The rain came down in shivering threads, running down Grace's kitchen window like tears. She stood there, palms flat against the counter, staring out at the wet, lonely street, wondering how a love that had burned so brightly could feel so impossibly distant now. Luke was upstairs, probably reading, or maybe pretending to. Their words had tangled too tightly this time — twisted in old frustrations and fresh misunderstandings until neither of them knew how to speak without wounding.
Grace swallowed hard, feeling the sharp edges of silence settle around her.
Marriage wasn't supposed to feel like this.
When they had stood together on their wedding day before God and everyone they loved, her heart had been so sure, so open. Luke's hand had trembled when he'd slid the gold band onto her finger, and tears had blurred her vision as she promised to love him in all things — better, worse, richer, poorer… whatever came.
But somehow life had filled in the spaces with bills, disagreements over how to discipline the kids, fatigue, unmet expectations. Rather than building a home, it felt like they were building separate lives under the same roof.
And yet, tonight — on this dreary evening full of regret — a memory stirred, fragile and persistent as a heartbeat.
It was a Bible verse they had chosen for their wedding: "Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken." (Ecclesiastes 4:12)
Had they forgotten the third strand? The One who had bound them together to begin with?
Grace brushed at her damp cheeks and moved quietly up the stairs. Her hands trembled, not with anger now, but with the ache of love not yet given up. The bedroom door creaked softly as she pushed it open.
Luke looked up from where he sat on the edge of the bed, the open Bible across his lap. His eyes were tired — and in them, Grace saw her own weariness mirrored back.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the low thrum of rain against the windows.
"I don't know how to fix this," she whispered. The confession felt like falling.
Luke's shoulders sagged, the weight of his own helplessness crumbling through him. But then he held out his hand, palm open, waiting.
Grace crossed the room and placed her hand in his.
"No fixing," he said roughly. "Just… following Him, together."
Tears welled up again, but this time they were softer. Cleansing. Healing.
Luke shifted, pulling her close until her head rested against his chest. She could hear the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her ear — a quiet symphony of grace.
They sat like that, two imperfect people cradled in the perfect love of a perfect God.
Later, they'd talk — about forgiveness, about patience, about putting Christ back at the center. But for now, it was enough to simply be held. It was enough to remember that God's design for marriage wasn't about perfection or performance; it was about a daily choice to love — fiercely, humbly, sacrificially — just as He loved them.
Somewhere outside, the rain began to lighten, tiny silver threads thinning into mist.
And Grace smiled softly into the folds of Luke’s shirt, realizing that even here, even in the hardest seasons, they had never once been truly alone.
—
Bible Verses:
The rain came down in shivering threads, running down Grace's kitchen window like tears. She stood there, palms flat against the counter, staring out at the wet, lonely street, wondering how a love that had burned so brightly could feel so impossibly distant now. Luke was upstairs, probably reading, or maybe pretending to. Their words had tangled too tightly this time — twisted in old frustrations and fresh misunderstandings until neither of them knew how to speak without wounding.
Grace swallowed hard, feeling the sharp edges of silence settle around her.
Marriage wasn't supposed to feel like this.
When they had stood together on their wedding day before God and everyone they loved, her heart had been so sure, so open. Luke's hand had trembled when he'd slid the gold band onto her finger, and tears had blurred her vision as she promised to love him in all things — better, worse, richer, poorer… whatever came.
But somehow life had filled in the spaces with bills, disagreements over how to discipline the kids, fatigue, unmet expectations. Rather than building a home, it felt like they were building separate lives under the same roof.
And yet, tonight — on this dreary evening full of regret — a memory stirred, fragile and persistent as a heartbeat.
It was a Bible verse they had chosen for their wedding: "Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken." (Ecclesiastes 4:12)
Had they forgotten the third strand? The One who had bound them together to begin with?
Grace brushed at her damp cheeks and moved quietly up the stairs. Her hands trembled, not with anger now, but with the ache of love not yet given up. The bedroom door creaked softly as she pushed it open.
Luke looked up from where he sat on the edge of the bed, the open Bible across his lap. His eyes were tired — and in them, Grace saw her own weariness mirrored back.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the low thrum of rain against the windows.
"I don't know how to fix this," she whispered. The confession felt like falling.
Luke's shoulders sagged, the weight of his own helplessness crumbling through him. But then he held out his hand, palm open, waiting.
Grace crossed the room and placed her hand in his.
"No fixing," he said roughly. "Just… following Him, together."
Tears welled up again, but this time they were softer. Cleansing. Healing.
Luke shifted, pulling her close until her head rested against his chest. She could hear the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her ear — a quiet symphony of grace.
They sat like that, two imperfect people cradled in the perfect love of a perfect God.
Later, they'd talk — about forgiveness, about patience, about putting Christ back at the center. But for now, it was enough to simply be held. It was enough to remember that God's design for marriage wasn't about perfection or performance; it was about a daily choice to love — fiercely, humbly, sacrificially — just as He loved them.
Somewhere outside, the rain began to lighten, tiny silver threads thinning into mist.
And Grace smiled softly into the folds of Luke’s shirt, realizing that even here, even in the hardest seasons, they had never once been truly alone.
—
Bible Verses:
