R
ick and I celebrated our 20-year wedding anniversary yesterday. We’re grateful and humbled because we know that in our disposable culture, it seems like anything past 10 is a milestone. We got married just out of college so in another year or two we will have been married longer than we haven’t. That just seems crazy to me.
The funny thing is that we celebrated this 20-year milestone in bed. And not the kind of “in bed” you’re thinking of right now. (I wish.) No, this was the kind of “in bed” where you have a pile of used Kleenex and cough drop wrappers on the nightstand where a candle should be. No raging passion in this bedroom. Just two raging head colds.
You know the kind of head cold where it feels like someone is driving a spike into your temple? Yeah. That kind.
So, we took turns making each other hot tea or tending to different things with the kids when needed. Usually each year on May 16th he gets me a bouquet of roses: one for every year we’ve been married. I asked him not to this time because I knew I wouldn’t be able to smell them. Pathetic, I know.
But, It occurred to us as we sipped tea that, though admittedly a little disappointing, this whole spend-our-20th-anniversary-sick thing is sort of apropos, in a way. I mean, it’s not like we have life-threatening diseases and there’s some romantic fevered brow to wipe. It’s just a head cold. It’s annoying but we’ll get over it and life will plug along as usual.
And isn’t that a lot of what 20 years is about? It’s not as much about grand romantic gestures as it is about lots of little choices along the way.
It’s 7,300 days of doing life together. Of saying “I do” when every selfish fiber in your body wants to say “I won’t” because darn-it “I don’t want to.” Of making cake once in a while because he likes it even though I don’t. Of getting up in the middle of the night with the puking child so that the other can sleep. Of watching chic flicks some nights and kill-em-dead movies other nights. Of taking risks to make a move or take a new job because you trust his instincts even though it scares the crap out of you. Of getting offline or setting aside your to-do list to sit quiet together in the moonlight. Of choosing to listen instead of yapping away about my own day. Of cooking dinner and mulching the landscape beds. Of freeing each other up to try new hobbies or go out with friends. Of bumping up against each other in our full-size bed because a queen would be too big in our bedroom. Of holding hands as we walk to get the kids from school. Of forgiving and embracing. Of picking up snot rags and making another pot of tea.
It’s 175,200 hours of just living life. It’s 10,512,000 minutes of choice upon choice. Some of them happy. Some of hard-fought. Some of them just plain sad. Some of them over-the-moon romantic. Some of them hurtful. Some of them passionate. Some just boring and regular. But all of them with the underlying commitment that neither of us is going anywhere. Period.
By God’s grace, we’ll have 7,300 more days of doing the same but with the nuances of new seasons of life. I can’t wait.
Unless, of course, Jesus comes back for us before another 20 years pass.
That would be just fine too. {wink}
