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The Poetry of Marriage: A Reflection on Long-Suffering and Love

Writer's picture: Allie MoroneyAllie Moroney

In my last post, The Poetry of Marriage: A Reflection on Conflict, Grace, and Redemption, I shared a reflection and a poem that captured my experience of encountering Christ the Bridegroom through my marriage to my earthly bridegroom. As I mentioned then, I wrote two versions of this poem, each born from different facets of that experience. This post is to share the second version, along with the reflection that inspired it.


Last year, during the National Eucharistic Congress, Sister Miriam James spoke words that stopped me in my tracks:


"What happens when a bride's heart becomes hardened is that she has a very difficult time receiving her bridegroom and giving herself back to him."


I had to pause the livestream and replay that line a few times. It struck me deeply. Marriage, in its beauty, holds moments of immense challenge. Over the course of our first year as man and wife — and even as I sit here writing this — my husband and I have faced difficulties that have stretched us far beyond what I thought I could handle. These weren’t just ordinary bumps in the road; they were experiences that reshaped how I understood myself, my emotions, and my capacity to endure.


Marriage amplifies everything. The joy is fuller, but the weight of sorrow is heavier. The highs are so much higher, and the lows — well, they pierce the heart in ways I didn’t know were possible.

We’ve faced loss in many forms this past year, and those moments of grief force us to lean on God and one another more deeply than ever before.


As I shared in my previous post, my tendency in conflict or under stress is to flee. It’s how I’ve coped for much of my life. But Marriage — and the seasons of suffering — doesn’t allow for easy escape. Life moves forward whether you’re ready or not. I’ve learned that healing doesn’t come from waiting for the storm to pass but from choosing to keep moving, step by step, with faith.


Still, there’s another reality I’ve come to know intimately — the reality of long-suffering.

Sometimes, God’s deliverance doesn’t come quickly. Sometimes, the suffering lingers far longer than we’d hoped, and while He offers moments of relief, the hardship remains. In those times, His abiding presence is the very thing that sustains us.


And yet — if I’m honest — hearing those words while in the thick of suffering can feel like a punch in the gut. Even typing this, I feel the weight of that truth pressing on me. How can it be that His presence alone is enough in the midst of pain that feels unbearable?


I don’t have a perfect answer. I don’t think there are words that can satisfy a heart breaking under the weight of suffering. But I do know this — the presence of the beloved is the balm that soothes the ache.


With every challenge we’ve faced this year, I’ve felt parts of my heart harden. I know God is with me, but there are moments when I feel abandoned, especially when His providence seems delayed in ways that cause even deeper wounds. I’ve had days of peace and joy, where I find God’s goodness in the simplest, most ordinary things. But I’ve also had days where I’ve wept harder than I ever have in my life.


Through it all, even as he carries his own burdens, my husband meets me with open arms. His love has become a reflection of Christ’s love for me — steady, patient, unwavering. And little by little, that love softens the parts of me that suffering has hardened.


This second version of my poem is born from that place — the tension between the ache of long-suffering and the hope found in love that endures.


True Love, Dare I Believe?

Version 2

Love me as I am, but don’t let me stay—

For to love you deeply, I must not delay.

I cannot bear this path I tread, Walking alone, the weight like lead.


I see now—your hand is what I need, To pull me free from the wasteland where I bleed. Your love pursues, relentless and true, Yet I stand frozen, unsure what to do.


What’s the catch? Where are the strings? Surely no love comes without stings. I brace myself, waiting for the fall, For the reprimand, the curtain call.


This home you speak of—could it be? A place flowing with hope, waiting for me?

I almost believe… but the scars start to sing, A choir of wounds that still painfully cling.


Enough dreaming—don’t you see?

Hope has never been for the likes of me. Clip your wings, silence the song, Don’t reach for love; you’ll get it wrong.


Yet even as I try to flee, You stand steady in front of me. Your love does not scold, nor does it bind, It simply waits, patient and kind.

And as I crumble in your steady hand, You lift me up and help me stand. I see the band that circles your finger— A promise that, somehow, still lingers.


Could it be that I am found? Could this be the solid ground? Perhaps, just perhaps, love’s true name— Is gloriously written in the wounds you claim.

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