At the age of 18, I married for the first time. After almost 24 years of
tumultuous havoc that nearly cost me my life, that marriage ended in
divorce. I swore that I would never again care enough about anyone to let
them into my life as a marriage partner; the earlier years of abuse were
too painful. For several years, that resolve was not difficult to keep.
Then one day at church as I left the sanctuary heading toward my Sunday
school class, I spotted a man who was a head taller than most of the crowd.
He was bald and wore glasses, and there was no particular reason to notice
him. In class, there he was. He expressed his opinions freely but with a
light in his eyes that showed how passionately he felt about what he said.
Several weeks passed and I became more and more attracted to this strange
man.
One Sunday, he followed me to my car and asked me to go to lunch with
him. I think we both knew we felt something special for each other before
that lunch was finished. Less than a month later, he proposed. I accepted
but with much fear in my heart. I was determined not to ever be abused
again. Three years of marriage to this wonderful man has brought me
immense joy as he has showered me with his love, compassion and caring. He
has become my husband, my lover, my companion, and my best friend. I have
learned the difference between self-serving, abusive love and the real,
true, self-sacrificing kind of love. The best thing I can think to say
about this big, bald Texan is that he enables me to find the best in myself
and loves me as I am. Sometimes, love is sweeter the second time around.
