23

On the 23rd of September, 2023, Sarah and I will have been married for 23 years. In the 6th grade, I was a short, husky (kind way of saying chunky) kid with thick glasses. I liked girls, but they didn't pay much attention to me. I thought I'd never find love. My 6th-grade world was small, but it was all I knew, and I couldn't see anything in my future but what I had. During that time, I spent every evening in prayer seeking God. I'd play music on my Walkman to get me into the prayer mood. One evening, I was listening to a cassette tape my best friend David bought me. It was Steven Curtis Chapman's album The Great Adventure. The song I was listening to was probably written for Steven's wife. It was a Christian love song. At twelve years old, I cried hearing these words of love, thinking I'd never find someone who would feel this way about me.

Steven sang:

… I will take a heart whose nature is to beat for me alone

And fill it up with you - make all your joy and pain my own

No matter how deep a valley you go through

I will go there with you

These words seemed impossible for a thick-glassesed, husky, short kid to ever experience. But honestly, it has taken Sarah and I going through this darkest valley for me to see I got there. Three years ago, for our 20th anniversary, I was depressed. I remember Sarah pushing me around our apartment's courtyard in my wheelchair. I hoped for more. At that time it was a year and a half after my stroke, and I was still trying to get used to this new life. I was angry we couldn't celebrate in a different way for our 20 years. But that this special gal was with me was all that mattered.

Sarah has become extremely perceptive following my stroke. She knows me in a way that only having gone through a dark valley together can produce. Sarah reads my body language with perfect accuracy. She knows when I'm sad, nervous, angry, and depressed just by seeing my body language. Every morning, I pause and thank God for Sarah. I can say with complete confidence that I wouldn't be this physically or emotionally healthy without her. 

Sarah is my caretaker. I have felt great shame in my disability. But Sarah sees me, the man inside the disabled body. Days after I came home from the hospital, she told me, "Israel, you are not your body." I had been overwhelmed with shame, and I needed to hear that.

On the day of my stroke, they removed my wedding ring. I haven't been able to wear it since. My left hand is a bit deformed following my stroke because it no longer functions. I've done many weddings as a pastor and have had to explain the significance of the ring, an unbroken circle symbolizing commitment. The truth is I don't need a ring to know commitment. I just need to turn around and see who's still pushing me in my wheelchair, Sarah. 23 years ago, she committed to me and meant it. I'm thankful God brought this special gal into my life.