Today I’m celebrating that 25 years ago a wonderful man joined his life to mine.

It’s weird to think about how young we were then. I was 19 and he was 21. These days we spend time with some folks that age (lindyhoppers) and YIKES they’re young! Our son is 23 and he certainly is young.

Or maybe it’s weird to think about how old we are now.

Either way, it’s weird.

It’s weird to think that on that day, 25 years ago, I went down the aisle and made vows, having no idea what those promises really meant, or whether I could keep them.

It’s weird to look back and see that we got married without any real idea of what it means to love or be loved.  We had no idea the level of sacrifice we had signed up for.

It’s weird to think about all the ways we made our wedding ceremony “meaningful” without understanding the depth of those meanings. We became inextricably linked.  Becoming “one flesh” is real, and the pain of a broken marriage is as real as the tearing of flesh.

It’s weird to think that my young and basically clueless groom could bring so much love & joy & goodness & healing to the life of his (equally dopey) bride.

I love you, Lyndon.  Happy 25th anniversary!

 

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