This day is about these two people sharing their lives. And doing so with love, friendship, patience, respect and — if I know anything about these two — plenty of wine.
Of course each of us here today know these two remarkable individuals well. We've all spent time with them, separate and together. Some of us have worked with Laurie or Dave. Some of us have studied with them. Some have fed them, clothed them, changed their diapers and dried their tears.
But even among this group — the most intimate they could gather here today — there is quite a bit about these two standing before you that you may not know. As their Right and Honorable Reverend, and as their friend, I'd like to take a moment now to share of the little-known facts as Laurie and Dave stand perched upon the precipice of their new lives together.I threw my head back laughing, my veil billowing behind me, as Tom recounted Dave and my "secrets." How a dour, depressing film about the East German secret police called "The Lives of Others" was our favorite movie. ("So hopelessly romantic," Tom remarked.) That we had met at a snooty Hyde Park party. ("Excuse me, a salon," Tom said.) And that I love hip hop and swing dancing, while Dave "dances like a Polish kid from Milwaukee."
When you love someone, you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility, even a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the one continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity - in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern.
Five years later, I realize that as authentic as we tried to be, as many bases as we thought we'd covered, we still had no idea what we were really promising. Well, let me speak for myself, I had no idea what I was really promising.
On our fifth anniversary last week, I took out the book I had made of our vows, reread the passage from Anne Morrow Lindbergh and realized that I had fallen victim to much of what she talked about. I had thought our love was supposed to feel the same all the time. I had embraced the flow and panicked in the ebb. I had demanded continuity.
Morrow Lindbergh's words were no longer just words that sounded deep and important, but something that resonated from actual experience. No one is immune from the ups and downs of marriage, I realized, no matter how well you choose your partner, how much you have in common, or how realistic you try to make your wedding ceremony.
In reflecting upon her obviously hard-won wisdom, I noted some of the techniques I'd employed over the years to try to control the ebb and flow of Dave's and my relationship:
- Criticizing him in front of other people to prove a point or gain sympathy
- Bombarding him with news and requests the second he walks in the door
- Continuing a discussion long after it's become unproductive
- Expecting him to share my views, tastes, perspective on everything
- Complaining
- Nagging
Then I thought of my more effective strategies:
- Letting him know how I feel, not everyone at the dinner party
- Noticing when he's stressed or overwhelmed and pacing myself appropriately
- Disengaging when a conversation becomes too emotional (Abort! Abort!)
- Knowing what issues to bring to him and when to find support elsewhere
- Saying "thank you"
- Waiting to see what will happen (he won't really let the garage overflow into the living room, will he?)
Two of my favorite essays about marriage are from the NY Times' Modern Love column. I love these essays because the authors talk about the challenges of partnership in a realistic, truthful way without being bitter or disillusioned:
Today, that's how I feel about my marriage
—
more grounded in reality but not bitter or disillusioned. Sometimes it's a relief to find out things aren't going to be exactly how you thought it would, and that's okay. What I like about marriage is the fact it's a process, with opportunities for self reflection and lots of do-overs. Not to mention shared laughs, mini-series marathons, passionate moments and intimate conversations.
It's not easy. And it's not a total drag either. I like coming home to Dave, and trying to create something meaningful together. In fact, I can't think of a better way to spend the next five years. So bring on the ebb. Bring on the flow. Bring on all that we are and all that we will be.
