Before I became Mrs. Cadenas, I thought I understood what it is, that saying I'd heard over and over from pastors delivering messages at weddings, taken from those recorded words God spoke at the beginning. To those two who stood and beheld each other in wonder, he said that the two shall become one.
It's a mystery.
I always envisioned on my wedding day, this as a mystical, spiritual transaction. Somewhere between speaking our vows, being pronounced husband and wife, and the wedding night, we went from two people to one. Though of course I knew, we would still be two physical bodies, two spirits, two souls. I couldn't envision what this oneness looked like, fleshed out.
On our wedding day, I learned it was much like a birthday. I went to bed and woke up with this awareness - these are the final moments as Single Me. Tomorrow, all will be different. And it was, but also all was mostly the same. I was the same. No mystical transaction - I was me and he was him and I did not feel much like one.
I've pondered this a year now, and I shake my head with a private smile, how naive I was. I didn't know.
How oneness doesn't take place in a moment. It's not vows or signing papers or official pronouncement or sexual intimacy. It's worked out, every day, negotiated and chosen in moment stitched upon moment. One stitch and then another, over a whole lifetime. This is how two become one.
It's not an arrival. It's always a becoming. As loving selflessly is never an arrival, always a becoming. A two-steps-forward-one-step-back, keep leaning into each other, leaning into God who is Love.
And this, I see, is frustration. And it's comfort. It's both.
It's a glimmer, a shadow, of something bigger and deeper, this oneness.
Joining Lisa Jo and the group of Five-minute Friday writers, for the prompt of Comfort.