in example:

In my Spiritual Disciplines class on Monday, Bill (an affectionately coined nickname for our Professor, previous Campus Pastor, mentor and friend) told us a story of two people who were once apart of his congregation. 

Florence and Phil, were engaged to be married just six months before Phil went away to war. They were in love and promised to each other that they would be married upon his return. Until then they would write letters to each other every day. He was sent oversees, to Europe and was on the beach at Normandy just a week after D-Day. Their letters were constantly in circulation yet it was sometimes weeks before one would get just a single letter, or sometimes a whole stack of them at once. For four years they wrote, for four years he told her how passionately he was in love with her and for four years she waited for him to come home. 

"She told me that the mailbox on her family's farm was about a quarter mile from the house. She used to walk it sometimes two and three times a day... searching for a letter."

Phil was wounded three times during his service. The final time, an injury that would  paralyze him, was by friendly fire. A man was cleaning his gun in the barracks, and it accidentally went off. The bullet went through the wall and hit Phil in the back, paralyzing him for the rest of his life. He returned home with about six months to live, or so they said. 

Even with so little time left, they were married. 

"They were apart of my church congregation. When I met them Phil had far outlived the doctor's predictions for how long he had to live. I was so privileged to be the one to renew their vows. For their 50th wedding anniversary."

Sitting in their home Bill asked Florence, "Why did you marry him?" She could have easily  changed her mind when he got home. Easily have chosen the less painful road, instead she faced watching her husband pass shortly after their wedding. Florence didn't answer, but got up and went back into her room. 

After about 10 minutes of shuffling around she re-entered the room with a large box. Inside were more shoe boxes. Each full of letters. They had matched their correspondence and stored them away. She began to read one to Bill and it was difficult for her. Not because of her old age or bad eyesight, but because the letter had been read so many times and touched so often the words had begun to fade. She stopped and said, "How could I not marry a man who writes like this?" 

Bill relayed to us that at the reception of the renewing of their vows he watched a couple who were just as in love with each other as the day they were married. 

"Every once and a while I would look over and watch Florence swat his hand away from her and say, Phil!!"