My brief relationship with Mr. and Mrs. C began a few weeks ago.
I was impressed from the first phone call: Mrs. C told me upfront that they had prayed exhaustively about whether their disabled child’s needs were best being met at home, or whether their child would be better off living in a facility. They were diligently seeking the Lord’s plan, she said, because they were devout Christian believers.
I loved that her faith was so important to her that she told me, a complete stranger to her, about it in casual conversation, and I felt a sort of bond with her instantly.
Several phone calls passed between us since that first one, and it was no surprise when I met them in person for the first time that I liked them immediately. She, sweet and happy, chatty and friendly, and he, rugged and strong, silent and decisive. Almost always its mom who collapses in a puddle during facility tours, but it was he, the strong silent one, who broke down and cried this time.
They made mention of their faith in Jesus Christ at various points in our conversation, not in a deliberate, forced way that called attention to it, but as if faith was central to every last one of their thoughts.
The extreme love and dedication to their child was evident in the multitude of questions they asked, and at the end of the tour Mr. C shook my hand and gave me their unequivocal decision.
Mrs. C nodded enthusiastically in agreement.
Without ever consulting each other: he spoke, she agreed… wholeheartedly, peacefully, happily.
I pondered on the unity of their decision all day….. how he knew without asking her, and how she answered without ever being asked.
There was no control, no authority, no manipulation, no caving under pressure; no one bossing, no one submitting. The answer miraculously passed between them, unspoken.
Max Lucado sent me an email devotional today called The Wedding Prayer. It read like this:
Create in us a love, O Lord.
An eternal love …
A love that forgives
Create in us a love, O Lord.
A new love.
A fresh love.
A love with the tenderness
of a lamb,
of a mountain,
of a lion.
And make us one. Intimately one.
As you made a hundred colors into one sunset,
A thousand cedars into one forest,
and countless stars into one galaxy …
make our two hearts as
Father, forever …
that you may be praised, Father,
Max’s email today reminded me again about Mr. and Mrs. C and the oneness existing between the two of them.
That usually isn’t the case: when it comes to the decision to admit their child to a facility, mom and dad often disagree. Mom cries and pleads, dad insists. Almost always. Its a life-alteringly difficult decision, and mommas never separate from their babies easily.
The difference between Mr. and Mrs. C and all the others was that their faith had somehow made them ONE.
Having failed monstrously myself, I’m fascinated with what it is that makes some relationships great, and what makes some of them miserable failures. I make mental notes about the happy ones I see; in this day and age happy, successful relationships are like unicorns, miraculous and exceedingly rare, and I want to know how those couples make it work.
After meeting Mr. and Mrs. C today I’m adding them to my role model list. Someday I want what they have. I want the faith in God that they have that oozed from their every sentence.
Only God can do that miraculous thing that turns two people into one.
And the words of Max Lucado’s prayer make that sound awfully appealing.