Anniversaries and other ordinary days

Thirty three years ago I was dressed in an ascot and long tails.  I felt a little funny, but I was betting that french cuffs and frilly tux shirts in all sorts of colors would die sooner or later.  

I was right, thank God. 

I also had a ton of questions but I was betting on the girl who was breaking out in hives on her chest due to nerves.  I was fortunate there as well.  I had a doctor on call who prescribed beautifully and she was simply resplendent by evening.  And she was nervous because she had been engaged twice to great, godly guys (yes, I like and admire them both) — so how could she be sure?  

That was my job.  I had to be sure for two of us.  I should have had a case of nerves, but have never been smart enough to know when to do so.  God’s grace.

I am still certain.  She is pretty certain, and we are both amazed that we have lasted. persisted, grown, and (whisper this part) still in love.  

Today she sold more art, paid bills, filled out a FAFSA, fed horses, put horses on grass, opened her anniversary gift (for horses, silly) cooked dinner for us all before Brandon heads to camp as a counselor, and packed so we could spend a night in OKC before I preach on Sunday morning.  

I mowed, wrote, worked on class schedules, evaluated a couple of oil fields, memorized a sermon, rode my bike, and watched a movie with Jill.  

It — the work together — is the carbon fiber, spider silk or steel cable of life that binds it all together.  We salted it with kind messages from so many people, cheers, hugging each other, a couple of smooches, dinner with Steve who is finally closing on finishing his commission for the Sheikh.  But the fiber that binds the whole together, that makes the unshakable bond is the work together.  And that work is a sort of dance, like doing the cooking or kitchen together.  

The work is a dance.  You can be where the other isn’t, and work on what she needs next, and do what she doesn’t like to do, and finish about the same time.  

Dance.  Sometimes happy.  Sometimes sad.  Sometimes agitated (mild word rather than expletive deleted).

I like that you can dance when no one is around.  You can dance coyly with everyone watching.  You can even dance at weddings or funerals if you are slow and somber, but the fiber — the work — binds us together, binds us to the Lord of the Dance, and binds us to our time together until it ends.  

Such fetters make us rich.  

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