Wherefore They are No More Twain

Recently my youngest daughter, Mary, came home from Texas, where she lives and works, so that we could prepare for her wedding next month, here in Utah. For the three and half days she was here we were busy every minute: Getting the dress altered, visiting the venue, arranging food. We spent most of Tuesday scouring the shops for the perfect wedding shoes, only to settle for. . . almost perfect. We had three appointments with the dressmaker altering her dress. Sometimes as we drove around and scurried in and out of stores, we would look at each other and say, “Really? All of this work for one day? For a few hours?”

But I wouldn’t trade it. These days of planning and preparing were a pure joy: A chance to be with my daughter, to laugh and giggle, to share memories of my wedding, my early married years, to talk about her plans for the future.

And now Mary has gone back to Texas, I’m thinking about not just wedding preparations, but marriage preparations. As in, can you prepare?

Mary and Krystian are as prepared as any couple can be. They have been friends for four years, been a couple for two. In the months they were deciding about marriage, they spent an evening each week discussing aspects of married life: one week it was finances, the next relatives, then chores, then jobs. They know each other well. In the “newlywed” bridal shower games, they get almost every answer right.

They have a strong foundation. But still I find myself wanting to advise them, to help them. I decided to write this post about marriage, but I’ve been through draft after draft and nothing seems right. How do you confine the experience of marriage in 800 words? Or 10,000? Or any length or kind of writing?

There’s the joy of waking up every day next to your best friend, the person who loves you best of all. The wonder of watching together a tiny baby so perfect and wonderful that you don’t want to look away for fear of missing a tiny grimace or yawn. The fun of painting walls and planting flowers and buying furniture together and knowing it couldn’t have been done without the shared talents of you both. There’s those times when all your little kids pile on the bed and you laugh and tickle and giggle.

 

But marriage is life and life is unpredictable and what happens when things get tough? What will happen that inevitable time when she or he will do something and he and she will yell or cry? What will happen when jobs don’t go as planned? What will happen if one of them or one of their children gets terribly sick? What will happen if a child chooses poorly and hurts them?

Do they understand that marriage is not just the two of them, it’s his family and hers, it’s their children and their children’s children.

It is leaving father and mother and becoming one. It is starting a new family kingdom that is linked to so many others in a chain going back and forward eternally. It is forevermore thinking not me but we.

It is deciding to “Come what may and love it,” as Joseph B. Wirthlin advised (Ensign, November 2008). Or, more appropriately for marriage: Come what may and love him. And them.

I like the way the Anglican vows specify the possibilities: for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish. Whatever happens, that is the bottom line--to love and to cherish, no matter what.

Then someday forty years have passed and you say “I saw whatsisname at Costco today, you know, the one with the hair” and he knows just who you mean.

I think these two do get it. I have heard them make decisions, the way they listen to each other and ask good questions, the way they consider the other person’s needs as well as their own.  They are going to be OK. They will love and cherish through all the joys and sorrows. They will cleave together and be one.

For this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife: and they twain shall be one flesh. Wherefore they are no more twain, but one flesh. (Matthew 19:5-6)