When a cord of three strands isn’t broken…

Most of our conversations these days are had in snippets- across the kitchen counter as supper meal is in preparation, inside the van en route to one activity or another.  Or carried out with me at one end of the dining room table and him at the other, conversing whilst we sit down to another crazy, noisy family meal.  We two talk in bits and pieces.  Starting a story, only to finish it minutes, hours, even days later.  It is best described as life interrupted.  Interrupted by kids, work, family, church, cell phones, Internet, friends, housework, books and other worthwhile preoccupations.

Even worthwhile interruptions are nevertheless interruptions.

We are living life in transit.  In limbo.  Gone are the spring months looking hopefully toward summertime.  Gone too is the blur that is summer, that blip of rejuvenating time which I wish could stop and stay forever.  Transported and fixed in both time and space, forever exuding restorative peace and calm.  That is the joy of summer. Then comes the fall.  And we fall hard into the vicious wheel.  Running, but never really arriving anywhere.

And in that mix of feeling and sentiment, there is a memory of a night in the haze of summer bliss.   To which I go when the ‘here and now’ seems crazy, hectic and insane.  That memory has my husband and me sitting side by side looking up at a vast expanse of sky, scattered with blinking, twinkling star lights. And if memory serves me well, I am asking him to point out constellations.  He and I both transfixed by the beauty and wonder of the universe.  And we sit in awe and quiet concentration.  We feel it- that sense that we are positioned on holy ground.  And it is a spiritual experience, not just a memory quickly forgotten.

Afterwards, we steal quietly into our camper to check on slumbering babes.  And then, we again stealthily move back outside into the night.   It is as if we are two teenagers.  We stifle giggles and stumble down a flight of rickety stairs.  And then we climb into the waiting boat where we will let her idle gently on lapping waves.  So that we can be young again.  So that we can be free.

Our precious children lie sleeping just beyond the tree line.  We can just barely make out the lights on the camper, as they shine through branches and brush.  And in the light of the moon, I lean my head close to the one I love.  And we are both so thankful for the peace of the water, for the beauty of the moonlight and for the joy of togetherness.  For the marriage of mind, soul and body.  For the ability to just be.

And I think, just now as I write, that this is what we need to claim.  The moments that are remembered as a rekindling of the fires.  When the flames were stoked and passion for togetherness is renewed.  When God’s presence is felt and the cords of marriage are strengthened.  Tightened into an intricate bond that cannot easily be broken.

If God be for us, who can be against us?

I scan status updates and find a blogger I follow has written a new post, a very public post.  Within which, she vaguely states that she and her husband are experiencing extreme marital difficulties and have been seeking marriage counsel.  That they are separated.  That life as she has known it is over.  And all this due to News that was delivered to her from her trusted spouse and life-partner.

Another one lost to statistics?  Heartbreaking, but all too common.  Life-long-commitment; no longer the road well travelled.

And I think, as I write this tonight, that we need to pray all the harder for marriage, for love and for covenant bonding of spirit and soul.  We need to reach out to those found crumbling apart from  betrayals and deceits and broken promises.  And we need to live out the marriage vows as honestly as we can, always knowing that but for the grace of God, there go I.

Go we.