May 29, 2015

Our marriage is a teenager


A good name. A great name, really. But I'll bet I heard that name a hundred times growing up, oblivious to the fact that my future was made mostly of it.
13 years wearing these rings.
I often wondered who my husband would be, what we would do, where we go. But I never once thought about his name. Funny, too, because the first time I heard him say his full name - that March in Memphis so long ago - my heart seemed to jump up in the air. When it came back down again, there was a tremendous calm feeling, as if the last piece of a puzzle had shifted snugly into the place.
Element Fresh is a chain in this part of the world, and it is AMAZINGLY good.
I ordered the Green Garden smoothie, of course.
Vietnamese rice noodles? Yes please.
And now our marriage is a teenager. There are longish, coarse hairs the color of snow in his beard. His eyes are warm and full of life, still the same green-gray-blue, and still only for me. Our disagreements are less-fueled, and it takes less time (of which we have too little) and energy (better used in other ways) to put them out. Our conversations often drift to the future, settling lightly on the subjects of raising teenagers, his PhD, and even grandkids, when we set our sights far enough in the distance.

And we can set our sights that far, because we know we'll still be together then, unless parted by an untimely death. Our marriage will not only survive, but it will continue to grow, as it always has, in a healthy, endearing way. By the grace of G0D. By the grace of G0D.
Daughters are so sweet, aren't they? 
Especially this one.