During World History my freshman year of college, I worked on a group project writing a paper about the wild things religious people do (i.e. suicide missions). Our purpose was to debate with another team about how not all Islamic people wanted to kill other people. Somewhere in the collaborative thinking, we argued that all religions had extremist members, even our own “radical Christian sects.” After it was typed into the paper, we all paused then laughed uncontrollably, as we considered this to be a rebellious pun at our conservative Christian college.
Today, Ben and I have been married for three years. I kissed his cheek as he slept this morning before I left for work, and even though it’s 9pm, I haven’t seen him since that kiss. We worked hard all day, and I’ll still be folding laundry when he gets home.
To further the Disney-induced dreams of ever-after happiness, I feel entirely romanced today. I walked in the door tonight to find that Ben had done the dishes. He’d also made the bed and taken out the garbage. The most twitterpating part is that these acts aren’t special occasions but things he does on a regular basis.
I have heard so many brides and grooms make beautiful promises such as “I’ll love you every day for the rest of my life,” or “I’ll always call you Sweetheart,” or “I promise to always treat you with respect.” Of course, I wanted to be able to promise these things, too, but when I stood in my wedding dress in front of my future husband, I could only promise other things. I promised that I would wake up angry for no reason at all. I promised that there would be days that I would be a terrible, unloving wife. I promised that we would stay up late fighting, trying not to go to sleep angry. I promised we would struggle in ways we didn’t even know existed.
Those may sound like sobering vows, but forever is serious business. We said, “For as long as we both shall live,” in front of a God we’re outrageous enough to believe in, and if we complete our mission successfully, no one comes out alive. It’s basically a double suicide mission, and it’s one in which we take pride. It’s one that causes us to dance to silly songs in our living room and grin at each other across the table a local greasy spoon. It’s the reason we hold hands and tell each other about our work days. It’s a mission that makes every task worthwhile, and as my World History study group agreed, “There are even radical Christian sects.”