Inside a box of our love letters are two communion cups, tiny, plastic, now a little cracked. When we first met, we prayed together, and we asked God to come quickly for us, but secretly hoped He wouldn’t until after our wedding night. We asked that He would come into our relationship, and then we drank together for the first time. “The blood of Christ,” we said.

And the blood of Christ it was, though at the time, we didn’t know how we would experience it in marriage.

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