My husband, Bill, and I have this thing we sometimes say to each other. It doesn’t seem like a big deal, but it’s one of those habitual, intentional refrains we’ve chiseled into the foundation of our marriage. We don’t write it, we say it… but if we did write it down, and if archeologists were…
We had this taxidermist friend, well, more of an acquaintance, really. Years ago Bill pastored a church that met in a crumbling old Gothic Revival building on Main Street in a small Pennsylvania town. The white Victorian next door to the church was too big to be someone’s private home—especially in our town—but too homey…
My husband is dancing. A moment ago I stood about where he is now, hovering on the edge of the action like a middle-schooler desperate to be included. The music had begun. The dancers had gathered. Someone mentioned river dancing, so I was ready to queue up with the crowd and learn something new. But…
My husband finally loves Christmas. No, this is not about the holidays, but it is about something that happens to me during the flurry of activity that accompanies anything I’m in charge of. Like Christmas at our house. Bill named this setting on my dial machine-gun mode, and I think it feels good. Things need…
Near the end of our first year of marriage, Bill and I told some friends we needed a mini-retreat just for the two of us, but we couldn’t afford it. We had some decisions to pray and talk about. I forget what they were, but they were important enough to merit a day in a…
