I am so grateful for the relationship I have with my wife. We aren’t perfect in our wounded perspectives. We aren’t right in our distorted projections. And we always find our way back to love.

No matter how tough things get, our commitment and devotion drive out fear, doubt, and conflict. We don’t run from the fire—we walk through it, hand in hand, eyes wide open, hearts cracked just wide enough to let the light pour in. That’s what makes us sacred. Not that we never fall, but that we rise together, again and again.

We are passionate about being each other’s cheerleader—not from a performative or obligatory place, but from a soul-level recognition of one another’s divinity. Through the grace of witnessing her—Heather—I learn deeper places of love towards myself. She has been my rock when I was shaken, my ocean when I was parched, my mountain when I needed a place to rise, and my valley when I had to descend into my own soul’s dark night.

Heather has been the Sophia of wisdom and nourishment to me being Christ. We are the divine polarity, dancing through eternity together in this sacred human form, learning how to embody the ecstatic truth that we are One.

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The Sacred Storms: Honoring the Hard Times

It hasn’t always been easy. And it shouldn’t be. Sacred union is not a sanitized fairy tale—it’s a crucible. It’s a fire where ego is burned and false beliefs are surrendered. The times we’ve fought, misunderstood, misfired, and misjudged each other weren’t signs of failure—they were invitations.

Invitations to go deeper. To look at the places inside ourselves where love had not yet reached.

Sometimes we needed space to breathe, to remember who we are outside of the story of “us.” And other times, we needed to press in even closer—to weep in each other’s arms and say, “I don’t know how to fix this, but I won’t leave you in it.”

We’ve learned to become alchemists in those moments. Not pretending they aren’t happening, not escaping into spiritual bypass, but truly sitting in the grief, the fear, the shame—and transforming it into grace.

This is what makes our love real.

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The In-Between Times: Building the Bridge

One of the most underrated spaces in any relationship is the in-between time. Not the mountaintops of bliss. Not the valleys of rupture. But that subtle, often quiet space between rupture and repair.

The space where you don’t quite know what the other person is thinking. The space where you’re both trying, but your nervous systems haven’t fully caught up yet. The space where you’re just going through the motions but your hearts are aching to remember how to be soft again.

These are the sacred thresholds.

Most people run from these spaces. They distract. They self-sabotage. They seek certainty. But the in-between is where the real work happens. It’s the chrysalis, not the butterfly. It’s the womb, not the birth.

Heather and I have spent time in that space—not just once, but countless times. And each time we choose to remain, to stay present, to pray even when our voices crack and our words stumble… each time, something ancient and holy builds a bridge between us.

That bridge is made of faith.

It’s made of remembering.
Of sacred pause.
Of humor in the face of heartbreak.
Of tenderness that has nothing to prove.

And eventually, that bridge leads us right back into each other’s arms—not as the same people, but as new versions of ourselves, transfigured by love’s fire.

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Joy, Devotion, and the Happy Dream

A Course in Miracles speaks of the “happy dream”—the awakened state we enter before full enlightenment. It’s not perfect, but it is peaceful. It’s the result of forgiveness, of letting go, of remembering that the world we see is a mirror, not a prison.

Heather and I are building our happy dream. And let me be clear: that doesn’t mean we don’t feel pain. But we don’t let that pain rule our kingdom.

Joy is our compass.
Gratitude is our language.
Devotion is our practice.

There are moments—sunset walks, shared tears, belly laughs, whispers in the dark—that feel like glimpses into eternity. Moments where I look at her and think, “I’ve known you before time began. And I’ll find you again when time ends.”

To love like this takes something. It’s not luck. It’s not chemistry. It’s not just “finding the one.”

It takes choice.

Over and over again.

To choose to stay when it would be easier to run.

To choose to listen instead of defend.

To choose to soften when your armor wants to rise.

To choose to love not who they were, but who they’re becoming—and trust that they’re doing the same for you.

What It Takes to Stand the Test of Time

1.Radical Responsibility.

No blaming. No finger pointing. We each take full ownership of our emotional landscapes. Our pain is not the other’s fault—but it is an invitation to heal together.

2.Devotional Presence.

Being there—not just physically, but soulfully. Looking into each other’s eyes and saying with your being: “You matter more than this argument. You are worth my time, my breath, my prayers.”

3.Shared Vision.

Our love is a temple. It’s not just about what we get from each other—it’s about what we’re building with each other. We are stewards of something bigger than us.

4.Sacred Humor.

We laugh. Even through the tears. Even through the chaos. It keeps us light enough to fly, grounded enough to stay.

5.Forgiveness.

Not once. Over and over again. Because the relationship is not made up of perfect days, but of how we recover from imperfect ones.

Click here for Part ll: Love as a Path of Initiation