This spring is my eighteenth and final year working on marriage programs for the Bryn Athyn Church. In a few weeks, we will host the fifteenth conference aimed at pumping energy into relationships. 

 

Looking back on past years, I recall the time there was a huge blizzard. My car got stuck in a snowbank between home and the Society Building, but friends came to my rescue. Another year the power on my road went out, which only solidified my excuses to ignore dishes and laundry. At least the lights were on at the school. I think I even had a house guest. 

 

Another time, the art project in the children's program heated up in the microwave, and the fire alarms were set off. We all had to evacuate for half an hour in the cold. 

 

One time, our son and his wife flew out from California to attend. That still makes me happy. 

 

Then there were presenters who could not actually present, for personal reasons, though one stalwart hero came back after a trip to the ER and still showed up on time. 

 

Mostly, though, the show went on, and a room full of people who could have been on the couch watching reruns were gathered under a canopy breaking bread. Some years, John's barbershop quartet serenaded. Other Februarys there were sweet dances. The main speakers blessed us with their courage, talking about the forces that make relationships strain under pressure. 

 

Then there was the laughter. The singing. The jewelry class where people made a triplet of interlocked rings. I have worn mine every day for twelve years. There was dancing, and throwing pots on the wheel. Some seasons the raffle prizes were extravagant, thanks to a river of generosity. 

 

One year, a benefactor stepped forward to pay for everyone's dinner, which was extraordinary. 

 

Probably the greatest gifts that happened in those fleeting days, cannot be measured by attendance, nor captured by cameras.