Never Give Up

I just came from a church service where the pastor preached to married couples on the topic “Never Give Up.”

But I’m writing to you because I was distinctly amazed by what happened after the sermon was over.

Normally, I assume that people hear messages, but don’t always put them into use. I imagined that married couples in the room experiencing seasons of dryness or near-divorce or hatred towards one another would have left the room and driven home together without addressing the depth of the message or even making eye contact.

But as hundreds of bodies flocked out of the building, sparing no time whatsoever, I noticed one lone couple still standing in the middle of a section of deserted seats. The man held the women close, and she slipped her arms around his waist as she gazed up into his face.

But she wasn’t the one talking. No, her expression was – thawing, maybe? You know, like she had been cold towards him for so many months – barely surviving – but now this man, her man, stopped her as she gathered her things after service and said, “We need to talk.”

Now she looked up at him, and he was saying very serious words to her. While everyone else was pushing to get out of the building, he was pressing into her heart, and she was melting, finally melting. She nodded to some of the things he said and  smiled like people do when they are trying to maintain immovable exteriors but are simultaneously stunned by the words of adoration being offered to them. That’s the best I can describe it; it was an incredibly sensitive and beautiful thing to watch.

Because I haven’t seen this part, when the husband takes the first steps to bridge the distance in his marriage. There was a sense of humility, shattered pride, and difficulty in their expressions, but there were having this conversation anyway, and they were not going to wait. They refused to give up.

I thought that was beautiful and worth sharing.

Red, Beige, and Cream

The floor was carpeted with murky brown and creaked as you stepped on them – which I loved. The walls were dark beige, adorned with the occasional wrought-iron artistic whim. The doors were thin and white, with barely-functionable antique knobs. There were three main rooms, each cluttered with non-matching wooden desks, cushioned chairs, and tables for studying.

But the gem I found was in the room with the beige-ish loveseat, black leather armchair, and secluded nook…

(From “Day of Rest”)

Even though I decided to settle with my study materials at a desk in another room, I felt drawn by the couple softly chatting on the couch in the next room. I rose, grabbed my laptop, and sheepishly peered inside.

“Do y’all mind if I sit in here?” I didn’t want to invade their privacy if they were sharing a truly intimate moment. The room is too small for any seclusion.

The man, college-aged with straight, jet-black hair, almond-shaped eyes and cream-colored skin answers immediately, his tone easy-going and welcoming.

“You can sit anywhere.”

“Yeah, anywhere,” the girl’s voice overlaps with his.

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