and the work is just beginning!
John Eldredge captured this perfectly when he wrote: “We are, all of us, utterly committed and deeply devoted to our ‘style,’ our ‘way,’ our ‘approach to life.’ We have absolutely no intention of giving it up. Not even for love. So God creates an environment where we have to. It’s called marriage. (And though we are not there yet, I see the preparation daily).
In these eight months, I have seen that environment being built. I got into this relationship utterly devoted to my own “style.” I had my way of doing things (you know😅), my own stubborn approach to life, and honestly, I had no intention of giving them up. Not even for love. But I see now that God has used this closeness as a holy necessity, a place where my “way” has to die so that “us” can live and thrive. It has been a painful, beautiful journey of sanctification.
I have found myself pondering on a quote by C.S. Lewis lately: he said that love is not merely a feeling, but a deep unity maintained by the will and strengthened by habit. We are just two sinners saved by grace, learning that genuine love is the one that stays and still chooses the other person even when we don’t particularly “like” each other in a heated moment. It’s a sacrificial kind of love; a picture of how Christ loves us, His church — not because we are the perfect bride, but because He is a faithful and merciful God.
When I need to know if this path is worth the sacrifice, I look at my grandparents.
Sixty-four plus years of a shared life. As Grandpa’s memory begins to fade, to the extent of forgetting our names or who we are, I see the true cost of their covenant. My grandmother stays, not because it’s easy (there have been age-related illnesses that have made it tough) or because the feelings are “sparkly”, but because of a will reinforced by decades of asking God for grace. She remembers for him when his memory is failing. They have some ugly days, but are still devoted to each other as they were sixty years ago.
Our eight-month relationship is a sapling and vulnerable compared to their marriage which is now an ancient oak, weathered by storms and still deeply-rooted, but we are leaning onto Him who is our sure foundation, wonderful in counsel and excellent in guidance; The Lord, our Rock.
Thank you for these eight months of morning calls, medical puzzles, and the beautiful, effortful journey towards becoming one. I am so grateful to be learning what godly love really is, right by your side❤️
~Your Chaviva