Because Paul’s family knew me, the rejection I felt was especially troubling. They had accepted me as a person, but couldn’t accept me as a daughter. I struggled to reconcile their treatment of me with the kindness they had initially extended.
Paul and I reeled from the hurt of their disapproval and turned in desperation to the only One who could show us how to navigate our relationship in such difficult circumstances. Over and over, we prayed for our parents, not only that they would accept our relationship, but that God would truly be the Lord of their lives. We believe that when God is in control of people’s hearts, they see things differently, put importance on different things, make different decisions—spiritual unity is paramount, dwarfing anything else. So we prayed our families would experience Christ at a deeper level, discovering His heart for our relationship, learning to value the things He values.
As we prayed over the next several months, I was humbled before God. He kept putting a tender finger upon my wounds and massaging them—rubbing away the hardness creeping into my heart, revealing to me my own prejudices.
After over four years of relationship, Paul and I weren’t able to take the next step into marriage and broke up.
Even today my stomach tenses as I relive the pain. For the millionth time I ask God to keep my heart tender, to help me focus on the gift of my life now, not the rejection of the past. I glance at Paul, relaxing next to me. He responds to my attention with a tender smile—his blue eyes twinkling. I whisper another prayer that I will believe in love—the love of God, my husband, and the family I joined when I married.
As his gaze deepens, I am overwhelmed by Paul’s devotion. In his eyes shine the same commitment I saw the day he came after me, the day I ran the San Diego Marathon.
Paul and I had been together when I began training for the race and though we had been separated for three months, he came to cheer me on. He drove me to the race and sent me off with his encouragement. I started strong, but after running 20 miles, I hit a wall and began walking. Fatigue overwhelmed me and I wondered if I could finish. Paul saw my struggle and decided to join me. I couldn’t believe this man, who didn’t even like to run, would come alongside of me and help me see my dream to the finish. We ran the last five miles together.
Paul and I were a team. We both felt it. I ran in absolute joy, embracing the knowledge that Paul had truly come beside me, that he was willing to fight for me despite the obstacles that cluttered our pathway. Together, we would discover a way to let our love live on.
A month after the marathon, Paul proposed. After the race, without my knowledge, Paul had gone to his family, told them I was the woman he wanted to marry, and asked for their blessing. When they gave it, he met with my parents and received their blessing as well. After four long years of navigating the complications brought on by our skin color, we could finally embrace the fullness of who we were together.
