Better Together Than Apart

I have started reading a book on marriage by Francis Chan titled You and Me Forever: Marriage in Light of Eternity that a friend leant me. I'm not very far in, but something he wrote gave me pause early on in the introduction:

"Recently we have met many singles who fear marriage. They watched friends who were passionate followers of Christ get married. The result was either an obsession with the pleasures of family or an unending string of arguments and counseling sessions. We are writing to say that it doesn't have to be this way. You can be more effective together than apart. In a truly healthy relationship, we enable each other to accomplish more than we could have done alone. This was His plan."

It was the line "you can be more effective together than apart" that spoke to me.

Although I am an introvert by nature and like my alone time, I have always struggled with loneliness, especially after I graduated college. I had a great group of friends in Philly, worked, went out, was engaged in activities. But I often dreaded going home to my apartment where I lived alone. I was not especially healthy, either physically or mentally, because when you are lonely you tend to look for salves for the discomfort.

I was always pretty resistant to the idea of marriage. The usual reasons--didn't want to be chained down or have my freedom limited, was afraid like everyone else of living a life of dreadful monotony and routine. I was also attracted to and discerning monastic life for a good ten years. But even (and especially) at the monasteries where I spent summers living, praying, and working with consecrated men 50 years my senior, the weight of aloneness was heavy. I think the superiors sensed this, and gently discouraged me from pursuing the life further. "After all," one abbot said, "most people are called to marriage as a vocation." I didn't want to be like 'most people,' but he had a wise way of seeing my nature, and saw that the shirt didn't fit.

I remember frequenting the adoration chapel at St. Mary of the Assumption in Manayunk pretty regularly and praying (as a priest in college told me I should do) for my future spouse, even if you didn't know them. Unbeknownst to me, my future wife was doing the same thing at the same time. "I know he's out there," she would later say, "and I just pray that God keep him safe and save him for me."

When I met Debbie in 2009, I was struggling with having a sense of stability in my life. I had moved out of my apartment and since I was not accepted as a postulant at the monastery, I figured I would have a go at the life of a hermit, albeit an urban hermit. I bought a school bus and converted it to live in, figuring I would read and pray all day parked on the streets of Philly in a quiet neighborhood. The endeavor didn't last long, for logistical reasons partly, but also because I simply was not happy. Not having a permanent mailing address became a kind of metaphor for my inner life--I had no where to lay roots, no sense of belonging, and was, yes, lonely.

I moved in with a friend from grad school and parked the bus behind the house while I figured out what I would do next. Wildly enough, Debbie seemed more fascinated by my bus adventure than put off, and as we began to get more serious I realized I was comfortable with her to be vulnerable enough to share my struggles with bipolar disorder, finding meaningful work, finishing school, and realizing where I fit in this world. Early on in our relationship, my dad came down and we had coffee at a bakery on Germantown Avenue. "You know you've found the one when you are more comfortable being with them than apart from them."

While Deb is beautiful and smart and has a good sense of humor, we joke that what initially attracted me to her was that she was stable (after all, opposites attract, yes?) I was waiting to hear about a job in Niagara Falls, NY in campus ministry, and she was ready to let me go if I got it. By the hand of God the funding fell through, and they could not hire me. So I stayed, and it became apparent that her and I shared common values and vision for the future, were attracted to one another, and could have a good life together.

To this day, marrying Deb has been one of the best decisions (if you want to call it that) that I have ever made. I don't even like being in the house alone or away for extended periods of time apart from her. It's like leaving a part of myself behind. Joined in a sacramental marriage, this should not be a surprise I suppose. But still, it's weird in a cosmic way that two people are not two but one. My struggles with mental stability have greatly diminished, and her support and companionship have nourished my well-being, without being co-dependent. We argue and get selfish with each other, but those are the exception rather than the norm. We recognize that it is not the job of the other person to "make me happy," but in trying to serve one another, we find the happiness that seems so elusive when you are living just for yourself. Being blessed with children has pushed us even farther out from that self-focus, has demanded a lot of sacrifice, but it's the kind of sacrifice you don't even think about much because it's just what you do, and it comes with its own rewards that there are no substitutes for.

I think God knew what I needed, and also knew what Debbie needed, and thankfully needing each other became the key that unlocked a small part of the cosmos. Happiness is the byproduct, not the end goal, and there is great joy in serving and focusing on Christ together, preparing one another for eternity, and holding hands in the process. Celebrating six years next month, I have no doubt we have hard times ahead. But I am also certain that we are, like the author said, better off together than apart.