Seven years ago today I married Cooper Wiggen.
We stood by the shore of a lake, attended by three others, and promised to love one another in covenanted and holy ways. We eloped, since life being what it was we were buying a house, Cooper was commencing with a new church community, and we wanted to begin our living-together life as those allowed to marry in this state.
A month later we had a church wedding where we again spoke words of commitment; this time in the presence of our children and communities.
It has been a heart stretching endeavor, this marriage. We each brought three children into this new thing. We each tend two goodly-sized churches. We each carried the wounds of divorce. We each are a jumble of past hurts and core longings.
And we are yet alive, together.
I encountered awhile back an interview with an ardent feminist who had been in a marriage for decades. She was nuts about her husband. The interviewer made mention of her surprise that one can be an ardent feminist and a profoundly grateful lover of her male mate. How could that be, the interviewer asked.
The answer was this: in all the years of their life together, the woman never could predict what her husband was going to say or what he was thinking. This to her was passion elixir.
I get it.
Through all the rips and wonder of blending families and life, I have been married to a man who fascinates and draws me. The tender human to whom I have pledged my troth is gift.
On this day, I am remembering the joy and sometimes trudge of making this life we now share. Seven years of meals and tears and laughter and love. Seven years of stretch and soar.