TO MY WIFE OF 47 YEARS- HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!

      On this date (Aug. 19), in 1967, on a beautiful summer's night- in what seems like a dream- my wife, Sherry, and I were married in Ankeny, Iowa. It's been 47 years, and I can still see her walking down the steps that ran along side the pool...so young and beautiful... as she approached me and the Lutheran minister who had agreed to marry us. It was a beautiful setting for a wedding. My father was alive then... and in good form. He always liked Sherry and talked to her more freely than he talked to me. My little brother, Randy, was alive then as well, and he was always the life of the party. There were others present, of course, but in a certain way, it was just Sherry and me.
      We had only dated for a matter of (a few) months, and no one of sane mind would have said that I was ready for marriage. But we were in love, and Sherry had not yet seen how much growing I had to do. Indeed, I hadn't even met all of my demons myself yet, and life was so very peaceful when we were together. I saw her night after night when we were courting, and it was always magical. Sometimes, we would go out and listen to a piano player, or better yet, a saxophone player; once in a while, we'd get dressed up and go out to one of Des Moines' steakhouses; but most of the time, we just sit in Sherry's efficiency apartment and listened to Rod McKuen... as her window fan whirled in the background. Her place was very modest, but it was a palace to me, and I felt like a king when I was with her. So... despite a dating period that was much too brief, we stood facing one another on August 19, 1967, repeating the vows that we given to us.
      We never understood a word of the vows we shared of course. Young lovers never do. Neither one of us knew a thing about forever, and words like "for better" or "worse" didn't mean much either. Not then... although they became clearer as the years passed... and Sherry learned what it was like to be married to an self-absorbed alcoholic. I didn't know it myself when we got married, but as it turned out, I was a very difficult person to have as a partner because I didn't understand what it meant to be a partner. I didn't even understand what it was to love another person (or myself) in depth. I knew what passion and desire were, and I loved the feeling of being "in love," but of the type of love that gives of itself and seeks nothing in return, I knew nothing at all. I'm sure that Sherry was surprised to find out that she was married to a "3" instead of "10," but she stuck with me as I gave myself to God and began a spiritual journey. She also agreed to join me in pursuit of what I thought was my calling to be a minister, and that alone took us to Chicago, Joliet, Kalamazoo, Peoria, and the Quad Cities.
      We were nomads on a spiritual journey, as I learned more and more about what it meant to be "together," which I now see as a mutual relationship with both accountability and freedom. I grew in faith and my understanding of love matured, but even then, our life together wasn't all "wine and roses." There were bumps, and hills, and turns even after I became a minister, and there were times when I had to recommit myself to a relationship that wasn't all about me. Sometimes it seemed like we had it made, and sometimes it seemed like we had work to do, but we kept at it... and we never quit talking and laughing together. Commitment, effort, honesty, laughter, faith, surrender- these are the things that make a good marriage. In short, I discovered that mature love is, in large measure, one part commitment, one part surrender, and one part perseverance ... with a dash of romance thrown in. The dash of romance is important, no doubt, but love won't endure without the other ingredients.
      Today, on this our 47th anniversary, I write as a debtor. In recent years I've been able to pay Sherry back a little... for the sacrifices she made for me... but I am still far, far in debt to her... for I am sure that 99 women in a 100 would've given me up as a lost cause years ago. Most partners would've grown weary, but Sherry stayed the course and I am very grateful. Even now, I would be much less without her, and I am even more excited to be home with her tonight than I was 47 years ago. Tonight, we will go out for dinner, without the saxophone player and the wine, and then we will go home and talk as we always do. We will laugh together and go to bed, which can still be a delight. But tonight, we will sleep with a little poodle between us and with an aging Sheltie at the foot of the bed. It will be like heaven again, and I will be at peace again- without Sherry's window fan or Rod McKuen's songs. In the morning we will get up and get ready for our youngest daughter and grandson to arrive from New York. What a joy that will be! Indeed, one of the great joys of a long journey is all the discoveries and blessings that come your way. Who would've known, back in '67, that I would be writing a blog which people read on something called the internet? What is more, we could not have known the pain we'd experience when we lost Sherry's mother, my father, and both of my brothers. Neither did we know that our daughters would give us so much unfettered joy... and I certainly didn't imagine being a grandparent to two beautiful girls and a wonderful grandson, or a great-grandparent to a darling little boy (and a southerner at that).
      Yes, it's been quite a ride, and I feel very blessed. With gratitude to my Lord, Jesus Christ, without whom I would be of little use to anyone, I say, Happy Anniversary, Sherry! You have made the journey worthwhile.