It can be hard to think about February when there are orange and yellow leaves calling to me. The afternoons are still balmy, and I have not yet gone hunting for my winter garb. But experience has taught me that in order for there to be a smooth schedule for the Marriage Conference over President's Day weekend, there needs to be a flurry of emails in October.

Two couples have already sent their descriptions and bios. I should offer a prize for promptness. But that would make people who are thick into living feel like they are somehow less worthy simply for getting it in just under the wire. Let's not do that. 

As part of my own preparation I reread the registration booklets from past conferences, which this year number ten. That translates to a couple of hundred individual workshops, and some stellar plenary speakers who tackled tough nuts like being a child of divorce, porn, addiction, and abuse. Not that the opening session is always heavy. Often the presenters make us laugh as well as cry. 

I dedicate my autumn sewing jag to raffle quilts, knowing that a clutch of lucky recipients will go home with a prize. Even now the stack is growing. 

One year we explored diversity, by having a bunch of couples read the twenty third psalm in another language. They held tiny oil lamps to read by which reflected on their faces like moonlight. 

Another year there was a fashion show of wedding dresses, including a Gibson Girl dress from a hundred years ago, and a silk satin gown from 1944. Another was embroidered around the hem, and one was made of linen with a skirt even wider than a full circle. 

We are still exploring what the next conference will entail. But between you and me, some of the magic happens in the months before, as fifty caring people open their hearts to the possibilities of what they will share.