The Yale expositor., 1917-11-15
Little Problems
@cMarried
By
WILLIAM GEORGE JORDAN
THE EeB-TlDE OF LOVE.
coopyright)

The saddest thing in married life
is the drifting apart of those who have
lived and loved for years in the sun
shine of each others presence. 1t is
just a heart tragedy in the life of two.
The greatest trials of life are not those
which come to us from the world out
side the home, but those from the
world within. With the inspiring pres
sure Of the hand we love held tight
in our own, the battle of life can be
of love and mutual respect and esteem
is swept away, the very bulwarks Of
the home seem gone.
Occasional discords, misunderstand-
ings and little clouds of unhappiness
may not be serious. The sun of recon-
Citation may scatter them, and in the
balmy atmosphere that follows they
may be forgotten. But it is different
when love itself grows cold and re-
spect for each other, which is so able
an understudy to love, goes on long
vacation. Then inharmonies intensity
as the days go by; antagonism on the
basic questions of life grows more bit
ter; grim, hopeless silence takes the
place of speech, or the atmosphere be-
comes vitiated by hot words of recrim-
ination and contempt. There is some
times an indignant outburst of anger
at white heat that is not so awful as
1t seems. 1t may be the fierce flame
of protest from the heart that shows
the fire of love is still burning; but
constant, cold dead sarcasm and bit
terness speak only of embers.
This condition is not a matrimonial
duet; it is matrimonial duel. When
either husband or wife speaks words
meant to sting, phrases seemingly in
nocent to others hearing them, but
which are deftly loaded to annoy or
madden as they relentlessly find their
way through the vulnerable point in
the armor, it is time for those two
TO declare a truce and to hold speedy
peace conference or there will not be
enough love left to hold an inquest
over. They may even grow to hate
each others ways. moods, acts, and
turns of speech. The voice once loved
may now sound shrill and hard; the
step on the stair which was sweet mu-
sic may seem a Earring discord, and
the ripping laughter may strike only
Il vibrating note of vague rebellion.
This surely shows Cupid is getting
ready for a postmortem and dead
happiness will soon be buried.
Sometimes the growing separation
is on one side only, and one still loves
with the old intensity and the old
heart hunger. AS absence is always
harder for the one left behind, so this
twilight of love is most painful to the
one whose love is still constant. 1t is
the dead nerve that carries no pain.
The finer nature suffers most in life,
as variations in temperature that may
disturb the sensitive soul of violin
are powerless TO affect brass cymbals.
There may be conscious effort on the
part of the one who loves to disbelieve
in the growing superintendent to cred
it it, not to realize it, nor to accept it
for a moment as a possibility. But
sometimes a word, look, sentence
or an act makes further self-illusion
folly, as a lightning flash may reveal
to a traveller an abyss at his feet.
The smile that was the light of our
life no longer cheers us; the caresses
that told of love unstinted are with
held; the tenderness that seemed as
sure as sunrise or sunset has turned
to doubt, and the one who still loves
may battle hopelessly when all life
around him seems to move in a fog.
AT such times despite every wisdom
of heart and mind, one can never say
the right word or do the right thing.
Heart strings of sentiment, that once
vibrated at the slightest touch and
brought out in an instant q flood of
music from the finest memories of the
soul, are now mute. No explanations,
no pleas, no barring of ones very heart,
no illumination of the subtlest wind
ings of thought and emotion can van
quish that vague something that sep
arates.
We may stand broken hearted by a
wall of separation made up of gossip,
fear, doubt, suspicion, injustice, and
misunderstanding, with that most help
less of all despairs when we see love
that was our whole life, and still is
all that makes life worth living, swept
away as one would watch from a dis
lance boat carrying a loved one
swept by the rapids over an engulfing
cataract. This is the time when mem
cries of past joy rise like ghosts and
bring only pangs of pain, when loves
dead roses leave us only the thorns.
Love rarely dies a sudden death.
1t is usually aillng a long time before
its decease, Little ills that could read
lily be cured in their early stages are
permitted to run into more serious con-
ditions; complications set In and love,
with its vitality exhausted through
long suffering, finally dies. Loves
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