Soul mates is a phrase I love to hate. I hate it because our culture has warped its true meaning. Poets and writers have expressed the concept. These, I love. What heart does not flutter at this thought?
Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
or this one:
He felt now that he was not simply close to her, but that he did not know where he ended and she began.
America’s first published poet, Anne Bradstreet, penned these lines for her soul mate husband, Simon:
My head, my heart, mine Eyes, my life, nay more,My joy, my Magazine of earthly store,If two be one, as surely thou and I,How stayest thou there, whilst I at Ipswich lye?
Jonathan and Sarah
If ever there were soul mates they had to be Jonathan and Sarah Edwards. Jonathan Edwards died at age 54 after he was inoculated with smallpox vaccine. He was aware the vaccine did not work and knew he was dying. I was touched to read that Jonathan Edwards, austere preacher of ‘Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God’, could also convey this loving message to his wife while on his deathbed:
“Give my kindest love to my dear wife, and tell her that theuncommon union which has so long subsisted between us has been of such anature as I trust is spiritual and therefore will continue forever: and I hope she will be supported under so great a trial, and submit cheerfully to the will of God.”
The uncommon union. Spiritual. One flesh, bound together in Christ. This is the stuff of true soul mates.