I couldn't help but think of my grandparents, who celebrated sixty-six years of marriage this year. Sixty-six years of joys, losses, and obstacles big and small, and they are still each other's biggest fans. They didn't get to this point with over-the-top romantic gestures. They got here by loving fiercely, counting their blessings, working hard, not sweating the little things, forgiving, apologizing, praying, and laughing.
We had the following passage from I Corinthians read at our wedding. So did a lot of people, I know. But I just don't think it can be said too often:
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never ends.
So, trusting that if we're patient, all will work itself out, we replaced the planned gourmet picnic on the beach with champagne from plastic cups and a shared entree from room service. On my long, long list of the ways I know Mark was meant for me, this makes the top ten: we always pick the same one or two things on any menu. When we're hungry enough, we order two and share both. When we're not as hungry, we share one. And tonight, we really got to share, since they delivered only one fork.
Which reminded me of another pronouncement about love, from a beloved 8-year-old who, watching us share a wrap sandwich at lunch a few years ago, rolled her eyes as if we'd been making out, and said, "Love shares their burrito."
Thank you, Mark, for six years of sharing our burrito. Here's to at least sixty more.