John and I went to visit a woman whose marriage spanned seventy years. Her husband is physically gone, but his presence with her is evident. His picture shows up on a screensaver, with their children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Their life together was blessed.
Even when it didn't feel that way.
They lost their first baby living overseas, when her husband was in the military. But the kindly doctor put his arm around her and reassured her that the Lord had taken this precious child, whose body wasn't quite strong enough to live in this world. He told them to try again soon. So they went on
vacation in the Netherlands, and were treated to fine dining and flowers. The owner of the hotel asked for proof that they were indeed married, before he would give them a single room. Fortunately, she had brought their marriage license. That was a close call. Their son was born nine months later.
She described how they got to know each other. Long ago, students at the
high school up the road from me had to do cleaning as part of their tuition remission. Or maybe it was to build character. In any case, it was called scholarship and day after day they showed up with brooms and rags to polish the classrooms. And chat. It was a sweet way to see one another in action, apart from the awkwardness of dating.
Over the decades, they raised
their kids in different parts of the country, as partners who knew how to laugh. He was energetic, doing landscaping into his eighties. He slowed down in the end, his body finally submitting to the limits imposed by age. She feels him with her often, sometimes a pat on the shoulder, and once as a quiet presence. Their many friends have gone ahead of her to the party, but she is content. God has steered her for all this time, and she has no doubt that He still is.
Love,
Lori