I had a stubborn streak last week and decided I was not going to fill the sugar bowl in revenge for feeling that my service to my husband was unappreciated! It worked a little bit. He asked me to bring him the sugar and he filled the bowl. My rational was that the top is hard for me to take off the canister. Oh, let the voices be silenced; I know, I know, I could buy a new canister.
On this wedding anniversary I’m questioning “Why did I fall in love with Sammy?” and “Why have I filled his sugar bowl for 62 years?” I love him because he loves me, because he pleases me, because he fixes my tires, because he reads hard books for fun, because he fixes his own oatmeal, because he was so cute when he was twenty-four, and wonder of wonders he chose me! Here are some snippets of our dating year.
He drew pictures for me in history class.
He went with me for fundraising. He didn’t laugh at me when I told a group that we were going to do a certain thing in “Feptember.”- I guess one of my “Bushisms”
He stirred my peanut butter and syrup.
He carried one end of a twig while I carried the other end. We had a “no touch” rule in our Bible school. I do confess to putting my hand over his while he was holding the steering wheel. Our chaperone was quite liberal.
He left me a chocolate malt at the foot of the stairs.
He took a lecture from the dean when he stood with his arms open wide while I pretended I was going to jump into them. The dean said that did not look proper.
He sat with me on the pig sty.
After about six months, he kissed me. Broke the rules. I was flustered. When he said, “Will you marry me?” I was thinking about the no touch rule, and I thought he said “Are you mad at me?” I said, “Why, no, Sammy.” Suddenly my brain got straightened out and I quickly asked for a little time to think it over.
A couple of days later, he said I had had a little time, and I said, “Yes.”
My love story! My heart breaks for young people these days. Those who never experience the picture drawing, winks, making peanut butter sandwiches, dreaming fairy tale dreams, carrying twigs together – all working up to the magic moment when they can hold hands! And finally get a kiss. Then comes love, marriage and the baby carriage.
Imagine believing sex is proof of a relationship. Imagine thinking sex is love. Imagine seeing your guy with another girl after giving him the most precious symbol of your purity. Imagine making a choice of whether to marry to give your baby a legitimate name, or killing it in the name of abortion. Imagine being pregnant and the love of your life flies the coop. Imagine 17 girls getting pregnant in high school as a lark. Imagine having 14 children without a husband.
When my mother was about 65, she called my two sisters and me together. She said she had been doing some family research. She somewhat hesitantly told us that she had discovered that her mother had conceived her before marriage. My dear little grandmother. Pregnant before marriage in 1913. It was after her death before we knew it. Thank God for a grandmother and grandfather who knew enough to correct their mistake, build a family, and suffer and joy in the consequences of their actions. Where would I have been if they had chosen abortion, or if that young man had decided to leave that young girl to face life alone.
Well, back to my Sammy, to my love, to my marriage – the excitement of the initial sparks, the roar of the burning flames, the stirring of sorrow-doused ashes, adding logs to the smoldering coals, the comfort of the glowing embers. And still, I say, “Wonder of wonders, he chose me!”