Here and gone again...

My husband returned last Friday night from his annual "field trip" to Washington, D.C. He is a school teacher, so his job does not require regular travel. He is a valiant Boy Scout dad, so he does go on scouting events with our sons. Even so, we are used to having him around. Well, after a work-filled seven days home, he is off again with our scouts, and I am missing him. There were years when he was in D.C. when I was dying to have him home. Everyone was little, everyone needed help, and I was worn out by the time he returned. That has all changed now that everyone is older; I am not exhausted by the time he returns, but there's sure a significant something missing when he is gone. I like having my husband to talk with, to laugh with, and even to spar with. He understands me, and he doesn't require lengthy explanations to accomplish that. Having been married for almost twenty years, we have a lot of talking, laughing and sparring water under the bridge. It's a season of reaping the harvest of those years.

Both sets of our parents divorced when we were young children; when we married we wanted to provide for our future children the stability and marital love that we had missed when we were growing up. I'll be honest: it hasn't been easy. In particular, year five was the crash-and-burn year of our marriage, and years six through ten required massive rebuilding. We had no role models, we had bad habits, and we were used to giving in to our selfishness. Each faithful year since has shaped and designed our marriage more, though. I feel like God has molded us, like hunks of clay, squeezing us together and crafting something beautiful. I think of a potter's wheel, spinning and pushing and smoothing a lump into a work of art. By the grace of God, I am beginning to see the creative shape and form that He has fashioned us into.

So, what does that have to do with the box in my pictures? Well, it's a special tin box. It's nothing valuable, but I love it. I discovered it one day in an antique store across from where my mother regularly had some lab work done. I couldn't buy it that day, but my mother did and saved it for a Christmas present for me. When I opened it, I couldn't believe she had gone back to buy it for me. For many months I didn't do anything with it, so it became a goofy little decoration on my bedside bookshelf. Then, we began to discuss what we wanted to do for our twentieth anniversary in June. We found a hotel on the spectacular Oregon coast, booked a romantic room for two nights, and started to get excited. I decided then to start collecting all the spare change I can find, every soggy dollar I find in the washing machine, every forgotten bill on the bottom of my old purses. Daily I have looked on the surfaces where spare change lands, and I have scooped it up and put it in my tin box. Each day I find a little bit, and I am reminded that marriage is a collection of small choices on ordinary days. Will I serve and care, or will I think only of myself? Those decisions to serve add up, just like my change has already added up to over forty-five dollars. Kindness, consideration, manners, honesty, gentleness all count. For one it might be a meal cooked, for another the gift of an hour of quiet to rest. Sometimes we are called to give a lot, almost more than we can bear to give; other times we are the recipient of incredible generosity. The temptation to choose selfishness is always there, but it sure has lost its youthful charm.

I look forward to the scouting men of the family returning late tomorrow night, but especially the one with the graying beard and the brilliant blue eyes. There are the wrinkles that come from smiling and worrying and thinking a lot, and I love each and every crease. That is the man I am eagerly waiting to see tomorrow night, and I pray for another twenty years of nights with him.

The anniversary stash