Remember when we went to “Putt-Putt” on Labor Day for our first date
—and made it a tradition?
I wouldn’t want to play mini-golf every first Monday of September for 30 years (and counting) with anyone else.
The best traditions are always the ones that choose us.
Remember when we walked the cobbled aisle of an autumn garden
—and made it a fairy tale?
The elegant cake crafted with the weathered hands of a Granny who loved well.
And, the Groom’s Cake we ordered that, when sliced, wasn’t chocolate after all. Oops.
The fountain, the butterflies, the harp—the vows under the deep October sky.
Remember when we bought our first house with the avocado appliances on the modest street—and made it a home?
When we didn’t know you couldn’t cover oil-based paint with water-based. (Or that there even was such-a-thing as paint types.) Those walls never did forgive us.
And the time an Oreo commercial convinced us to make a late-night trip to Publix. Back when fast-forwarding commercials wasn’t a thing.
And when we accidentally planted that vine by the front steps and spent every year thereafter pulling it out? I wonder if it’s still there? People with black thumbs should be allowed—exactly no where near—Lowe’s gardening section.
Remember when we set up a nursery in the back room, brought our sky-eyed son home—and made it a family?
The “Elbow” (Elmo) crib mobile, the Pooh Bear curtains, and the music box that still plays its song in the corners of our memory.
The baby boy who loved his stuffed “Puppy.” And the one who loved his books. And the one who loved his dinosaurs. The children for whom we prayed.
The “flesh of our flesh, joy of our joy, life of our love“—all clothed in powder-blue (+ dirt)—hooking our hearts with their smiles forever.
Remember when we spent years moving across creation
—and made it an adventure?
Carolina by way of Florida (again,) by way of Indiana, by way of Kentucky, by way of Connecticut, by way of Indiana (again), by way of Carolina (again + forever-and-ever-amen + please Jesus.)
And all the meals around a family table with the little boys who grew up along the way. How I pray we gave them a Godly foundation.
Remember when we wandered through time’s back door
—and made it a life?
The door inconspicuously marked: “Just another day in paradise.” No fancy placard signifying its importance. Just day upon day upon day of life together—our little party of five—adding up to a lifetime.
Oh for the days of an 8 year old, a 5 year old and a one year old—instead of a 22 year old, a 19 year old and a 15 year old. We had more energy, and less gray then. And no idea the work and joy that’d fill the coming years with the three great lights of our life.
Remember when we promised to grow old together
—and make it a future?
When 50 seemed forever away and Not A Door We’re Knocking On.
When we sit on the front porch and rock to the light of a thousand stars together.
And dream. Of the beach house, the mountain cabin, the grandbabies.
All-the-while knowing full-well we’re living the dream. Every sunrise. Every sunset.
We’re doing it—this growing old together thing.
Thank you for being my best friend, my favorite, my love.
Happy 25th Anniversary. ♥ The best is yet to come.
Thank you, friends, for indulging my side-trip down memory lane today. You’re always so generous with your grace toward me. I’m beyond blessed by the sweet community who gather here. ♥
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