By Tetine view original here. |
Oil and water—that’s what we are, me the oldest born, him
the youngest. Me the realist, him the idealist. Me thinking eating is about
living and him thinking living is eating. Me out the front door ten minutes
early, him putting on socks in the car. Me drinking coffee straight up, him
drinking a little coffee with his Cold Stone creamer. Me focused on the task at
hand, him pausing to ponder life.
But it’s our similarities, like our love for competition and
all things athletic, that keep us loving life together. When we were college
sophomores playing Speed in the Student Center, he beat me ten times in a row,
and I threw the deck of cards in his face, and he laughed saying, “well, how
bout another round of ten, make it twenty losses for you?” When he schooled me
in basketball, I gave him a little roundhouse kick to the backside, and he just
laughed until I started laughing. He stopped laughing when I beat him in a 5k
by half a mile (secretly he’s proudJ), so this year we’re signing
up for a mud run so we finish together.
We’re minimalists wearing thrift store steals, carrying flip
phones, and driving rusty vehicles with missing door handles. We’re readers
with ten books on hold at the library and a fetish for Amazon and Half Price
Books. We’re talkers planning date nights with witty repartee over a glass of
Moscato. We’re dreamers and cynics railing against the mundane, fighting for
the beautiful.
We’re sinners needing oceans of grace.
Jon’s favorite verse—Galatians 2:20—has become our marriage
verse, keeping us learning and loving through oil-and-water moments, the joys
and pains of life. Our first year of marriage, teaching AP Lit. to seniors,
buried under Hamlet essays and
grading grammar tests, I wanted to make Jon something special for Christmas, so
I decided to cross-stitch Galatians 2:20 in Greek—the
whole verse—even though needles, thread and crafty things don’t come naturally
to this wife.
But on Christmas Eve, with half the verse stitched on cloth cut too short to stretch, I drove
to the custom framing shop down the street and begged the guy behind the white
counter to help me figure out what to do with my half-verse stitched on
too-small cloth. He helped me pick out a frame, directed me to some
sticky-board for the cloth, and offered to cut a mat out of discounted
remnants. I watched as he cut the rose-colored mat on the white counter with an
exacto knife, watched as his fingers slipped and blood oozed.
As co-workers scrambled for the first aid kit, I stared at
red blood oozing on white counter and thought of my half-verse: “I have been crucified
with Christ, therefore I no longer
live, but Christ lives in me.”
It’s only after dying that you really live, that Christ
lives in you.
Dying to Self, living to Christ, blends husband and wife together.
Christ living in me, living in Jon, breathes joy into our marriage,
giving Grace for every-day oil-and-water moments and Hope for years to come.