Three Ways God Defines Marriage.

My hour of adoration is Thursday afternoon from 1 to 2 PM.

It’s in the little chapel. Jesus is there, in the Monstrance.

It’s quiet. I’m usually alone–except for Our Lord. And we talk about the week. What’s making me crazy. What’s on my mind. Where I think I’m headed. What I would change if I could. And what’s on His mind. He talks to me.

On Thursday, I was there. We were talking about my daughter and her upcoming wedding. (It took place in that chapel on Saturday).

So, my mind kept wandering … to the flowers on the altar. What our flowers would look like in place of them. To the windows, where I planned to put the single roses. To the front pews, where the bows would go.

And Jesus kept bringing me back to Him. To that compelling Presence of God right in front of me. I’d apologize, as one does on a date when you realize your mind is somewhere else.

“Let’s talk about the Sacrament, then. Not the details. Lord, talk to me about the incredible Sacrament we are about to witness here in two days.”

That’s when I heard the back door open. That happens sometimes. Somebody wanders in and says hello to Jesus and then leaves again after a few minutes. The Adoration Chapel is always open for that.

This time, it was an older couple. They walked to the front. I didn’t turn around to look at them. I pretended to be totally focused in prayer, even though my mind was scattered and Jesus was doing all the heavy lifting to keep the conversation going.

They walked slowly. I know that, not because I turned to look, but because it took them a long time to get to the front of the chapel. The man made sure his wife was seated and then he went forward and bowed to the altar. He walked over to the statues of the Holy Family and lit a candle. He prayed there, kneeling before the infant Lord, and Mary and Joseph.

I knew what the older gentleman was praying about. I prayed with him.

It was for his wife who was seated in a pew across the aisle from me. She had lost most of her hair. Her head was wrapped. Probably chemo, I thought. And she looked so ill. Frail. But content, prayerful, and waiting patiently for her husband who needed this time with Jesus–perhaps even more than she did.

My heart was heavy for them.

I had just been praying for my daughter and her future husband. I had contemplated marriage and wedding details. My head was swimming with all the unimportant stuff.

And God said, “This is marriage.”

But it’s so sad, I said.

And God said, “No. This is beautiful. Look at them.”

I looked and saw that it was good. It was very, very good.