My husband, Rob, and I have been married almost twenty-five years. This is a miracle.
I’m not kidding. Someday, I’ll have to share bits and pieces of how God intervened when we selfishly set out to destroy each other.
Our pastor ended Sunday’s sermon by announcing the name of a couple and requesting that they join him. This isn’t a common event.
The couple left their chairs and headed forward. She leaned on him because she normally uses a cane. It was a slow journey.
I’ve shared a few laughs with them, and a few paragraphs of dialogue. I know she suffers from arthritis and that he’s a hard worker. One of their sons and his family attend church with us, and I’ve noticed that the females seem to have a good relationship.
As they climbed the stage steps, the pastor shared his reason for calling them. This couple has been married forty-three years and the husband requested the opportunity to publicly renew their wedding vows.
They stood, facing each other, and recommitted their lives to the other. Her eyes didn’t leave his face, nor did his leave hers. Overhead light revealed all the wrinkles, bald spots, and pounds that had crept up on them during their time together.
Then he sang to her. A song he has sung for forty-three anniversaries, whether in the midst of sickness or health, want or plenty, joy or sorrow, he sings the same song. I’ve never heard it before, it’s all about longing and patience and desire.
No flowers, one song sung a cappella, no attendants, reality etched on the faces of the bride and groom – I’ve never seen a more beautiful ceremony.
And Hollywood thinks it understands reality.