I was captivated. Were you? The royal wedding went off without a hitch, both bride and groom stunning in regal garb and beaming to the accolades of roaring crowds. I think I watched the whole thing three times. It seemed a fairy tale; the commoner, Kate, becomes royalty.

I studied Prince William. Yes, he’s handsome. Yes, he’s famous. But what, exactly, makes him a prince? Oh, I know, practically speaking it’s his “royal” blood. Really? Royal? A vial of his blood would be indistinguishable from a lineup of vials in a laboratory. It’s the same as anyone’s, human and naturally deficient (Rom. 3:23). While I deeply admire the contributions William and his brother have made to their country’s military, does that make other British soldiers princes?  No, Prince William won gene pool bingo. 

Yes, I was captivated, but I think it’s because I am a hopeless romantic. I love weddings. I love…well, love. Don’t we all? Love is God’s idea and one of His best. God created us to love and worship Him. His next desire is that we love one another.

Married love eluded me for years. Why would anyone want to commit to someone who lives in constant pain? There were plenty of young relationships, but once a suitor became aware of my daily struggle with muscle spasms and spent joints, his phone calls would cease. While this was difficult for me, I honestly understood.

At this point I must say that 98% of my blog writing will point to the Prince of the Air. You may have guessed by now that I’m not going there with this blog. Please forgive me, but I must speak of another prince. All the royal wedding hype has flipped my “romantic pondering” switch into high gear, and my heart is almost bursting with gratitude. 

 Dial back nearly 28 years. I had noticed Bill at church events. He was smartly dressed, witty, and disarmingly charming. I honestly tried to keep my interest at bay. I had already decided I was done with relationships. I was done with rejection.

Bill surprised me one night with a phone call following a Focus on the Family rally. I had the privilege of working with James and Shirley Dobson on that rally. Bill was impressed to have seen me as part of the Focus staff. (At least that was the premise for his call.) We talked for three hours that night, as if we were long-lost friends reunited. Our relationship took off as if it were shot from a cannon.

After a few months I knew we must have “the talk,” that I must be totally honest with him about the impact of daily pain on my life. The conversation ended awkwardly, just like all the others. And, just like before, my phone lay silent for what seemed like weeks. This time, the silence was more devastating. This guy was a cut above the others, a man of deep faith and incredible integrity.

Oh well, it’s just you and me, Lord.

One night I grabbed the phone, thinking it was my sister calling.

“Bill!  I didn’t think I’d hear from you.”

“I’m sorry it has taken so long for me to call,” he replied, “but I’ve thinking…and praying. I’ve decided that if you can put up with daily pain in your life, then you could probably put up with anything I’d ever put you through. I’d really like to see you again.” 

My heart was pounding, and I whispered a prayer of thankfulness.

A year and a half later we were married. The country commoner found her Prince William, and I know I felt as much a princess as Kate Middleton.

 It isn’t easy being married to someone who is out of commission at least 40 percent of the time. It isn’t easy putting up with account-draining medical expense year after year. Marriage is enough of a challenge without chronic pain. Throughout our 26 years of marriage, my prince has never once complained about the expense, the inconvenience or the burden my “thorn in my flesh” has caused him. Not once, not even a hint.

Now that’s what makes a prince.

Bill has never hesitated to do any form of housework, from cleaning toilets to scrubbing floors, despite the fact that he has worked ridiculously long hours, and I have been at home.

Now that’s what makes a prince.

We struggled through years of infertility and miscarriage. I remember tearfully apologizing to my husband for my inability to produce a child. His response? With gentle arms around me he said, “I married you to be my wife, not the mother of my children.”

Now that’s what makes a prince.

I’ve watched him struggle with the injustice of corporate politics, always taking the high road of integrity and self-sacrifice, even when it meant job loss. I’ve watched him hold his head high, never compromise his strong values, and, with unfailing faith, never give up.

Now that’s what makes a prince.

I am blessed beyond measure.

Joy in Jesus,

 Jacquee