The first conversation my mother had with my father was the day after their wedding. Their arranged marriage began in India 53 years ago; mine started as the typical all-American love story 11 years ago. Surprisingly, apart from the differences as to how and when we met, the foundations of my parents' marriage and my own share some strong similarities. If you were to ask my wife, she would tell you that the only difference came before we all said, "I do." After that, they are both founded upon commitment and a choice to love one another.

When I first heard my wife say this, I felt strong objections rise up within me. I had always thought that romance was the main indicator of the strength of any relationship, or at least it would be in ours. When I was growing up, I would contrast the cultural modesty of our Indian household with the thousands of love stories I either heard on the radio or saw in American movies. The idea of a western relationship filled with flowers and outward displays of affection always seemed more attractive than its Indian counterpart. My parents' occasional offers to find me a wife never resonated with me despite how attractive they tried to make it sound. “We’ll see to it that she will be well-educated, is a good cook, and that she is homely (meaning good around the house).” But in my mind, I pictured homely as the Indian version of Ugly Betty.

What the script of the American love story failed to tell me was that a kiss wouldn’t always get me through difficult situations and a Hallmark card doesn’t always solve an argument. I now understand why so many romantic movies spend most of their focus on the pre-marriage relationship. Plots rarely continue after the altar.

When the storms of life come and two people have to face together the loss of someone dear or the trials of making ends meet, the flowers and cards may be considerate, but they are not enough to keep a relationship afloat. During times of difficulty, a commitment to romance is not enough. What is needed to navigate through dark times is having an unwavering commitment to commitment. My parents understood that before they were married. I understand it completely now that I am married. Every marriage I know that has persevered not only through good times, but through sickness, health, and poverty has understood this.

Committing to commitment requires us to ask some important questions when building the foundation of our relationships. Are we compatible with each other to the point of being willing to wake up next to each other day after day for the next 50 years? Even when we look more like our parents or grandparents with wrinkled skin and gray hair? Do we consider the unthinkable accident or illness where a fragile body can instantly become bedridden for life when we utter the words, “in sickness and in health?”

That said, I am still an idealist when it comes to marriage, and I have not abandoned my pursuit of romance. But I think my understanding of how love is aroused has been expanded. There is a beautiful moment in the play Fiddler on the Roof where the expectations of an older generation and the romantic ideals of youth collide. After allowing his daughter to marry out of love, there is a scene where the patriarch, Tevye, asks his wife, Golde, if she loves him (www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_y9F5St4j0). Her response to him is simple and practical. “Do I love him? For twenty-five years I've lived with him, fought with him, starved with him. Twenty-five years my bed is his. If that's not love, what is?”

This song implies that their marriage has not always been ideal and that they have been less than perfect spouses to each other. Yet the relationship of Tevye and Golde is the strongest in the story. The song reveals not only their commitment to each other, but also the secret of how they have stayed committed. Although the word is never used, it is there: grace.

Grace admits the shortcomings between two imperfect people who will fail each other and hurt each other in ways they may have never imagined. But it extends a hand of reconciliation. It is a choice made by one party to overlook an offense and choose forgiveness, and it is best exemplified alongside commitment. I see grace in my parents. Their imperfections and flaws haven’t disappeared over 50 years, and some of them have even become more pronounced. But their weaknesses don’t seem to bother each other as much as they once did. In fact, some of their shortcomings which once were sure to spark an argument sometimes now lead to laughter.

When we take our vows, do we understand that it's a commitment to extend grace to another person? My wife knows my faults and has suffered through them more than any other person in the world. Her graciousness and forgiveness—choosing to forgive me when I have offended her for the 490th time (Matthew 18:21-22)—has produced in me more loyalty and commitment to her than toward any other human being on this earth. And it often gives me a desire to change my destructive behavior. Jesus himself teaches us this when he spoke of the adulteress woman whose destructive life had turned into a statement of love because she had been forgiven of so much.

We must consider that our vows taken are not just to another person, but before a God of grace. When a Christian comes into relationship with God, it is the acceptance of a wedding proposal from Jesus Christ. There is the promise of commitment: “Never will I leave you or forsake you" (Hebrews 13:5). There is also the entrance into grace: “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus (Romans 3:23-24). Because of this, the expectations of forgiveness and grace can be given by God to mankind. He doesn't ask us to do anything that he has not already done for us.

In many ways I am only beginning the journey of commitment and grace with my wife. With the certainty of an uncertain future approaching, I am sure that our commitment and love to one another will continually be tested—possibly in ways I can’t imagine. Thank God (literally) that there is one whose commitment has already been tested and proved. He will be there in darkest times and harshest storms for me to turn to. His grace to me, an imperfect man who has failed him to a greater degree than my wife has ever failed me, allows me to forgive even the greatest offense. I am often left to wonder if my stubborn heart would have ever truly grasped the forgiveness and steadfast love of God apart from my marriage, which has exposed my shortcomings and laid my life bare. When I think of how God forgives our sin and looks at us always as a bride on the day of her wedding—without stain, wrinkle or blemish—it makes me want to... well, it makes me want to buy my wife a dozen roses.