Yesterday I saw a couple I hadn't seen for many years sitting together on the bus. I'd always wondered if they had managed to stay together. They looked the same, save a few more dry wrinkles, as they did twenty years ago. The way they doted on each other was the same too. He was always sweet to her, so attentive, so gentle. It made my heart glad to see them, and now I'll explain why it was so special.
Twenty years ago, I observed them from a distance as they visited our church coffee-house every Friday night. He is just a whisp of a man. He hobbles along on frail legs. A giant hearing aid dominates the side of his pinched face. Their rather vacant expressions speak of a mental handicap of some sort. It was obvious also that they were destitute. But they were also obviously deeply in love. Every Friday for the coffee and doughnuts to enjoy a bit of free entertainment. They had each other.
Then I watched an awful drama unfold. She became pregnant. Every Friday I watched the swell of her pregnancy progress. They were so sweet on each other through it all. He would sit her down and fetch her the doughnut and drinks. Then the delivery day arrived, and there was no baby. Her belly was flat. They looked so sad. I can only speculate that they lost the baby at birth or it was taken away. They both looked so sad and shortly after they stopped coming to the coffee house.
For twenty years I've wondered if their love survived that one terrible tragedy.
Then I saw them again yesterday. I tear up just thinking of it. What those two have is pure gold, a devotion that surpasses all, that gives them beauty every day. Destitute, unlovely, ungifted, they have nevertheless grasped what is truly valuable in this world.
I feel like God gave me a gift today. A gift of hope.