By Erin Eddy 
Recently, a coworker revealed she’d met someone new. Her tone was hopeful and giddy; I leaned in, detail-hungry, completing my work as she divulged information about this man who’d abruptly entered her life. After a moment or two, her countenance shifted though—when, I’m convinced, she thought maybe she sounded like little more than a love-crazed teen.
“Sorry, I’ll get over it,” she promised, dismissively slicing the air with one hand in a way that told me the conversation had just ended. She straightened her smile, caught her breath, and attempted to proceed with the night. I knew exactly the fire she felt needed to be extinguished. It was the same butterfly-laden stomach lovesickness I’d felt when my husband and I got together, the same feeling a majority of lovers experience at first.
An alarm immediately sounded within me. Momentarily halting any movement, I elevated my chin and made sure my co-worker’s eyes locked on mine. I tend to be quiet at work, but this situation necessitated feedback. “Don’t get over it,” I urged simply, softly. Never get over it, I thought.
It’s commonplace in marriage, isn’t it? To get over it? First, we meet. Our hearts thump wildly. We exhaust ourselves essaying to impress. We buy flowers. We put our phones down. We eagerly extend kindness and energy and grace. Our fingers are constantly tangled. We nuzzle. We forgive. We show up. We go completely out of our way to build oneness. We are faithful.
Then, the clock ticks. The page of the calendar flips. We lose sight. We grow weary. So weary. Hardships suddenly begin to abound.
We march past the flowers. We scream names in the night. Our attention becomes mis-prioritized. We let go of our plans and each other’s hands. We’re caught off-guard. We loosen our grip. We sleep back-to-back, arms folded over chests, and avow war. We pledge allegiance to lies and determine that within them there isn’t any good. We look elsewhere. We become sarcastic. We grow bitter. We feel angry. We lose sight. We give up.
We get over it.
But . . . “Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity. but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things” (1 Corinthians 13:4-7 KJV).
These truths in the New Testament affirm that loving another person will not be burden-free—our relationships are sure to face affliction in an imperfect world. There will be things to bear. It’s when we hold fast that we genuinely experience God’s definition of love and the coveted unity it produces. Nothing in my marriage has strengthened us more than when my husband and I have held each other’s hands through the hard. When we have decided on purpose to stay together, no matter what.
All the time, everywhere, new relationships take shape. Two people meet. Their hearts start thumping, wildly. Their fingers become constantly tangled. They eagerly extend kindness and energy and grace. They show up. And suddenly hardships will begin to abound. But their sweet story will have every chance of succeeding and flourishing so long as they grip tightly, unconditionally—through it all.
So long as they refuse to get over it.
Originally published on the author’s Facebook page
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