We look at each other and we know, wordless, that we have come to an end, toes edged right up against all that we can take in this moment. There is a terrible reality hanging in the air, the kind of moment when all you can think is this can’t be happening. But it is. And we keep on breathing through it.
But there we stand, the mix of fear and worry and exhaustion painted plainly on our faces, suddenly aged beyond our years, silent before the Lord that only knows how the rest of this story will go. And I am struck by the sight of us there and more than the weight of the horror is the weight of what stands out to me in this heightened moment – our togetherness. Lovely though they were, the rings and vows and wedding guests dabbing at their tears that marriage-day seem so futile now, in this, in the face of real. ugly. painful. scary. life.
This is commitment. This is love.
Standing soul-bare, side-by-side and I have never been so empty.
And I have never been so full.
It occurs to me only here, only just now and in the hollow quiet of this barren moment that at the bottom of fear and loss and emptiness is only awareness of what remains when there is nothing else.
In this moment I see that the strong love is the quiet love. The love that fears together and wonders together and laughs together and sits quietly together when there are no more words to be said. Love is the practice of love’s presence.
This broken girl is two kinds of bride all at once and imperfectly running toward renewal at both altars -- altars of faith and of matrimony, covered over by the love that is action and the love that is left over in emptiness, running over in abundance.