Last Sunday I double dipped. By that I mean I went to church twice. After the first one I drove by myself to the Cathedral, while John planned to make breakfast for the kids who had slept in until minutes before the first service. I sat a few rows back on the right, and enjoyed the preludes. Then I saw him walk in. He scanned the pews, looking for me. I caught his eye, and he smiled. 

I slid over to make room for him, knowing that he would walk all the way down one aisle, and up the other to where I sat. Which he did. I held his hand. 

When the first song began we stood to sing together. We like to sing together. The notes were different but the words were the same. 

Belonging to someone is a blessing. Of all the places John could choose to sit, he sat with me. Every night when he leaves work, he drives home. Again. While that small gift has happened tens of thousands of times in thirty five years, it is no less precious. It is just that I forget to be grateful.

But on Sunday I remembered.