One

I know this man...mio marito...mio cuore (my husband...my heart).  The fibers of our souls are stitched together.  I know this because when we are separated, I can feel the gentle thread stretching and the strain on the seams.  Our love is not perfect, there is only one love that can withstand that title, but our love is precious in it's imperfections.  I could say that we know each other in the fullest, but that would be a farce.  We will discover one another every year we walk along our path...we will see more of the hidden, more of the light and dark.  This is where the amazing imperfection comes to find it's beauty...we will still love one another.  We will never unravel our fingers from the hand of the other.  We will stand firm in what we saw in our innocence...in the very beginning.  That he fills in where I lack and I do the same for him.  Then there are places where neither of us can fill the gap and God makes His home there.

One day we will look back at the tattered map that reveals every step, every dance, every word, every misgiving and every forgiveness.  This map will teach our children what it looks like to walk the road to the "Oneness" that God promises us.  You don't just become One when the ring slides smoothly into the crook of your finger.  That takes years...learning and growing never comes on a straight and un-littered path.  I can't wait to be old and wrinkly, staring into my husband's eyes...remembering when each line in time appeared in the corners of them.  Looking back and thinking, "how did all of life happen in such a short time" because time is relative - and it will be hard to grasp where it all went and how we managed.  We will laugh at the ridiculous and share in sorrows that we carried one another through.  We will know what God meant when He said that we would become One Flesh.  We will feel each others' pain and we will relish in each others' joy...because it will be our own.

"Love is like some fresh spring, first a stream and then a river, changing its aspect and its nature as 
it flows to plunge itself in some boundless ocean, where restricted natures only find monotony, but where great souls are engulfed in endless contemplation."...Honore' De Balzac