Marriage Letters: Once Upon a Time

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I’m taking Amber Haines up on her invitation to write Marriage Letters every month. This month’s prompt was Once Upon a Time.

Dearest,

Once upon a time I dreamed of flying with you, of snugging into the window seat and watching the horizon for surprises.  Then, when that dream finally came true, you were the one who surprised me with our honeymoon location, revealed only with the airline attendant’s words as he handed us our tickets: enjoy your flight to San Francisco.  We went to that city without any plans, only hopes of discovery and adventure.

Once upon a time I jumped out of a plane with you.  Temporary insanity, apparently, since I would never do anything that risky again.  But the calm (like you were in line to buy a snowball, you said) was unlike anything I’d ever experienced; even in this crazy adventure, I knew I could trust you.  Someone wisecracked after we tied the knot: You trust this guy?  With my life, I shot back.

Once upon a time, you taught me to dance merengue, cumbia, cha-cha.  I wanted to spend my days dancing with you.  I thought the metaphor of a ballroom dance would carry us through.  I trusted you with the steps, with my very life.  I still trust you, not because I think you know all the steps, but because we are learning the steps together every day, trusting the Master Choreographer together.

Once upon a time, I thought I was patient.  I hung, perched on your words, admired the depth of your insights and watched, waiting, as your thoughts rolled past us all like a train bound for lands uncharted. Now I so often find myself ready to steam along when you are silent, impatient for your thoughts to slow to a stop so I can jump aboard, take the helm and switch tracks.  Forgive me.

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Once upon a time I thought our birth orders–firstborn girl, last born boy (with sisters, to boot)–was an omen of our success; after all, I’d read that in a book somewhere.  I thought I understood what marriage was hard work meant.  I didn’t realize marriage was like a rototiller doing the work on me, unearthing all the rocks of self-centeredness, churning up worms in all the tender places, long-guarded, that something new might grow.

Once upon a time, I hadn’t a clue about grace.  Sure, I had faith in Jesus, but it took someone who had experienced God’s extravagant grace extending it to me, day in and day out– seeing me at my most selfish and least gracious, and telling me gentle in the most broken of moments, “I love you,”–  to show me what it really means.

Thank you, Sweetie, for the dance, the adventure, the growth, and the grace.

Love,

Norissa

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