Skip to main content

25 Years

Today is our 25th wedding anniversary. I can't believe 25 years have passed since I walked down that aisle to meet the man I couldn't wait to spend my life with. I don't remember being nervous or worried about anything that day - I was just so excited that I was going to be MARRIED to him. It was a wonderful Mass, a wonderful day of friends and family, and a joyful celebration. My daddy walked me down that aisle and handed me off to the only man that I thought measured up to my father.

We didn't have a dime then, so we never had a honeymoon. We just moved into our little apartment, and I had so much fun organizing our wedding gifts into the cupboards and shelves. One night, we mentally removed all the furniture that had been given to us to see what we really "owned": we were left with a second hand dining room table and our mattress.

I had about $40 a week for groceries, which was plenty, but I still worried over the list and then walked to the store and back.

Although we'd been together for 3 1/1 years, that first year was such a year of discovery and fun. I realized he didn't talk at the dinner table - he'd been taught not to as a child. For me, the dinner table was where you met at the end of the day to report the day's news, share events, yack, yack, yack....and he was silent. That was funny - and frustrating - to me.

Oh, I thought I'd get pregnant right away. And I didn't. And didn't. And didn't. And the realization of infertility slowly dawned.

25 years? Oh, my gosh. My prayer today is that we have at least 25 more...because it really hasn't been enough time yet with the most wonderful man in the world.

Comments

Post a Comment

I love comments, even if you don't agree, but please don't leave anonymous posts. A well-mannered reader leaves a name!

Popular posts from this blog

Trying to "end run" God

If you're a football fan, you know what an end run is. From Merriam-Webster:
a football play in which the ballcarrier attempts to run wide around the end of the line We try to "end run" God a lot. I do. I figure I know better. I've got this - no need to worry the Big Guy about such a trivial thing.

Of course, it never works.

Like the puppy above, when we try and evade the tough obstacle (even though we KNOW we will eventually have to do it), we end up - well, off in the bushes.

But oh! How I wished my way worked. I'd love to take a flying leap and land smoothly and gracefully. People would be in awe, as if watching Simone Biles nail a balance beam routine that no one else would even attempt. I would shyly look down and blush - just lightly - and acknowledge (But humbly! Oh so humbly!) my achievement.

But no: I am the one pulling myself out of the bushes, scratches all over my legs and twigs in my hair. I'd hear that gentle but loving voice of God saying, &quo…

Secret Santa!!

Too old for Santa? I think not.

Yes, there are discussions as to whether we should "lie" to kids and tell them that Santa brings them gifts vs. We can't lie to the kids; it's wrong.

There is also the "Christmas is about Jesus" vs. "But Santa is magical!"

You know, we have so few magical and joyful moments, and less and less as we get older. Santa is fun. And the kids usually figure it out, and no one I know was ever scarred for life for believing that Santa brought them and every child everywhere a toy for Christmas.

It's the magic of looking up at the sky on a clear December night, thinking "I'll wait up to see Santa" and later, as you fell asleep at the window, being in your daddy's arms as he carries you to bed.

It's the magic of putting out cookies and milk (or beer, because Santa does like beer) and maybe some carrots for the reindeer, and then checking in the morning to make sure the food was all consumed.

It's…

Advent Brokenness

It was a lovely May evening, the kind we in Michigan savor like honey. After the brutal cold of winter, flowers blossomed, grass greened, mosquitoes flocked. School was almost done for the year - just the formalities of 8th grade graduation were ahead.

Why not saddle up the horse and go for a ride? Why not, indeed. So my sister and I did. I took Prince out across the road from our house, to romp through the weeds on a path my father mowed for us. The view from horseback on a spring night - well, nearly Heaven.

Until Prince bolted. He spooked. I fell. And my arm broke. Compound fracture.

My dog, a collie, had followed us out. He was not particularly trusting of Prince, as Prince would never allow himself to be herded, and this vexed my collie. My dog, channeling his inner Lassie, ran home without me.

My sister had been in the yard with her boyfriend at the time, Gary, waiting for me to come back. Instead, it was just the dog loping across the road. That didn't seem right, so my si…