Marriage on Purpose

We begin to taxi toward the runway. I glance out the window. Clouds obscure any stars in the night sky.

Be married on purpose.

I said these four words just a few hours ago. I was speaking at a conference and a young woman asked me about strategies for keeping a marriage together while raising a child with autism.

Now, headed home, I have time to think about what I really meant. It’s difficult to capture something I’ve only recently begin to consider myself.

What can I say that hasn’t been said before?

Marriage is hard.

It’s a commitment to share the same bed, the same bathroom, the same meal day after day.

In theory, it’s unnatural. In reality, it’s complicated at best.

We get in shape on purpose. We load the dishwasher on purpose. We pay bills, feed the dog, buy throw pillows – all on purpose. For the most part, we try to raise our kids on purpose. 

What about marriage? Where is the intention behind the union forged in black and white?

The young woman sitting beside me shifts in her seat. I can hear the music playing in her headphones.

When our kids were little, I was often snippy when my husband Joe walked in the door after work. I stood at the stove with toddlers at my feet, trying to make dinner. He tried to kiss me. I turned away.

I had every right to be this way! After all, I was home with fussy infants and busy toddlers while he fixed teeth and smiled and laughed through his day.

I never once imagined the experience through his eyes. That’s the problem.

I never imagined what it would be like to spend the day making patients happy, and solving issues with staff, only to come home to a stand-off.

Marriage on purpose. 

Perhaps it’s imagining life through more than one viewpoint. 

It’s taking your reaction, your behavior, your opinions, and filtering them through your partner’s lens.

As I round the corner toward fifty, I would take every petty moment back if I could. 

My husband Joe and I have been married for twenty-five years. In the beginning, I wished for more romance. Flowers. Gifts. Compliments.

It’s only lately I began to realize he has been writing love letters all along. A full tank of gas when my car is close to empty. A bagel toasted as a late-night snack. Waiting up for teenagers to return safely while I go to bed early.

Not pen to paper, yet still the words swirl around me with color and light.

And in this life alongside autism, on the days when I couldn’t see the sun for the clouds, he takes my hand in his and helps me reach beyond the storm.

He held up half my sky.

He holds up half my sky.

Marriage.

It’s just a million little moments, all strung together until they make a life.

It’s knowing that, if given the chance, I would take this ride again. One hundred times over, I would do it again.

The plane touches down on the ground. There are a few bumps before things smooth out. The aisle fills with passengers pulling their bags from the overhead bins. Out the window, the sky has cleared.

Soon, I will walk through the kitchen door. I will go to him and he will fold me in his arms. This man. The companion of my heart. 

Home. 

I smile. 

May the stars shine.

May the music play.