He Knew Her Whole Story and Still Saw Her

Today I finish my last Institute class on The Eternal Family.

And I have been thinking about what I am actually taking with me.

When you take a class about eternal families, you might expect to walk away with a list of things that make a marriage work. Pray together. Go to the temple. Communicate better. Forgive. Keep your covenants.

All important things.

But I think one of the things I am leaving with is much quieter than that.

How do I look at the person I love?

Because after enough years of marriage, you know a lot.

You know their strengths, but you also know their weaknesses.

You know the things they have overcome and the things they are still working on. You know the words they said years ago that still sting a little when you remember them. You know the disappointments. The patterns. The mistakes.

Sometimes we know our spouse’s mistakes better than anyone else does.

And because we know them so well, it can be really easy to keep bringing those mistakes with us.

Even when they are trying to become someone different.

That made me think about the woman at the well.

Jesus met her there knowing her entire story.

He knew about the five husbands. He knew the man she was currently with was not her husband. He knew the choices, the heartache, the complications. He knew things about her that she hadn't even told Him yet.

And yet, I keep coming back to the way He looked upon her.

He did not pretend her story wasn't true.

He didn't excuse everything.

But He also didn't reduce her to it.

He saw her.

And then He offered her living water.

I wonder how different some of our marriages would feel if we learned to do that a little better.

Not ignore hurt. Not pretend trust doesn't sometimes need to be rebuilt. Not stop having hard conversations or setting boundaries.

But maybe stop making the person we love stand trial for something we have already decided to forgive.

That one hits me.

Because I think sometimes we say we have forgiven, but then we keep the evidence nearby.

We pull it back out when we are scared.

Or hurt.

Or when the current argument needs a little extra ammunition.

"You always..."

"You never..."

"Remember when you..."

And suddenly we aren't talking to the person standing in front of us anymore. We are talking to every version of them who has ever disappointed us.

Jesus knew her whole story.

And still, He saw who she could become.

There is something about that kind of love that feels very much like what an eternal marriage would require.

Maybe marriage isn't just about finding the right person and then staying together forever.

Maybe part of becoming an eternal family is learning, over and over again, to see each other through the eyes of Christ.

To notice growth.

To allow repentance to actually mean something.

To make room for someone to change.

And perhaps hardest of all, to stop requiring someone to remain the person they were when they hurt us.

Today, as I finish this class, I don't think I am walking away believing that eternal marriage means two people eventually figure out how to stop disappointing each other.

I think it might mean two imperfect people keep choosing Jesus in the middle of all that imperfection.

And maybe sometimes choosing Jesus looks like asking:

Am I looking at the person I love through the lens of who they have been, or am I leaving room for who Christ is helping them become?

Because He already knew everything about the woman at the well.

And He still sat down beside her.

He still talked with her.

He still offered her living water.

He still saw something worth becoming.

I want to learn to love more like that.

Not blindly.

Not without boundaries.

But with enough grace to believe that the people I love are still becoming.

Because I am still becoming too.