Thirty-three years ago, on that June 12th, it was nearly 100 degrees in muggy western Illinois and the breezes were strong enough to whip my bridal skirts around my legs, one time nearly causing a fall. I barely noticed the heat, although I was dressed in heavy satin, long sleeved, long skirt, and a fairly long train to carry. I didn’t care. I was wearing the first wedding dress I had tried on. I didn’t try on any others. I loved that gown.
And I was in love. We were in love. And so we married.
We’ve lived in five cities and towns, had seven addresses, raised three children who are grown now and moving on, and we share our lives together still. Still happily (most of the time). We’ve climbed a few steep mountains, crossed–scared–a few deep ravines, but we keep overcoming every obstacle that comes our way, we keep finding the bridges over the ravines. We’ve just crossed a ravine lately, and now there’s a lovely path ahead. Can’t see where it’s headed, but if my Sherpa is coming with me, I am not afraid.
We wrote our wedding vows–it was the thing to do in the mid-1970s–and I can’t find a copy. But I do remember we had one traditional reading mixed with all our words.
Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking.
It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.
I Corinthians 13:4-8
Hard words to live by, day in and day out, but wise words. With a message that bears repeating, and remembering. Repeating and remembering.
Happy anniversary to my first love, my only love!