Stumbled across this poem in my reading for Youth and Family Ministry. Hope you enjoy!
An Ode to Marriage"You know, it could happen to us,"
you said to me,
sitting in your favorite chair as we sipped coffee,
digesting the news of the latest couples splitting up.
"No matter how great we think we have it,
if all
those people can break up
it could happen to us.
We're humans like them.
It is possible."
I didn't answer for a while.
We were both incredulous at the news.
Men and women of maturity
decades-long marriages
so many have exploded, one after another.
Almost every week, another set of names.
Not him! Not her!
They're too sensible, too solid.
"You're right," I finally admit.
We've never joked about divorce,
never brought it up as an option.
We declared total commitment to each other
and must reaffirm that always.
But maybe realizing it could happen to us
helps us make sure it won't.
How terrible to think of an argument
someday when one of us feels
the need for the ultimate weapon,
"Well, obviously there's no sense staying together.
We're just hurting each other,
just keeping each other trapped."
Those are words mouthed in kitchens
and bedrooms of "mature" Christian homes.
REmember how our love began?
Years ago, I offered you my arm
that September night we first went out.
You reached for it
as we leaped a puddle together.
Then you walked just close enough
to show you liked it.
I glimpsed your face under the streetlight,
excitement splashing gently on it....
No commitment - just beginnings.
My arm pulled you that January eve
right beside me in that car.
Midnight. Time to leave.
"Good night" wasn't quite enough,
and our lips touched gently
in a kiss as light as an angel cake.
"I like you," it said,
but nothing more.
November air had rough-scrubbed our faces.
As we wrestled playfully
in your parent's farmhouse.
That moment I knew
and breathed into your hair,
"I LOVE YOU."
The words exploded around us.
They meant far more than "you're nice."
They meant commitment.
Your words came back to me
in firm, sure sounds:
"I love you too."
And our kiss of celebration
was the beginning of a new creation.
Yes, I chose you.
Out of all the lovely girls I knew.
I chose you.
How marvelous are the women of planet Earth,
hair flaring in the wind
rich browns and golds,
a thousand delicious shapes
girls who laugh saucily
girls who read Browning
girls who play sitars
girls who fix carburetors.
Of all those fascinating possibilities,
I chose you.
Decisively. Permanently.
Is that self-entrapment?
Wasw a commitment made in youth
to bind me a lifetime?
Ah, but it was as strong as birth,
a fresh creation,
soon to be a new flesh,
you and I as one.
We chose each other.
We created something new under the sun.
You to shape me
and I you,
like a Luther Burbank original.
We, our own new creation,
to produce fruit wholly unique,
UNIQUE IN THE UNIVERSE!
Then the wdding,
flying rice and honeymoon
days and nights together.
Two persons
as unalike as birch and cypress
had chosen each other.
The heavens laughed
and the sands of the earth
lay ready for the tender feet
of our newborn self.
Does time change all that?
Were we naive? Now, after we have
loved, argued, laughed, given birth,
what does it mean
when I hold you and say,
"I love you"?
Without the young-love ecstasy,
is it required rote
or reaffirmation of our new creation?
"I love you."
My temples don't pulse as I say it.
My body does not ache for coupling,
not as it did.
Yet the words carry more fact
than ever they did in courtship.
They embrace a million moments shared...
Standing together
atop Cadillac Mountain
and aching to absorb the blue-white-green beauty...
or angrily expounding to each other in the kitchen
about our particular stupidities,
then sharing a kiss ten hours later...
bonding moments, holding us together.
How easily those bonds could be tyrannical.
"You always forget..." "You never think..."
And bitter moments bite into their flesh
with blinding ropes that tie them to the
time and place instead of to each other.
Yet bonds can be a
thousand multicolored strands
of sorrow, joy, embarrasment,
of anger, laughter shared
as we watch God maturing us,
as we gently tell each other
of our joys, our fears,
even of our fantasies.
Rope is rope.
Experiences are much the same:
crabby days,
laughing days,
boring days.
We'll go through them "in love,"
by commitment to each other,
sharing, forgiving,
not blaming, not hurting.
Yet when we do hurt,
we ask forgiveness,
so the ropes will bind us together.
For if they don't
they'll wrap around our throats,
so that each struggle will tighten the noose,
and we'll have to reach for the knife to cut the bonds.
"I love you."
It sounds trite -
but not if it's remembering
the thousands of strands
of loving each other when we don't feel lovely,
of holding each other,
of winking across a room,
of eating peanut butter sandwiches beside the surf.
And of getting up in the morning
thousands of times, together,
and remembering what we created,
the day we first said "I love you,"
Something permanent
and growing
and alive.
~ Harold Myra, 1979~