Not long ago, I was thinking about marriage vows. Two events were overlapping: I was going to be presiding over a wedding, and a day after that ceremony, my wife and I would be celebrating our 23rd anniversary. I couldn’t help but think about those vows.
I love the traditional vows. I’ve never heard wedding vows that have improved upon them. Twenty-three years ago I stood in the sanctuary of our church, before a group of friends and family, and said, “I, Penny, take you Kat to be my wife; and I do promise and covenant; with you and with God; before these witnesses; to be your loving and faithful husband; in plenty and in want; in joy and in sorrow; in sickness and in health; as long as we both shall live.” Whenever I preside over a wedding, I make sure to point out what the bride and groom are saying with these words. Plenty and want, joy and sorrow, sickness and health — I ask, “What circumstance, what situation isn’t covered by these words? Every occasion that comes our way, whatever it may be, it’s covered by these vows. There isn’t a single thing that we may experience as a couple where I can say, ‘I didn’t sign up for this.’” As a matter of fact, on the day of your wedding, you did.
In 1 Corinthians 13:7, Paul says that “Love … endures all things.” Endurance — that’s one of the defining qualities of love. That’s what those vows are echoing: that whoever says those words, and to whomever they say it, they’re declaring, “With you, I will endure.”
I said those words to my wife, and Kat said them back to me. We believed them. We didn’t doubt for an instant that these things were true. And yet, the truth is, we didn’t really know what we were saying. It’s easy to speak of plenty, want, joy, sorrow, sickness, and health on the most celebratory day of your life. And that’s why we say them in that moment; because we had no idea what we were signing up for. We said those vows, but over time we had to learn them. It’s through joy and sorrow, plenty and want, that the vows become more than words.
This came home to me a few years ago. I sat in the waiting area of the operating room while Kat was having a tumor removed from her hip. I sat wondering what would come, what this tumor might be. As I sat quietly with my thoughts, my mind went to those vows. This wasn’t the last waiting room reflection I would have because a few months later, I would be back waiting, in that same place, thinking about those vows, because as it turned out Kat’s first procedure was unintentionally exploratory.
The tumor was wrapped around her nerve, and if the doctor had removed it, it was possible she’d lose use of her leg. And so, months later, with a different doctor, a procedure that had only been documented thirteen times before was being done on my wife. The Lord was kind, and the surgery was successful. Though we rejoiced that the tumor was removed and that a nerve from her ankle was spliced into her hip, it meant weeks of not being able to climb the stairs to our room, sleeping on the couch, using a wheelchair, then a walker, and having to be very careful not to displace the tiny stitch holding her nerve in place. It meant Kat depending on me for the basic and normal things of life. It was months before she was able to return to normal walking, movements, and life. Jump ahead a few more months, and for a third time I was in that waiting room. Through a “mistaken” scan, another problem was found, and she was having a procedure on her bile duct. Again, the surgery was successful, and again recovery came. Three surgeries in a few months. Unsure what may or may not come. I sat in the waiting room, learning what my vows meant.
It’s not just in times of sickness that these become reality. There have been times when I’ve been burdened with stress, overwhelmed with sadness, wondering what darkness might come tomorrow — and there was Kat. Living out her vows. Faithfully praying for me. Asking questions, supporting, caring, and being present.
I’ve seen this not only in my marriage but in the marriages in my church. Wives not leaving their husbands’ hospital room. Husbands holding their wives’ hands through a horrible diagnosis. In those moments, they are teaching onlookers and are themselves learning in real time what those words meant.
Those words of promise, spoken on the day of celebration and joy, are anticipatory; they’re said about something we didn’t imagine in that moment. On that wedding day, all we could think about was our happiness and the expectations of more joy. On that day, we didn’t know what would come. It’s fascinating to think that words spoken 23 years ago would orient the rest of our lives; that we’re making promises about the unknown. Considering what so many have endured, it’s good we make those promises when we can’t comprehend what might come.
We make those vows, that pledge for the unforeseen times in the waiting room, when our spouse is in the darkness of depression, when that terminal diagnosis is said, and when we’re so frustrated with the person wearing the ring we gave them we can’t even look at them. It’s in those times when our vows are needed. This is what we signed up for.
And I’m glad I did.
I know I’ve spent this entire essay thinking about how our vows are learned in pain and struggle. But they’re also learned in happiness and peace. Dinners just the two of us, conversations about our hopes, dreams of what might come, and laughter at those occasions that only we find funny. In those times we’re also learning our vows.
When Kat and I made those vows, we were pledging that no matter what might come, what was unbeknownst to us, we would be there. The beauty of those words is that 23 years later, after a few pounds, some gray hair, surgeries, and sorrows, we’re still learning those vows.
