I was married on a rainy Saturday afternoon in a church I didn’t belong to in front of a preacher I didn’t know.
I was thankful for the rain, as it kept friends who thought it would be cute to decorate the car with soap and other nonsense from performing their deeds. A couple of crafty relatives did manage to tie a can to the rear bumper. As Katy and I ran from the church through the rain to the car, I sliced the string with my pocket knife and we left town as quickly as possible, anxious to begin our life together. The only stumbling block came a few miles later when I decided the rattle coming from the left front tire had to be checked. It was annoying but harmless: Rocks inside the hub cap.
That happy day was 30 years ago, May 21, 1983. The three decades have produced two daughters and more happiness than I thought possible or ever had any right to expect. The reason, I think, is simple. My bride and I did what the preacher said: We took and kept one another.
It’s raining tonight; a sign, perhaps of more good things to come. I can’t image how the next 30 could be better than the last 30. But they might be. It has worked out pretty well so far.