I’m not sure the ability to simply hang in there is the best way to judge a great marriage. Tolerating each other for years out of habit doesn’t, in my eyes, qualify someone to give marriage advice. But whenever people hear that we’ve been married for 40 years, they inevitably ask, “What’s your secret?”, as if there’s a magic formula.
Truth be told, that question renders me speechless because I’m as surprised as anyone that I’ve completed a 40-year stint in marriage. Yes, there were people who predicted our marriage wouldn’t last. I now have the privilege of saying to them, “Hold my beer.”
But really, marriage isn’t the magical movie ending where two people ride off into the sunset holding hands as they grow old. Like any worthwhile endeavor that lasts a lifetime, parts of marriage hurt.
Marriage begins with a diamond ring. I’m convinced the deeper lesson is found in the stone, not the ring itself. Unlike the old wedding speech about the ring representing an unending circle, I think the diamond mounted on top tells the better story.
There’s a part of my life most people don’t know about. Believe it or not, I used to facet gemstones. That’s a long story for another day. To produce a beautiful faceted stone, you begin with an ugly rock. You search for one with the greatest potential and the fewest natural flaws. Then you place it on a faceting machine armed with abrasives harder than the stone itself.
Do you see where I’m going?
Step one is choosing the right rock. Among all the ugly rocks, you have to believe you’ve found the one with the greatest potential. That’s where falling in love comes into the story. And don’t fall in love with the hopelessly flawed rock. (Sorry if that isn’t very sentimental, but no one has ever accused me of being a sentimental girl.)
The faceting machine must be equipped with the proper grit. To create those light reflecting facets the hardness of grit must be equal. You can’t create a facet in a diamond with quartz. All participants must be equally invested and equally tough because the abrasive property has to be strong enough to knock off those raw edges. Your grit has to match the challenge.
Then the grinding begins. The stone is turned at carefully measured angles as each facet is cut, all the while hoping some hidden flaw doesn’t suddenly appear and split it in two.
At this stage, the stone still isn’t very impressive. It is still dull. It hasn’t been polished yet.
So how do you polish it?
Not with pampering creams, but with more sanding.
This time, however, the coarse grit is gone, leaving only friction.
That’s the part of marriage I compare to the daily rhythm of companionship. You can’t be polished into something beautiful if you aren’t together. The shared routines, ordinary days, hardships, laughter, disappointments, victories, and yes, even the occasional friction, are what create the shine. If you constantly go your separate ways in pursuit of individual adventures, you’ll never develop that brilliance. You have to stay together long enough for the warmth of companionship and even the heat of friction to do their work.
Eventually, that ugly rock becomes something breathtaking. You look at it with pride, fully aware of everything it took to reveal the beauty that was there all along.
So there it is; my secret to marriage.
Choose the right ugly rock.
Bring a similar amount of grit.
Encounter daily life together to generate enough friction to create the sparkle.
After all, diamonds are cut by something just as hard as they are.
Diamond cuts diamond.
Now excuse me while I go knock off a few rough edges.
