My mother told me something early in my marriage I’ll never forget. She said, “Trust me when I tell you that love changes. I don’t feel the same way about your father as I did when I first met him; it’s different and it’s better.”
I didn’t understand. Today I do.
For couples, love begins with intoxicating intensity. All you want to do is be together. Nothing else in the world matters. Over time, that intensity diminishes, not because you love each other less, but because the force by which love takes flight cannot be sustained. It reaches cruising speed. Sadly, this is when many people give up. They say things like, “We’ve grown apart” and “We’re both very different people.” They begin to mourn what is “lost.” They may even find someone else who’ll give back to them the high only newness can give.
Oh, the beauty we miss when we pull the roots before they have a chance to take hold. It’s astonishing, really. As powerful and indestructible as love is, we have the capacity to alter its course.
Had my wife and I allowed us to drift, countless moments would have never happened, deep connections with family would never have been known, and the joys and sorrows of life would never have been shared. God’s gifts would have been sent back unopened. Return to sender.
My advice to young people is this: Don’t walk out during the opening scenes. You might miss a beautiful story. Mom said to be patient and watch what love will do.
As usual, Mom’s right.