A friend sent a
link to a story about a couple who included a high stakes promise in their wedding vows. They would never be apart. Fifteen feet was the distance they came up with for their invisible leash. As I write this John is asleep upstairs directly above this couch, which probably makes the grade. But when I walked down the stairs to get here the gap was more like twenty four. While I appreciate the somewhat naive sentiment, I think they missed the point. Perhaps the yard stick distracted them from more important measures of closeness. They got a divorce.
When John and I were engaged there was a woman we knew who was diagnosed with a brain tumor. She died, leaving a house full of children. I cried about this to John.
"What if I get cancer? What if we are separated?" I wailed.
"If that is what happens, the Lord will still take care of us. Besides this couple are so committed to each other they will be closer to each other while she is in heaven than some husbands and wives are who are iside by side." His words have stayed with me these three decades. Connection is not about proximity.
Physical space need not rule supreme.
But perhaps the sweetest part about the interchange is knowing I have a friend who is on the lookout for marriage messages to share with me. I am blessed.
