Sergei asked me to marry him today.
Who can explain the warmth-soaked minutes, hours, before the event, of just being in his company and conversation? All that led up to it is what I said yes for. The sense of belonging, of knowing who I am, who we are, together, the glowing friendship of two people so interconnected that every word is understood before spoken. The ecstasy of looking into those eyes and seeing that they want me as much as I want them. Hardly noticing the shining white ring for those wanting, accepting eyes. The pure sanctuary of knowing that this one that I now belong to as I accept this ring loves me secondmost, loves Another greater than I, the altogether lovelier and majestic Other—the warm, lit sanctuary of knowing I am second.
I grasped him when he said, “Belong to me, only,” grasped him like one falling because she believed it, believed she belonged and could fall and be caught, “Belong to me, only, forever,” I grasped and fell because he wanted me, imperfect as I am, only me, falling into imperfect him, two imperfections falling onto a great Perfection together, to receive beauty for ashes, to be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified (Isaiah 61). Who can bear so much beauty? What one human merely being can contain it?
I now fold myself to his side, I am bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh becoming, and in this decrease from my own self into his, I feel that the limitless expanse of the sky could not contain what I am becoming.
This, I suppose, is the mystery of the sacred marriage. In this betrothal of myself to him, I know only the foretaste of this mystery, and yet I could fly.
I thank you, Lord, for most this amazing day.
