There is a
sweet story about two girls who shared an experience. They were each born with one
arm. Their mothers searched on the internet for another child facing the same challenge and for years they stayed in touch by email and skype. Because of what they didn't have they felt a stronger connection with one another than with any of their other friends. They shared ideas for coping and boosted each other's confidence.
Finally it was time to meet in person. One family flew over an ocean. The other bought food and spread clean sheets. When the car drove up,
the girls hurled themselves into their two arms and cried. The bond was more permanent than a prosthetic.
On a planet with seven billion people on it, these two teenagers felt closer than words can describe, because of their heartaches. Amazingly, it only took one person.
Marriage is intended to be the mathematical solution to anonymity. We partner up so that we can rest from the overwhelming task of saving the whole world, and give
of ourselves to one person. One person whose burden we share.
Yet sometimes the fit is less than ideal, like a long sleeved jacket on a girl with one arm. Then it might make sense to find someone whose marriage faces similar lacks. Sometimes people come to me with quiet pain, looking for a person who understands.
My husband is on the spectrum.
My wife is
depressed.
My husband is addicted to porn.
My wife drinks to excess.
Mercifully, there are people who get it. Twelve step groups have been connecting folks for three generations, and although they do not make the problems
evaporate, they can offer understanding.
Sometimes it just takes one person to keep the loneliness from taking up residence.
