Eight years ago today, on a cold January evening in a candlelit church, I stood, face beneath a veil, and pledged forever. His eyes locked with mine and he was all wobbly-kneed and he promised forever in return.
We were positively certain.
We said “I do,” not really knowing what would be the nit and grit between those words, the hours and days made up of living and Saturday morning pancakes and loss and murmured prayers that would become a bond like cement.
The baby who would come through the aching and sweat and tears and better it all.
Today, eight years in, I see only in part. One day we will be one hundred years old, standing wrinkled hand in wrinkled hand, and we will look back and see the whole. The love story played out in all its chapters. On that day, God will reach down and gently stroke my hair and ask:
“Do you see Me?
“Do see you see Me in the details?”
“Right there in the nitty gritty?”
And again, on that day, I believe we will be positively certain, that I might breathe my answer unto Him:
“I do, Lord”