I’ll never forget the quiet evening I spent in my grandmother’s attic, surrounded by boxes of old books and the scent of timeworn pages. I wasn’t searching for anything in particular—just a moment of peace. Something to help me make sense of the questions swirling in my mind.
I had fallen in love with someone fifteen years older than me. While the connection felt natural and sincere, the opinions of others were hard to ignore. Some questioned the relationship, saying we were in different stages of life or that it might not work long-term. It made me pause. Could something that felt so right really be wrong because of age?
That night, one book stood out. Its leather cover was worn and cracked, the corners rounded by time. I flipped through it slowly, eventually landing on the pages of the Song of Solomon. I’d read it before, but this time, it spoke to me in a way it never had.
What struck me most wasn’t what the verses said—but what they didn’t. There was no mention of age. No conditions about how many years should or shouldn’t separate two people. Instead, it was filled with words about love: strong, enduring, compassionate love. The kind that shows up in action, in grace, in commitment.
I realized that the things that truly matter in a relationship—mutual respect, kindness, patience—don’t come with a number. Love isn’t measured in birthdays; it’s measured in how we care for one another, how we grow and walk through life together.
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