'Til death do us part -- and soulmates forever

(written 2 weeks before dad's homegoing)

Sooner, or sometimes later, in marriage, things get difficult. I know this not from personal experience, of course, but from watching and listening to others.

Friends have let me in to their relationships, and along the way, painted a picture of less-than-nuptial bliss; the two entities of each couple I’ve known each have their own pasts, their own preferences, and their own ideas of what’s “normal.” And so, the friction that initially sparks chemistry can turn into a fire that burns and illuminates selfishness, competing goals, and differing expectations.

If carefully tended, the fire will not char and destroy the union—but it takes a healthy dose of realism and tenacity. And, in my own opinion, supernatural help from God. Fifty percent of marriages in the US will make it. Fifty percent of those who marry, unfortunately, will divorce for a variety of reasons. (The divorce statistic is supposedly 60% for those who attend church, but don’t get me started as to why that might be.)


I was born into a union that God smiled on, was in the middle of, and one in which he still has his hands on today.

But this couple, my dear parents, could not have been more opposite if one had been born in backwoods Arkansas, and one in fast-paced Manhattan. He was studious, well-read, creative, romantic, highly affectionate, a laid-back procrastinator, and from a blended family on the east side of Michigan. She was also accomplished in her studies, but that seems to be where the similarity ends. She abhorred procrastination and tardiness; she often preferred acts of service over “I love yous” or flowers; she shyed away from spontaneity and was accomplished at balancing everything that needed to be done—and then some. And she was from ‘da U.P. of Michigan. And from a strict Baptist upbringing. Enough said.

Yes, life was interesting for these opposites. But 37 years later, although certain irritations and personality clashes still exist, they are deeply, divinely, in love.

And this is how I know. My father speaks of my mother with tenderness and gratitude these days. My mother speaks of dad with commitment and love and affection. I don’t believe that they started out as soulmates; but they are soulmates now. It’s a mystery born amidst the births of three daughters, and one son who was miscarried. They rubbed shoulders as my dad served as a pastor in several churches; my mom faithfully and willingly serving as his “woman behind the curtain.” Children married and established careers, grandchildren arrived. And no one doubted they would be partners for life. Even when they drove each other crazy!

Now that I look back on things, I don’t believe dad would have made it in ministry without her; I don’t believe mom would have wanted to do life without him.


Dad is feeble now. He has cancer everywhere, and to be honest, he may be going to meet Jesus within just a few weeks. So today, on father’s day, we gathered around his hospice bed, and stroked his legs, and kissed his head, and felt the tears gathering at the corners of our eyes.

And this is how I know my parents are soulmates, that they would do anything for each other.

This weekend, dad was lying there, and my mom entered the room after waking up from a nap and crossed over to his bed. And she leaned over him gently. He said, “Hi sweets, how was your nap?” And she “good.” And he said, “What did you dream about?” And she said “You, hubs.” And he said, “What was the dream?” And she smiled and said “That you were all better!” And he said, “That was a good dream.” And she laid her head down next to his.

And this is the truth, as true as I know how to tell it: my parents have had their ups and downs together, their jubilant highs and their very lows, but they have never given up on loving each other or being for each other. They grabbed on to God first, and knew that they would serve him as one. And they had their moments, they certainly still have their “opposites,” but they knew as long as they lived, they would also have each other.


Don’t you wish you could bottle this love, that you could find it everywhere? Oh, but its rarity makes it infinitely more precious.

And this is the kind of love I have waited for. The “I love you” that is less about red-hot chemistry than candid commitment; the heartfelt affection that seeks to give rather than take; the self-sacrificing heart that seeks to show love through the work of becoming one. When two individuals resolve to give and grow together—and to become soulmates at last.

You may have heard rumors of this kind of love before, or perhaps you have witnessed it or even experienced it yourself. But if you have not—if you, like me, are still waiting for your true love—take heart.

I have seen two people we might label a “contradiction,” love each other unselfishly, imperfectly, but faithfully. And their love glows red hot today, as he lies in his hospice bed, squeezing her hand, and she tends to his needs, lovingly, unselfishly, to the very end.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”
I Corinthians 13:7-8a