Before I Meet You: My Vows in Advance

Before I meet you, I am looking to meet two ordinary people, choosing extraordinary kindness. I don’t know the day our paths will cross, but I can choose the kind of man who will meet you there. So I am writing my vows ahead of time. I do not intend to impress you, but to instruct myself. Setting the basics of the standard I wish to relate.

I vow to carry a quiet strength. Intelligence without humility becomes noise; faith without kindness becomes a cymbal. I will bring my questions to God and my patience to you. When I don’t understand, I will ask before I assume; when I’m tired, I will rest before I speak.

I vow to respect you in public and private. In rooms where titles shine and in corners where no one looks, I will honour your voice. I will not use jokes as daggers. I will not auction your stories for applause. Your name will be safe with me.

Before I meet you, I vow to prize the ordinary. Grand gestures visit; small mercies move in. I will practice the daily crafts of marriage: unhurried listening, warm greetings, ungrudging apologies, and the steady rhythm of prayer. If our house is ever famous, let it be for its gentleness.

I vow to be strong enough to be tender. I will carry my share of the load, even if it’s sometimes more than my share, and never keep score. I will learn your seasons: when laughter is medicine, when silence is sanctuary, when counsel is love.

I vow to welcome correction. The fastest way to become foolish is to believe I can’t be. If I wound you, I will not hide behind my intentions; I will repair what I damaged. I will invite wise voices into our lives. Wise voices from Pastors, good Elders, God-fearing friends who tell the truth and then stay to help.

Before I meet you, I vow to keep God at the centre. Not as a slogan, but as a life: scripture that shapes us, service that stretches us, and prayer that steadies us when storms arrive. A cord of three strands is not easily broken; without that third strand, we tangle.

I vow to respect every person we meet. The driver at dawn, the nurse on the night shift, the child selling oranges in the sun, mainly because we all bear the image of God. I will not measure worth by wealth, degrees, or fame. Our table will make room.

I vow to argue without contempt. We will confront problems, not each other. We will be specific, not sarcastic; honest, not harsh. We will pause when anger is hot and return when hearts are cooler, because love is both brave and patient.

Before I meet you, I vow to keep choosing you. On glittering days when everything is easy, and on grey days when nothing cooperates, I will be intentional about choosing us. I will treat covenant not as a cage but as a garden: planted once, tended daily, blooming for years.

These are not promises to impress the future; they are instructions for the present. I will practice them now, so that when I finally meet you, it might not be an audition but an arrival.

While these are my wishes, convictions and goals, I still totally need the Lord of hosts to execute, live in His image, make me a man who carries mercy in his mouth and wisdom in his hands. Teach me to love like He does with joy. Amen.

I look forward to the happy place we shall call home. An enviable family of God above everything else. A home where we create peace that covers the community and the world at large.