My oldest daughter let me fix her hair. I explored braids, and Mary Janes, ropes and hair bands. On special occasions I made crowns that twisted in a circle with baby's breath slipped in. She had opinions too, and insisted that I get a ruler to insure that the barrettes were equidistant from the part. 

The twins have mostly done each other's hair, and explored less. But braids still show up now and then. 

I love that braids are made of three strands. One or even two don't hold their shape. But when there is a triad of components they cling and yet retain their uniqueness. 

Marriage is intended to braid two lives together. Yet everything works better when there is a third strand. God has been the common thread in our life, somehow both tying John and I together, and keeping our personhoods distinct. 

We could not possibly have predicted the meandering path that is our life. Physical moves, job changes, health issues, extended family needs, financial constraints, and parenting have sent us on more curves than a braid on a little girl's head.

Yesterday we moved our daughter home from her apartment in Philly. Seven people loaded up three cars with her earthly possessions, and headed for 95. I tried to stay behind John, but lost sight of him at a red light. Yet I knew that even as we wove in and out of traffic, we were headed to the same place. I like that. 

And sure enough, when I pulled into the driveway, there he was. 

In its essence, marriage love is nothing else than the willing of two to be one, that is, their desire that the two lives shall become one life.

Married Love 215 Emanuel Swedenborg