I picked up another book to read. Ann voskamp’s last book. She starts with her beginning. And she is honest, and veiled and poetic, but brutally honest. And it inspires me.

It’s marriage week and this reading and reflection is serendipitous.

We also started naive, faithful, hopeful. Innocence is priceless. What we don’t know (a lot) we make up through our innocence and genuine young love.

I fell in love completely. And I felt so attached to my husband. What a beautiful surprise for the cold self. In time I became unapproachable and cynical about romantic gestures. I could read right through the polished or timid guys. I had no patience for them. It was my gift of self-preservation in waiting for the one. He who swept me off my feet. With honesty, and humility, and courage and charm.

Imagine my surprise when on the wedding night, both of us completely inexperienced, we struggled through intimacy. I hadn’t built much anticipation or idealized intimacy, but I didn’t expect it to be so difficult. I did not enjoy it. it hurt. And I was ashamed for not figuring it out. We talked about it. We tried, but we didn’t have the words. For a year I gave my husband the gift of intimacy, holding my breath, hoping my body will relax enough that I would enjoy it too.

After one of the newly wed classes at church we (all the newlyweds) were encouraged to talk about what we like and what we don’t, be honest, invite a good dialogue. So I told my husband how I felt. Brutally honest. I felt sex was my duty, and I was committed to give him that, but I couldn’t pretend I like it. He said it’s not fun for him if I just put up with it. My arousal is part of his joy and enthusiasm as well. That was a turning point of our experience and enjoyment. I felt free to say what I like, and say no when I didn’t feel in the mood, and initiate when I was in the right mindset.

During those months of finding each other, discovering each other, in moments of uncertainty, his question “are you ok?” Posed timidest but consistently, healed my heart, my mind. I heard it many times. And occasionally I wished he didn’t ask it, but I look back and I am grateful for his gentleness and concern for my wellbeing. It made all the difference.

It was a journey of enjoying intimacy, and the last decade I have enjoyed our coming together so much more. The first few years we learned. Now we practice out of joy of connection. Through intimacy we celebrate. And we make an effort to clear the air, forgive each other in preparation of coming together, talk about things before. Pursue each other through our love languages, serving, listening, doing what needs to be done, and the intimacy is then healing, and renewing.

If we had a way out, given how difficult that first year was, we could have said we are not compatible. But we committed to each other, we worked together to come together. We grew together.

I wish newlyweds would hear this. But maybe that dark time of learning and discovering, the two, learn to communicate and help each other. It’s a journey of brokenness. And rebirth. Saving people from disappointment too early to eagerly, it may not build resilience during the harder inevitable future seasons. Of cancer, of temptation, of doldrums, of unemployment and uncertainty. Not knowing then how many people struggle the same way, and then finding out that in our innocence, our inexperience and struggle were normal, then reaching the season of enjoyment… it all has its purpose.