Love Is a Choice: The Power of Commitment

Love isn’t sustained by ease—it’s forged in the daily choice to stay.

He proposed three weeks after we met.
Three weeks.

It sounds impulsive, reckless even—but it was something else entirely.
It was a moment of clarity.

We were two kids walking across campus one evening, talking about our families—how both of us had grown up in homes where love was complicated—parents who stayed together out of habit or fear,, where marriage often meant endurance instead of intimacy, duty instead of devotion.

We had seen what not to do.
We knew what broken looked like.
And somehow, in that shared ache, we realized we both wanted something different.

Somewhere between our laughter and our lament, he stopped walking, knelt down, and asked me to marry him. No ring. No candlelight. Just conviction.

He didn’t propose because we were “ready.”
We weren’t.
He proposed because we both knew what we wanted to build—and we were willing to do the work to make it real.

We didn’t promise perfection.
We promised commitment.

And that has made all the difference.

The Work of Building What You Never Saw

The truth is, marriage is both miracle and worksite.

It begins with a spark, yes—but what sustains it are choices made day after day, especially when the spark flickers. When you’ve never seen a healthy marriage modeled, you start from scratch—learning to speak without wounding, to listen without defending, to argue without destroying.

That took years.
Decades, really.

We stumbled through it all—the growing pains of early adulthood, the strain of raising children through multiple military moves, the stress of separations. Each chapter brought new trials we never could have anticipated.

But here’s what we did know: we had both made a promise that would stand when feelings faltered. We had taken the D-word—divorce—off the table completely. Not as a trap, but as an anchor.

It was our way of saying: We will not run when it’s hard.

That single decision reshaped everything.
Because when leaving isn’t an option, you learn how to stay better.

You learn to pause before you speak in anger.
You learn to ask for what you need instead of expecting your partner to read your mind.
You learn to forgive, not because it’s easy, but because resentment is too heavy to carry if you want to move forward together.

That’s the thing about commitment—it refines you.
It humbles you.
It sanctifies you.

Through Fire and Still Standing

We’ve walked through so many storms—uncertainty, health scares, financial strain, separation, and the kind of everyday friction that can erode connection if you’re not careful.

There were seasons when it felt like we were on opposite sides of a canyon, shouting across the gap. Times when exhaustion, pride, or silence threatened to undo what we had built.

But we always found our way back—not because it was easy, but because we chose to.
Because love, in its truest form, is not a feeling. It’s a practice.

It’s a thousand small acts of returning.

Returning to honesty when it would be easier to shut down.
Returning to tenderness when the world feels cold.
Returning to forgiveness when bitterness tries to take root.

Love doesn’t promise to make life painless—it promises to make the pain purposeful.

The Peace Beneath the Work

Now, thirty-two years later, there is a peace beneath the noise.
A steadiness.
A quiet trust that whatever life brings next, our foundation will hold.

Because commitment isn’t the end of freedom—it’s the container that gives love space to deepen, to expand, to endure. It allows vulnerability, honesty, and humor to thrive because you’re not performing for security—you already have it.

There’s something profoundly powerful about knowing someone will not walk away when things get hard. That you can be both strong and soft, flawed and forgiven, seen and still chosen.

We are still learning.
Still growing.
Still showing up.

But every time we weather a storm, the roots go deeper. And every calm after the storm feels a little sweeter.

Call to Reflection

Commitment isn’t a chain—it’s a promise.
And when it’s built on love, it becomes sacred ground.

Take a moment this week to reflect:

• How might your love grow if you approached it as a practice instead of a feeling?

• What would shift if you viewed love as a daily practice, not an emotional outcome?

• How might choosing to stay—through grace, patience, and perseverance—transform the connection you already have?