350,400 Hours

Forty years ago on this day Steve and I were tying the knot.  I wore ivory lace; my veil covered a fresh face framed by long dark wavy hair.  My blue-eyed, blonde-haired delivery man looked so handsome--if not a little uneasy--in his tails.  The carved altar and gothic arches of St. Paul's Methodist Church were warm and bright with white tapers and apricot roses.  Jesus prayed in a stained glass garden overhead, while friends and family joined in the pews.  It was a time of joy, adventure, and endless possibilities.

On that grey, chilly weekend, we newlyweds sped off into our new life in Steve's navy blue Mercury Cougar XR7 (which, BTW, was one of the important things that attracted me to my man . . . ).  Sigh.  We stopped on Galveston's Seawall to have seafood before checking in at The Flagship Hotel for the weekend.  Forty years ago . . . I can hardly believe it.

We had met ten years earlier when I was a young teen and Steve had his first job at Sacco Brothers Grocery Store in Southwest Houston.  Accompanying my mother every Saturday for her weekly shopping trip, I wasn't necessarily trying to learn domestic skills; I was just checking out the stock boy.  And Steve always managed to replenish shelves on our aisle or sack groceries at our register.  Later he joked that it must have been love, because my mother was a frugal tipper.

Yes, falling in love with Steve was easy.

Forty years later, our weekend looks a little different.  I'm sitting at my laptop in "relaxed fit" Lee Riders and sensible shoes.  Dry, wrinkled skin is tamed a little by Eucerin Original Healing Soothing Repair Crème with Rich Emollients.  My silver cropped head has a quarter-sized divot in its crown instead of a veil.  (But it's free of basal cell carcinoma, and the dermatologist insists that most of the hair will grow back.)  My pewter-haired groom is sitting in his study, dozing through college football.  His uniform is Levi's and an Old Guys Rule t-shirt.  He requires bright light and cheaters from the drugstore to decipher small print, and allows me to help tame his bushy Bingham brows.  (Personally, I'm grateful the eyesight is a little dim.  That means he can't distinguish the coarse stray facial hair that plagues his bride between threadings.)

This day, 480 months after our wedding, Steve is back home from his early morning MRI to check out why his quiet voice has gradually become hoarse and raspy.  In the sanctuary of our home, we're surrounded, not by candles and flowers, but by Mr. Potato Head and Boogie Wipes--visible reminders of our busy 21 month-old grandson's Friday play date with GiGi and HeyYea.

We have another damp grey fall weekend--just like the one four decades ago.  But today, instead of our wedding reception, a fragrant pot of chili chases the damp away.  No honeymoon weekend of walks on deserted beaches and fresh red snapper with potatoes au gratin at Gaido's.  We'll most likely enjoy our simple, spicy dinner on trays in front of the television tonight.  Maybe a Netflix movie or Downton Abbey?  In case you're thinking that Steve has become a lazy slouch after all this time, I hasten to say: with a full heart, I politely turned down his invitation to get fancy and eat out.

350,400 hours after vows, it's still an adventure, now tempered by hope and a peace that passes human understanding.  Not every hour has been Christmas morning or Disney World.  Two bright, healthy sons were delivered by C-Sections.  Mixed in with goodnight prayers and Little League, there were two-year-olds and teenagers.  The same year that we celebrated Steve's father's 80th with a family cruise, life filled up with biopsies, chemotherapy, surgery, radiation, clinical trials, and recovery; along with fifteen years of follow-up oncology visits.  I was able to celebrate our eldest son's college graduation while Steve stayed home recuperating from his cancer treatment.  Because Steve is unable to fly, he sent me off to Brazil for two important family celebrations: our youngest son's wedding to our beautiful daughter-in law and the birth of our grandson.  We were hemispheres apart, connected by Skype.  In our married life, there have been deaths--some sudden, some anticipated.  Our family understands marriage and divorce, happiness and depression, the poison of alcoholism and the freedom of sobriety.

When I think about it, how did two very flawed humans in a fallen world--how has our life together survived?  More than survived.  Triumphed.

The only answer I know is the truth that after 40 years--4 decades--480 months--350,400 hours--God is still on His throne.  Falling in love was easy.  Staying in love has been an act of God.