WISE BUILDER

Matthew 7:24-27
The Wise and Foolish Builders

"Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash."

Another wedding season is almost over. Over the last four weeks, I have attended as many weddings; as a photographer in two, a guest in one and a bridesmaid in the last. What I love about weddings is the exuberance, the enthusiasm, the excitement - the mere of joy of witnessing two becoming one. A wedding is the ultimate celebration of the holiest bond between a man and a woman, as they embark on a journey of a lifetime. A wedding offers hope of everlasting love, romance, partnership in a dismal world where so many relationships fail, so many couples walk their separate ways, so many unions are shattered through lack of communication, incompatibility and worst of all, betrayal. A wedding is the ultimate celebration of mankind's faith in mankind - that a man will not fail his wife, a woman will not fail her husband.

At one of the weddings I had the opportunity to witness, the pastor reminded the celebrants of the parable of the two builders, drawing on lessons to learn for couples embarking on the journey that is marriage. As I recounted these words of wisdom I couldn't help but muse on just how blessed I was to be in the marriage that I am. Getting ready to leave the church at the end of the ceremony, Mr O. nudged me ever so slightly to hand me the Order of Service I had so desperately wanted to grab off his friend. The question, "How did you guess?" almost escaped from my lips, but I already knew the answer.

Here was a man who had stuck with me for better or worse in the last seven years. A wise man, a wise builder. He had shown calmness for every fight I had put up, tenderness for every worry that had clouded my face, patience for each self-doubt, forgiveness for each trespass, and wisdom to know that two people do not just meet, fall in love and live happily ever after. No, in reality, two people meet, fall in love and live happily ever after only if they make the conscious decision to work at their relationship every day, through thick and thin, through the storm, through each and every single rock they hit along the way. In the seven years we've spent together, each time I wanted to give up, he carried on; each time I despaired, he kept the faith; each time I threw in the towel, he fought for both of us. In time I got to learn that each fight was a building block of that mansion we wanted to live in for eternity. Each time my shovel hit a rock, I was ready to quit. Yet he kept shoveling. Until one by one, the rocks crumbled down to little stones, stones to earth. Until what we had in front of us was the mansion of our union - tall, strong, rock solid. Then came the rain... and the streams... and the wind... But we had worked so hard, our mansion was so strong; we did not crumble down, we did not fall, we rode the storm. Only because standing by my side is a wise man, brave and strong. A wise builder - one who never quits, one who perseveres through all that life throws at him. One I have built my house with, one I trust with my whole being, one who I know will never let me down.

As I look back at the rocks we have hit along the way and the storms we have survived, I thank my lucky stars, the universe and the Creator for the man who is by my side. And I thank him. As I reach out to take the Order of Service, as I close my eyes to go to sleep at night, as I wake up to a new day, I thank him and say:

I THANK YOU FOR:

- being my Northern star - whenever I lose sense of direction or doubt myself, for showing me the way, guiding me through the dark vales of worry, doubt and insecurity.

- being my Knight in shining Armour - whenever I am weak or forlorn or desperate, coming to my rescue, whether it be spending a whole two months with me in the hell-hole of a house-share circa 2003 or sneaking in home-made food when I was in hospital for four days back in 2005 and hated every minute of it or coming to carry me out and rush me to the hospital like the knight in shining armour you are when I fell down at work and injured my knee (There is a reason they say "in sickness and in health!")

- being my biggest fan - whenever I suffer from low self-esteem or wallow in self-doubt, for pushing me forth, and standing on the sidelines cheering me on, constantly shattering my blinkers and shoving me out of my comfort zone to strive for bigger and better things, teaching me to think positively and dream big, whether it be getting out a flat share back in 2003 or getting my writing published or becoming a photographer in my own right.

- loving me - with passion, with tenderness, with faith, even when I am at my least lovable. Knowing every little quirk about me, knowing how I bite the skin on my fingertips, knowing how I'd want that Order of Service, knowing that I'd ask for the blue napkin/book/dress (replace as appropriate), knowing I'd want to read The Observer on a Sunday morning, knowing how I'll cry when I hear 'Dance with my Father again', knowing how I sulk when I don't get my way, knowing how I make a mess of the living room with my glossies. Knowing me inside out, taking the time to get to know me and still loving me with all my quirks. Knowing I will never have Scarlet's lips, Shakira's hips, Halle's cleavage but loving every inch of my B-cupped, big-bootied, thunder-thighed 5.5 of me. Loving me not unconditionally, but on the condition that I love myself.

- being you - the wonderful, the amazing, the incredible you - the man who has faith in everyone, who always sees the glass half full, the man who sees his unborn children in my eyes, the man who is kind, tender, patient; the man who goes for gold and never quits. The man I`love like life, dearer than life. My homey, my lover, my friend... The wise builder I am proud to call my husband.

HOMEY, LOVER, FRIEND...

How many moons have passed since you last received a love letter from me? It is not that I do not feel for you the way I used to anymore, or that I do not have the time or the inspiration to wax lyrical about how I feel for you... It is just that, in every relationship, there comes a time where people slide into an acquired comfort zone, that very phase of a relationship where you can sit around in comfortable silence without having to say a single word, or you look one look at the other and realise exactly syllable for syllable what is going through their mind. In that very phase we sometimes get so caught up in the day to day hustle of life, we tend to forget to express our feelings and let the other person feel just little bit more special for having our love.

This is exactly what I realised when I woke up this morning to the immense feeling of loving you, my husband, my homey, lover, friend. My hero... confidante... best friend... soul mate... partner in crime... The very one who knows me better than I know myself; the very one who loves me even when I hate myself...

I love you more than life itself. More than any word, any letter, any sound in any language can ever tell.

Looking back at the last seven years we have grown together gives me pride as well as joy, seeing just how far a journey we have taken together, hand in hand. I remember how we would spend hours on the phone, you running up your phone bill to exorbitant figures, me dragging myself to my dead-end part-time job. We’d stay up all night to chat. Sometimes we’d fight, you’d tell me some bitter truths about life, and I’d slam the phone down. I think of that April day when I met you for the first time and how you made me laugh at a time of my life when laughing was a distant memory. I remember how when you dropped me off that day you told me you’d marry me one day, only to have me turn around and say ‘not in a million years’.

I think of another April day, a year later, when I decided to take a chance on you, knowing you were still attached to someone else, knowing you were flat broke, knowing how you got my last nerve at times. I thank God I did. I thank God for that April day.

We’d share our last fiver so you could look for a job at the internet cafe while I went out to work and had enough change left of a fiver to buy my lunch. We’d eat egg and bread. We’d buy fake Chinese videos when I got paid on Fridays so we’d stay home and watch movies instead of wasting money at the cinema. Remember those Saturday mornings we used to have to get up early to move you car and keep on moving it around every two hours so you wouldn’t get a parking ticket? Or the time the bed in my box room came crashing down in the middle of the night and we spent the whole night and the next few weeks after that sleeping on the mattress on the floor? Or the time we were having a fight and I dropped the lid of the pot of stew on the floor and burnt a lid-size circle on the lino and had to raise £300 deposit? It wasn’t a walk in the park but we managed. You made it fun. You made every single minute of it worthwhile.

We would lay down on the bed at night, you caressing my hair and me daydreaming of a day in the future where I could have a decent room in a decent house share and you would tell me to dream big. ‘Why just a room?’ you’d say, ‘Why not our own house?’ and I would laugh.

When my dream was a small room, your dream was a six bedroom house. When glass was half empty, your glass was always half full. When I despaired, you dreamed...

We moved into our own place a year later, perhaps the first time I realised the power of dreams. After a whole year of angst with flat mates and weekend trips to Milton Keynes which had in time become my safe haven away from the stress of London, I had finally made the move to Milton Keynes for good and taken that giant step towards life-time commitment by moving in with you.

It was the same year I got my first teaching job. After three long months of self-questioning and soul-searching, I had finally got my first full-time job. All those sleepless nights worrying about how it was all going to come together, you were there to hold me tight and kiss the tears away. All those days I used to come home, exhausted and clueless as to how to survive a job I wasn’t formally trained for in a department where I was being bullied by the head on a daily basis, you were there to offer a warm plate of food and a back rub. All through the months of self-doubting, you believed in me and encouraged me to go on. You believed in me more than I believed in myself; you believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.

Then it was time to face my mum... She wasn’t happy about my choice of a future husband. It was not easy for you to patiently wait until I summoned the courage to confront my mum, yet you waited – quietly, patiently, without judgement or bitterness. When things came to a head, you hugged me tight and told me everything would be fine. And guess what? They were in the end... despite the worry, the pain and the heartache. You taught me to have faith in life and its power to sort itself out.

When you quit your job to take up photography, I had doubts. True to form, I worried, I analysed, re-analysed, then analysed some more. You put your own worries aside to put my mind at ease. When I used to laugh at your dreams of where the business would be in a year’s time, I used to laugh at you, and you used to just say ‘ok o, just wait.’ With hardly any money coming in, with unexpected twists and turns on the journey of life, with the pressure of my worries on top of yours, it would have been so easy to blow your top and lash out, but you never did. You taught me the virtue in waiting and seeing.

There were so many times I scoffed at your dreams; being the natural born pessimistic cynic that I am, it was an unconscious habit to laugh at dreams, bracing myself for the worst. Every time I braced myself for the worst, you would encourage me and pull me up to your level of optimism and big dreams. Every time I beat myself up for each and every failure, you would tell me just how wonderful I was. You never laughed at my fears. What is more you never laughed at my fears. For every single weakness in me I pointed out, you would point out a strength. In time, you built up my confidence. In time, you made me feel stronger than I had ever felt in my life. In time, you taught me how to dream big.

I look back at the person I used to be seven years ago: timid, negative and deeply lacking in self-esteem; and I look at the person I have become in the seven years I have shared with you. Through the ups and downs, through the sunshine and the rain, you have always been there. You have taught me to dream big even when I am living small, to not beat myself up for my failures and to celebrate my successes, to pick and choose the battles I take on; but above all, you have taught me to believe in myself and believe in life no matter what it throws at me.

In the last seven years, we have grown together. And in every single moment of that long journey, at each single step we’ve taken together, you have given me unconditional love and utmost respect. You have raised me up to all that I can be and more; you have raised me up so I can see what lies ahead. What lies ahead is amazing... What lie ahead are a six bedroom house, a coupe cab, four beautiful kids, all the Vogue and Elle covers we can dream of shooting, working together, working from home. What lies ahead is looking back, like we’ve done yesterday after an eight hour shoot, at all that we have been through with a smile, giving ourselves a pat on the back for the journey we have made together, proud of how far we’ve come.

I thank you for every unforgettable moment of the last seven years and for every single moment I look forward to sharing with you. And I thank you for all those times you have stood by me, stood up for me, stood behind me. And I thank you for being the wonderful, amazing you. And I love you more than any word, any letter, any sound in any language can ever tell. I love you more than life itself.

On Marriage

Where does love begin, where does it end? Is it at first sight, first kiss or the very first time after weeks, months, years, you look at a special someone and realise they are the very person you want to wake up next to every morning and want to say good night to before you turn off the light at night?
Where does love end? At what point do you go from the dress, the cake, the tender kiss on the forehead, the passionate gaze across the room, to fighting over who gets to keep the house, the car, the kitchen sink and the family dog?
Most importantly, maybe, how do we let love mature through the weeks, the months and the years without turning sour? As reiterated time and time again, in poetry, music and wedding speeches; the formula to the elixir of long-lasting love seems to be mutual trust, respect and honesty, maybe most important of all, compromise – 'Give a little, take a little,' as the father of the bride declared three weeks ago on Saturday, advising the newly wed couple on the journey that lies ahead.
I have been to three weddings in the last month and seen photographs from a fourth. Every single one of these weddings have made me experience a range of different emotions, from joyful exuberance at the newly wed couples' union to misty-eyed reminiscence about my own wedding a year ago; from admiration of the unprecedented acceptance of families to welcome another as their own to curious queries on the very nature of the union called marriage.
Marriage is a union of two different, however compatible, individuals from two different families, backgrounds, at times different cultures or even continents; such a union has its challenges as well as the enrichment and joy it gives. Most of all, it provides a couple the opportunity to grow in unison, working through their differences, embracing those very differences that make them unique, nurturing the similarities that draw them closer and at times of crisis, finding common ground in similarities. Marriage is a game of understanding. In fact, maybe my analogy is completely incongruous; marriage is not a game. It is work. Hard work, at times. Marriage is a pact between two people, which requires just more than a careless stumble with eyes closed. There is no point thinking that there won't be days where dinner plates won't be flying in the air, alongside threats and hurtful words; where doors will be slammed shut, alongside hearts, banning entry to the other party; that there will not be tears, tantrums, fights, misunderstandings. When you do manage to come out at the other end though, that pact will be much stronger for every tear shed or every dinner plate broken.
'Marriages don't fail, people do,' said a reading in one of the weddings I attended in the last month. My conviction is marriages fail when people fail. When people fail to listen, or to understand or even fail to work through issues that turn bright-eyed, 'butterflied' love turn sour and miserable. That is when marriage packs up and fails even before one gets to consider packing up their suitcase and starting the bitter battle over the house and dinner plates, cracked, chipped and broken.
'Give a little, take a little,' I have learnt, should be the motto of every couple, whether they have shared just five weeks or twenty five years together. 'Give a little' teaches one to let go of their ego and self-interest, 'take a little' allows us to appreciate all the times that special someone stands by us to love, cherish and honour. 'Give a little, take a little' helps a couple grow in a marriage where hopefully all that is chipped, broken or cracked is the dinner plates, not our fragile hearts or fine china marriages.