I forget who first made the joke, “We’ve been happily married for thirty years. That’s not bad for a forty-year marriage.”
It’s only funny because it’s sort of true.
Today, we celebrate 37 years of marriage.
It hasn’t always been happy. We went through a really rough patch about fifteen years ago when I thought we were done. Not headed for divorce but headed for something perhaps even worse: co-existence. We were opposed in every important area of life. Finances. Church. Family. I figured we’d be one of those couples who live together but have parallel lives.
I’m thankful we made it through that patch and came out on the other side stronger and even more committed.
It hasn’t always been easy. We’ve endured crazy work schedules, a stressful career where he literally placed his life into God’s hands each day on the job. People sometimes ask if I’m glad he’s not doing that anymore and that I must have worried about him all the time.
I didn’t worry, because I knew from the beginning that I would go crazy if I allowed myself to hitch a ride down the Worry Highway. I’m thankful that we get each other and he doesn’t question my love even if I’m able to send him to work with a kiss and a hug instead of wailing and gnashing teeth every day.
It hasn’t always been fun. Moving across the state isn’t fun. Raising a family isn’t always fun. Laundry isn’t fun.
But we do those things. Because we’re committed to each other. We hang in there.
Thirty-seven years of wedded bliss. It’s up to God how many more He’ll give us. I’m thankful for the ones we’ve had.