Mates with Souls
"So, what's your story?"
Every couple getting to know people for the first time are subjected to this question. People are forever curious about how you and your spouse met, what the progression of events were that mark your history together, what made you realize that you wanted to spend your life with this person, etc. Some do it because they want to see how it compares to their story together. Others do it perhaps as a lifeline to comfort themselves with the thought that all stories are different. Some people just wanted to connect, and as a society, romance is a strong, qualifying pull. Whatever the reason, it's bred within us to be curious, some borderline obsessed with the stories revolving around romantic relationships. (Just ask Mr. Sparks. I think he's capitalized on it pretty well.) There was a blog entry that circled around some social media sites a few weeks ago that I really loved, for the most part. I think it clearly exposed some fallacies upheld by certain Christian, and even secular communities concerning the term, "soulmate". I agree wholeheartedly with the tenor of the piece and the desire to eradicate false expectations surrounding marriage and God's view of it, however, there was something about it that didn't quite sit right in, well, my soul.
Mine and Rich's story isn't really a secret to anyone anymore. We've been friends for 15 years. We've been together for ten. We've been married for seven and a half. I have now know him for exactly half of my life. Somewhere in the depths of my basement is my 10th grade Geometry notebook, filled with page after page of my scrawling script, "Mrs. J. Shannon". (Forgive me, Mr. Jackson, you know I never understood what you were saying anyway, let alone adding numbers to the mix).
God certainly does not promise every little girl playing wedding dress-up a fairy tale ending, replete with Prince Charming anywhere in the Bible. No where does it say that every child with a dream of becoming a doctor will see it to fruition. Or to travel. Or to be an artist. Or circus performer. I absolutely believe in the free will He gave us to pursue His heart in loving Him with our gifts and talents, and loving His people wherever we are, whatever we are doing. But I also believe that each of our stories are different- that God uses the Holy Spirit differently in each of us, and though I do not believe everyone was meant to have a partner in this life, I do believe that I was and that no one but my husband could have fit the bill- even before I chose him.
I met Rich for the first time when I was 15 years old, studying for my driver's permit at his parent's cafe where he was working. I wore a pink tank top and jean shorts, apparently (I never remember these things, but Rich never forgets) and he refused to come out and take my order because he was too nervous (so he says). When he finally did, my heart leaped in my chest and I knew. I knew that whatever road we had ahead of us, that if I were to be married at all, it was going to be to him. This guitar wielding, baseball playing 17 year old kid with Birkenstocks and a Beatles teeshirt, scooping my Maple Walnut into a cone.
Rich and I jumped through hoops for years to avoid committing to each other until we ran out of time, ideas and places to go. Throughout our friendship we walked each other through other relationships, deaths, family strains, pursuing careers and education outside of the country, pursuing other paths and then discovering how to pursue Jesus. At every turning point, we found each other. When we finally chose each other, he told me how I was a constant, living reminder of God's faithfulness in his life. That's how we see each other. We know this kind of love is not promised to everyone, but we are so humbled and blessed that He saw fit to give it to us in the manner in which he did.
Some of our years together have been hard. Really hard. We've held each other, sometimes at arms length, through seasons of depression and despair. Anger and miscommunication. Miscarriages and illnesses. And none of them compare to the joy I feel when I see him snuggle our daughter. Hear his gentle prayers whispered over me before we go to sleep. See his earnest struggle to leave us to go to work for the day- because it is that hard for him to be away from us. My heart still flutters when he calls. When he calls me beautiful. When he holds my hand. It would be untrue to say otherwise.
I sometimes fear the asking of our story. I don't want to romanticize it in a way that might heighten it above what God is doing in the lives of the people we are sharing with. Our story is not better than any one else's. It's not ordained by God more than your story is. But at the same time, it is OUR story. The one I know God planned out exactly for us. He chose us, and we chose each other.
Mates with souls.