In June, Skip and I celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary. Our lives dovetail snuggly. We finish one another’s sentences, possess hysterical inside jokes, and move seamlessly through the kitchen during meal prep. Don’t’ get me wrong, our personalities diverge. His spontaneity balances out my schedules. My sentimentality softens his sensibility. I love novels while he thrives on knowledge. But, like Lennon and McCartney, our collaborative efforts far outshine anything accomplished solo.
Our greatest connection comes from the Lord. It was “first love” at first sight. I met Skip as a brand new believer. His passion for God’s Word magnetized me. My pursuit of God inspired him. Even then, we couldn’t get enough fellowship attending church over five times a week. And our discussions about Scripture provided a love language all their own. Even after all these years I am convinced that God made us soul mates.
I’m certain that some of you may view this God-centric love about as romantic as the dictionary. But we fell in love from the inside out. Make no mistake; we experienced physical attraction, too. He looked like a beach boy who fell from the pages of “Surfer” magazine, only taller. I resembled the quintessential East coast college coed, only tanner. Over time we appear more like brother and sister than husband and wife. We’ve blended into a matched set.
Before you write us off as the stuff of fairy tales, know that we each possess our share of annoying habits. My chiding sense of humor often rubs him the wrong way. His enthusiasm for gadgets gets under my skin. No texting, tweeting, or tinkering during meal times! But somehow, over the years, even our idiosyncrasies seem endearing. He spots the fiendish twinkle in my eye and starts evasive measures. I have no problem plucking the iPhone right out of his clutches. And then we laugh because we know each other that well.
Thirty years flew by in a flash. But I’d sign up for another thirty in a heartbeat.