Today, at the coffee shop where I was studying, a late-60’s-aged (or so) couple walked in, the man leading the lady by the hand. He moved toward a rectangular table and seated the lady into a chair, maneuvering her somewhat stubborn body with a gentle firmness. She protested with a barely comprehensible groan, but he spoke firmly to her and put in front of her a set of plastic children’s toy keys. He ordered and came back to the table with a drink for himself and two pastry cakes on porcelain plates. While working through some papers, he fed her bites of sweet pumpkin bread across the table.
I don’t know if they were married. But the thought that they might be, that this man was loving his bride “in sickness and in health, for better or for worse” was profound. It made me realize the privilege and joy it is to have a bride to love when she can give so little in return. The man was stocky and the woman was small–not unlike my bride and me–and I imagined for a moment that Laura was that woman and that I was that man. I was caring for her when she had basically lost her mind and could barely amuse her shriveling mind and body with a child’s toy. And it would privilege me to do so.
That is the way a man should love his wife. It swells emotion, because it pictures the love of the truest Man to a helpless Bride.