The Greatest of These – Part 1
The Greatest of These – Part 1
Erin and Xavier didn’t plan on falling in love in the oncology waiting room. But love doesn’t always check your calendar.
It started with a shared glance. Then a polite nod. Then weeks of sitting side by side while their fathers — both veterans, both stoic — received weekly treatments. Erin brought crossword puzzles. Xavier brought muffins from the café downstairs. And somewhere between appointments and awkward elevator rides, something quietly sacred began to grow.
Not fast. Not flashy. But real.
After both of their fathers passed — just three days apart — they stayed in touch. A coffee. A walk. A conversation that turned into five hours.
They learned they’d both been divorced. Both believed in second chances. Both a little scared to try again.
But that’s when faith showed up.
Not the kind you wear on Sundays — but the kind that whispers, “This might hurt again. Try anyway.”
A year later, when Xavier proposed on a bench outside the hospital where they met, Erin didn’t cry right away. She smiled, tucked her hand into his, and said, “Yes. Because I still believe.”
Planning the wedding came with all the excitement — and all the pressure. Erin wanted it to be simple. Personal. Meaningful.
She called me and said, “Claudia, I want a ceremony that feels like us. We’ve been through so much. And we’re still standing. That has to mean something.”
That’s when we talked about hope — and how their story was already a testimony to it.
But it was love that took center stage that day.
Not the polished kind. Not the magazine kind.
The kind that holds your hand at a hospital. That remembers your coffee order. That says, “We’ll keep choosing this — even when it’s hard.”
They didn’t meet at a club. There was no fancy car, no smooth lines, no whirlwind romance with exotic getaways. There hadn’t been fireworks in the bedroom that convinced them this was meant to be.
What they shared was raw and real — the slow healing that comes from walking with someone through grief. It wasn’t human eloquence or angelic ecstasy that brought them to the altar. It was the bond formed in pain, the friendship built in ordinary waiting rooms, and the choice to love without conditions.
When it came time to write their vows, Xavier asked for help putting his heart into words.
He didn’t want anything flowery — he wanted real.
On the day they said “I do,” he looked into Erin’s eyes and said:
“Love is patient. I promise to be patient with you.”
“Love is kind. I promise to be kind to you.”
“Love never gives up — and neither will I.”
There wasn’t a dry eye in sight. Not because the words were perfect, but because the love was.
“If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.”
(1 Corinthians 13:1, The Message)
That’s the heartbeat behind this new blog series: The Greatest of These.
For the next 13 weeks, we’ll walk through one verse at a time from this powerful chapter — the one so often quoted at weddings but rarely lived in our day-to-day.
Starting tomorrow, we’ll explore:
- What love sounds like
- What love does
- And how love endures when life doesn’t go as planned
Tonight — before the series begins — I’ve recorded a voiceover reading of the entire chapter. It’s gentle, heartfelt, and ready to meet you wherever you are. Let it play while you cook dinner, journal, or sit in quiet reflection.
You can find it on the Joy for a Lifetime YouTube channel, and it’s just the beginning.
If you’ve ever asked:
- What makes love last?
- How do I know if it’s real?
- What does love look like when life gets messy?
This series is for you.
Follow along each Thursday on this wedding blog — and invite someone you love to join you.
Because love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love never gives up.
And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.
(1 Corinthians 13:13)
When love is the foundation of your vows, your marriage, and your daily choices — joy naturally follows.
With a love that lasts, you can experience
Joy for a Lifetime.
