Much of my life there have been timetables. Goalposts like degrees, and weddings, due dates, and relocation provided a structure for the more fluid activity of regular routines. In some cases it nudged me to hustle, so as to finish packing before the truck appeared, or cram enough to pass exams. In other ways it allowed me to slow down and savor a full night's rest before a newborn landed in my arms. 

 

John is at that age when the conversation swivels around to retirement. He has weighed various factors, and made plans about how long to keep showing up at the office. At least, once we all start going back to the office. I am a bit younger, but it feels right to give myself a more clever strategy than Work Until I Stop. 

 

Three years is about right. The twins will be finished college, our house will be paid for, and John will be down shifting as well. There is even a subtle sense that someone else might appear with fresh energy to pass the baton to. I am under no illusions that my efforts to buoy relationships are either exhaustive or cutting edge. It would be delightful to observe the initiative that could emerge if I step back. 

 

This week I had a conversation with a woman whose efforts for marriage education preceded mine. Forty years ago she and her husband approached the pastor offering to lead retreats and small groups. They had trained with a program out of the Catholic Church, and felt called to bring it to our congregation. 

 

The pastor told her no. 

 

I grieve to think of it. Yet by the time I came along there was receptivity, and I am indebted to her and others who stepped into marriage initiatives. Their courage in wanting to construct grab bars for relationships has no doubt kept wobbly couples from falling. 

 

Even this tenuous decision reminds me to make these last years count.