One Hand, One Heart

Remember, honey? Remember Jim and Susan singing "One Hand, One Heart" from West Side Story at our wedding 24 blissful (ahem) years ago? Does it make you misty to hear these lyrics?

Make of our hands one hand, make of our hearts one heart, make of our vows one last vow: Only death will part us now.

Make of our lives one life, day after day, one life.

Now it begins, now we start: one hand, one heart! Even death won't part us now. Make of our lives one life, day after day, one life. Now it begins, now we start: one hand, one heart! Even death won't part us now.

Me neither. It's a pretty song, but it doesn't really say much. I'd probably choose a different song today to capture our epic love and hopeful future. But my point--and I do have one--is that I'm incredibly glad we hooked up.

I could not have known back then, in my youthful ignorance, that you would turn out to be the kind of husband and father that other women only dream about. I thought I knew; but then again, I thought I knew a lot of things that it turns out I was wrong about. (We won't go into that here--but now that I think about it, that would be interesting, wouldn't it, to talk about the things we were so sure we were right about 20 or 25 years ago, and now it turns out we couldn't have been more wrong?)

And here's the thing: I can't even take any credit for having chosen well. I'm not saying it was luck, of course. I'm much too Presbyterian for that. I'm going with grace, with really and truly undeserved favor. God gave me the best gift that God can give a human being on this pock-marked earth: a spouse who is my my spiritual soulmate, my best friend, my partner in the richest sense of the word.

Henry Ford said, "My best friend is the one who brings out the best in me." You're my best friend; you bring out the best in me, by overlooking or quickly forgiving my faults and weaknesses and inadequacies, and by telling me over and over again what you love and like and appreciate about me.

(OK, hold on. I'm feeling a bit verklempt. Talk amongst yourselves...)

All right, I'm back. You know that DeBeers commercial that always makes me teary? The one where you see an older couple walking along a path, and then a younger couple overtakes them, passes them, and then the woman looks back over her shoulder at them, and you see the older couple smiling and holding hands? I used to identify with the younger couple, but now I'm getting closer to seeing myself, seeing us, in the older couple. We're not there yet--they're probably in their 70s or 80s, probably married for 50 years or so. But we're halfway there, anniversary-wise.

I'm looking forward to the next 24 years, holding hands with you, and laughing.