I’ve grown thick-skinned after 26 hard years. At seventeen this small-town girl met a big-city boy and fell into infatuation. After two years of dating, and three break-ups, I married that rebellious, out-of-town boy who walked into my life wearing torn and bleached blue jeans, long blonde hair and a pink corduroy hat. After 24 years of tumultuous marriage, nearly divorcing as many times as we broke up while dating, I find this pretty potted orchid by my morning coffee today.
Over the years I’ve dreaded, ignored and been disillusioned by my silly hopes for Valentines day. But in recent years I’ve despised the day. Every pink, red or purple balloon/heart/flower was salt poured in my 26 year-hard-relationship wound. But this year Valentine’s Day is on Ash Wednesday, and I’m actually thrilled! Not because I woke up to an orchid and my husband’s heartfelt note. But because I’ve learned, still learning, that I’m dust and so is my husband. And I do good to remember that it is real love which compelled Christ to bear a cross for my dust so that I could bloom in his love forever.
Ash Wednesday is the beginning of Lent. It’s the beginning of a fast to remember who we are, turning from clinging to our dust, living for ourselves, and to long for and look to the One who died in our place so that we might be free from the curse of sin and live for Him. If I forget that I’m dust I might start thinking I’m a god and should be worshipped with offerings of shiny pink boxes or long-stemmed roses. If I forget that my husband is dust I might start thinking he should act like a god and sweep me off my feet and rescue me. But if I remember I’m dust, married to dust, both of us in desperate need of the One who died to give us life, I’ll be embarking on the cross-carrying road real love is all about.
According to legend St. Valentine died for marriage. This priest was put to death in ancient times for secretly marrying Christians. I’ve learned, still learning, to die for my marriage. Any married person has to die a little, no a lot, to give marriage a chance to live. Jesus did not say, “You only live once so get as much good for yourself as you can now!” He said, “If you want to really live, you’re gonna have to die.” (My paraphrase Luke 17:33). Marriage is worth dying for. It’s beautiful, all-be-it hard, painful and messy. It’s meant to be a picture of the faithful love of Christ for the people who love him (the church). Christ died for those who love him to be like a bride to him. He died so that human beings, who are but dust, could be made like Christ, living forever with the wellspring of life that comes from him filling us. He died so that we could know what real love, real life, real hope, real peace, real happiness is. Christ is not a god who receives offerings of roses and chocolates. He is the God who lays down his life so that we, the people he loves, might live. Valentine’s Day is about dying to yourself so that marriage can live.
Twenty four years ago I walked down the isle hand-in-hand with my husband, dust holding dust. We were pronounced man and wife and I began my journey into dying to myself so that this big-city boy I fell for could see the faithfulness Christ has shown me. It’s fitting, if not a bit prophetic looking back, that we walked down that isle into the world with the song Faithfully by Journey announcing the banner over our dusty union. I hear the lyrics often in my head.
They say that the road
Ain’t no place to start a family
Right down the line
It’s been you and me
And lovin’ a music man
Ain’t always what it’s supposed to be
Oh, girl, you stand by me
I’m forever yours
Faithfully
My skin is thicker after 26 years. I’m thankful for my husband’s thoughtful orchid and note this morning- a little good in the land of the living. A little tenderness amidst a hard, dying-to-self, remembering-I’m-dust marriage. Today I’m turning again from trying to be a god who is satisfied by chocolates and roses and romantic gestures, and from trying to make my husband into a god who rescues me. I’m turning to the God who laid down his life for my ashes. There is real love. Dust I am, but by the power of his love I am more, I am a little Christ. His faithfulness reminds me he is giving me beauty for ashes. His death reminds me that real love dies for the one he loves.
Roses may be red
Violets may be blue
But real love dies
For another’s life
And dust married to dust
Doesn’t expect much
But remembers
Her Redemers last words
“It is finished” he cried
For my dust he died
To give me life he bled
Now dying to self
I have beauty instead
Sheila Dougal 