Today I celebrate my 8th year of marriage to Antique Daddy. We have weathered a number of storms as all couples do – infertility, chronic illness and then my own cancer – but on the whole there have been far more ups than downs. I think I’m good to go for another eight.
Yet even on the days when it’s good that I don’t own a cast iron skillet, there is an anchor that is so solid and heavy and deep that it keeps us steady even in the most turbulent of seas and that is our common faith in God.
We met ten years ago through mutual friends. I was 36 and had been widowed for over two years. He was 39 and had been dating professionally for as many years – neither of us prime dating real estate. We had both had our boats rocked by life. I had lost a husband and he had lost his father at age 11 and then his brother when he was 18. It is in this deep dark place far below the surface where sunlight does not penetrate that for both of us, faith was born. Not in fullness, but in emptiness. Not in blissful blindness or in a dearth of intellect, but in seeking and searching. Not in a joyful hand waving hallelujah chorus, but in a sometimes silent, angry, knee-bruising wrestling with God and His church. Ours is a faith not so much inherited, but earned. It is faith that is at the core of our marriage. It is our faith that dismisses thoughts of walking away. It is our faith that keeps us focused on living beyond the moment and into the future.
And now there is the boy. The boy who has made our marriage more challenging, more contentious, more frustrating, more joyful, more meaningful and more worth the effort. The boy who represents the miracle of life and faith made manifest. The boy who binds us ever more tightly.
So today, we mark eight years into this partnership of marriage. We do not know what the years ahead hold for us nor do we much care — we know whose we are and what we are made of. We just pray that there are a lot more years to come.