A couple of days ago, my husband and I celebrated our 19^th anniversary in a rather “special” way. I use inverted commas around the word ‘special’ to convey semi-sarcasm.

We’ve always done something special (no inverted commas) for our anniversary. Even when the kids were screeching, red-faced hatchlings, thanks to indulgent grandparents offering to babysit, we could sneak away for a dinner date or a weekend getaway.

But this year turned out to be slightly different. Instead of white tablecloths and pristine dinnerware, we got a bag of greasy KFC takeout. Instead of Pino noir, we shared a can of Pepsi. Instead of a fancy schmancy hotel, we stayed in a room with walls painted a Pepto Bismol/ Gelusil pink. Instead of romantic mood lighting, the room shone with fluorescent light. And we had a squeaking lizard for company.

If you happened to read my last blog post, you’ll know that my husband needed to have surgery last week. We had decided to get the procedure done at a reputed Christian hospital in a town four hours away from home. We had to drive back to the hospital on our anniversary for a follow-up appointment and, hence, the story of the “special” anniversary at a not-so-glamorous (but adequate) guest house.

While, of course, I wouldn’t have minded the usual roses-and-red-wine type anniversary getaway, I felt like this year’s celebration was, perhaps, more memorable. I’m not being tongue-in-cheek here. This anniversary was different, yes, but in a good way.

It was symbolic of almost two decades together where we celebrated not just the highs but more so the lows. It was during those lows—those times when we were completely out of our depth—when we learned together to cling to Jesus. Through uncertainties, job changes, learning the ropes as immigrants in the US, moving between countries, multiple hospitalizations, dealing with deep loss and debilitating grief, walking through anxiety and burnout, and facing fears, we grew stronger as one unit that had little choice but to say, “God, we can’t. But we know You can.” We learned (and are learning) to lean more fully on the Lord.

One of the biggest lessons from this season has been that marriage is about “we,” not about “me.” That seems fairly obvious, doesn’t it? This is Marriage 101. But the thing is, we are dreadfully self-centered people. We are consumed by our own opinions, thoughts, dreams, and emotions. We often think in terms of, “What’s in it for me?” versus “How can I bless my spouse?” But marriage is not meant to be transactional. It’s meant to be sacrificial. Christian marriage reflects Christ’s love for the Church. Christ gave Himself up for church. He poured out His life even unto death. He came to that which was His own—but His own did not recognize Him and even rejected Him.

If Jesus had waited for us to clean up our act, we would have never made the cut. He demonstrated His love for us while we were still enemies of God.

After 19 years of marriage, my prayer is that God would teach me to love my husband the way He loves me and gave Himself up for me.

It’s a rebellious counter-cultural love that pays scant attention to self.

It’s a ridiculously self-giving love that wants only the best for the other.

It’s a radically submissive love that wields power yet yields to meekness.

Honestly, a few years ago, my natural instinct would have been to throw a pity party for my less-than-Insta-worthy anniversary celebrations. But because of Christ’s work in me, I can now see the beauty of the “lows.” I can see the value of quiet, sacrificial love. I can see that love is not self-seeking but self-giving.

When things get back to routine, the hubbers and I will likely go on a real date. Maybe there will be fine china, table linen, and startlingly tiny bits of food arranged on a large white plate with artistic swooshes of sauces. But through the “special” and imperfect moments, I’m grateful that marriage shapes us to be who God intended for us to be. I’m thankful that He holds two broken people together to create a beautiful story for His glory.

 

 

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