It’s been fun sharing our epic love story this month. Thanks for reading!
I wanted to wrap up this series with one more rollicking story that would amuse and entertain. To be sure, PB and I have had our share of funny memories and adventures. In this last post of February, though, I have a different kind of story.
Several months after our wedding, I came down with a bad case of the stomach flu. There’s something you need to know about me — I’m deathly afraid of throwing up. I fight the gag reflex with everything I’ve got and I always win. I’ve done some psychoanalysis on myself and I suspect this phobia (emetophobia, to be precise) stems from losing my mom at a young age. Every time I got sick as I child, my mother would go into the bathroom with me and rub my back as I leaned over the toilet. After she died, I was convinced I couldn’t go through such trauma without her comforting touch. So I resolved to never throw up again.
Then, as a newly married lady, my greatest fear was upon me. I couldn’t fight it off or keep it down. I was terrified. When the inevitable was about to happen, PB followed me into the bathroom and rubbed my back as I leaned over the toilet.
That’s when I knew he loved me completely.
Here’s the truth about love: it isn’t created by fun dates or silly shared experiences or even deep desire. Real love is unwavering when the other person is vomiting between sobs. Lasting love wraps strength and security around real or imagined fears. Authentic love is built on thousands upon thousands of moments that never make the highlight reel.
Our story isn’t epic because PB played his harmonica under my bedroom window, or because he carried me up Bascom Hill, or because he met me at the train station at midnight in a blizzard.
We have a love story because of what has taken place day after day in between those moments.
Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything. It is, in fact, the one thing that still stands when all else has fallen. 1 Corinthians 13:7-8 (J.B. Phillips version)
Honey, you are my only one.
Take us out, JT.
“Only One” by James Taylor