My grandfather keeps a photo of my grandmother taped inside his closet door.  I believe it is circa 1970, and she is wearing a swimsuit.  That is the single most romantic thing I know.

When he looks at her, you can see it in his eyes, the love, the commitment, and no regrets.

Oh, they have their share of troubles.  They may not be what some people would have considered compatible.  But 61 years ago they looked at each other and said, “I do.”  And they did.

They knew that divorce was not an option.  When you remove the option and take seriously the vow you’ve made before a holy God, you stay.  Not only do you stay, but you make it work, and you make it work well.

I see a lot of beauty in my grandparents’ relationship, even in the midst of trials, even when beauty is hard to see. Perhaps it is because their marriage reflects my own in many ways and I know what lies beneath.  Perhaps it is because my personality is very much like my grandmother’s, and I share her struggles, her disappointments, her triumphs, and most especially her lessons.  Perhaps it is because I love them so dearly and believe in God’s gift of marriage so fervently, that He has allowed me a glimpse.

Whatever the reason, I see a lot of love in the patterns, the habits, and the involuntary comments of concern.  I see the determined resolve beneath the flippant remarks and the exasperated “Oh Dearie!”  I see lifelong commitment in the worn cushions on the “davenport,” the pet names that slide off the tongue unnoticed, and the orange juice and crackers my grandfather brings my grandmother each morning.  I even see a spark of romance in the charming manner my grandmother says “we” and the shy way my grandfather grins and winks like he’s been married six weeks instead of 61 years.

It’s a beautiful thing, that photo in the closet. A beautiful thing.

The Eyes of Love

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