H for Husband

Wednesday marked our 31^st wedding anniversary.  On 26 June 1982, Charlie and I were married at my home church in Hope, Indiana USA.  We didn’t have a penny or a clue between the two of us.  But we did have hope, faith and love.

And that has made all the difference.

Add to that significant doses of forgiveness, patience, and perseverance and here we are 31 years out having the time of our lives with a whole bank of great memories to last us well into our retirement years.    

Here’s a brief recap of our adventures that I compiled for him last year:

This past weekend, Charlie planned a staycation for us here in Singapore.  A 15-minute cab ride and we were ready to start our holiday.  With early check-in, late check-out, executive floor food and drink, and a suite upgrade, who cared that the haze outside was in the hazardous range?   We implemented Plan B and had a great time.  It helps that we enjoy each other’s company.  There’s no one on planet earth that I’d rather spend time with.

So H is dedicated to husband.  Webster’s defines it as “a woman’s partner in marriage.”  But Charlie has been more than that.  He’s my partner in life.  We fight, (man, can we fight), we laugh, we talk, we cook, we read, we travel, we chill together.  God is great. Life is good. We are blessed.

G for Grace

Back in the 80s, Don Henley asked “how can love survive in such a graceless age?”  Of course, we all know it’s graceless because Grace died 30 years ago – just ask Aunt Bethany.

Can we survive without Grace?  And, if not, can she be revived?

Having just completed another international journey – almost 60 hours of total travel via car, plane, shuttle bus and taxi – it’s pretty certain Grace isn’t making many public appearances these days.  What happens to us when we get in airport queues?  Where is Grace?  Hiding in the toilets?  Stuck in immigration?

Example:  landing in Narita, we deplane and begin the walk to go back through security and reboard to continue our journey.  A middle-aged guy, sporting a rather polished look – pleated trousers, herringbone jacket, loafers – blew his persona by almost knocking an elderly woman over to get in front of her on the moving sidewalk.  No backward look, no “excuse me” – just an air of “I’ve got places to go, out of my way.”
 
Not to say I’m above it.  After ten hours of squealing, my patience for the toddlers and their parents on the flight from LAX to Narita was shot.  Gone.  Non-existent.  Shirtless and shoeless, the twin girls had terrorized the entire cabin – refusing to buckle in or sit still or pipe down.  When I reboarded in Tokyo and realized they would not just be on the same flight with me, but in the row right beside me, well, it wasn’t pretty.  Fortunately, their exhaustion and mine made it a much more peaceful leg.

 

Back to the question.  Can we survive without Grace?  The answer is ‘probably yes.’ But it would be a rather bleak existence.  Life is much richer with Grace around.  So I’m going to double down my efforts to invite her to each and every encounter today and tomorrow and as often as possible.  Who knows?  If she starts to feel welcome around here, she may just put down roots.