I stole another glimpse, and noticed how close they were sitting. How comfortable they seemed. How right they looked together.
I lean over, bury my head in the crook of his shoulder. "I want to be them in 40 years," I say.
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Everyone in the cottage was busy. The hammock on the back porch, empty. We sneak out to enjoy some time alone. 30 minutes. We talk a little. We laugh a little. We soak in the quietness of those few moments when the world doesn't intrude, and we just are.
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We sit on couch, facing each other. My legs casually thrown across his. We talk about another marriage in trouble and our concern for that family. We discuss what we think went wrong. How we don't want that to happen to us. We read our Sunday School lesson. We examined the Word together. We realize that what has kept us from becoming this other couple is God's grace, and His presence in our lives.
These unchartered days in our marriage, a new yet somehow familiar path. There are questions unanswered, possibilities imagined. It quiets my soul to think back on more peaceful times, to remind myself of God's faithfulness. Peaceful seasons are to be cherished, for they seldom last. When they are gone, two things remain...my husband and my God.
Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up. - Ecc. 4:9-10 (ESV)
