The church bells had long since faded into memory, but he still remembered the way her hand trembled in his as they said their vows. Not from fear, but from the weight of it all – two lives, two histories, seven children, and a prayer answered in a way neither of them could have scripted.
Months later, their home was rarely quiet. Laughter spilled through hallways, sometimes tangled with the chaos of homework, spilled juice, and mismatched socks. Yet in the middle of it all, there was peace – the kind that doesn’t come from perfect circumstances, but from knowing you are exactly where God placed you.
He often caught himself watching her across the dinner table, her eyes soft as she listened to one of the kids tell a story. Dove eyes, he thought again, but now the phrase meant more than it ever had. It wasn’t just about beauty. It was about the way she saw the world – with gentleness, with patience, with a faith that steadied everyone around her.
One day, while sitting together on the porch, Solomon told Paloma Nayana how close he had come to walking away. Fear wanted to steal what God had already given him. She smiled, squeezed his hand, and reminded him that God’s answers were always better than their requests.
Song of Solomon 1:15
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