Decades of Devotion

Today is my mom and dad’s anniversary. They’ve been married for 46 years. On this day, over four decades ago, two teenagers pledged their love for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness or in health, till death parted them.

They were young, and they were poor. Not poor like people are poor today. They had $3.00 to their name when they got married. No job, no place to live, and no reliable transportation. That kind of poor. But they were teen-agers, and they were in love, so $3 and love was all they needed.

We hear about the statistics from young marriages. They say they are doomed to fail. No money, sub-standard housing, low paying jobs, kids come along too fast and then there is even less money.

My parents could have fit some of those statistics. They certainly didn’t have a lot of money, and they didn’t have good paying jobs at first. Their first real home was a camper-sized trailer in my grandparents yard. My sister was born there, and a home not big enough for two got even smaller.

The first home I remember living in was the basement of the church my dad was pastoring in Harrisburg. The church couldn’t afford a parsonage, so the small basement was the parsonage. It had a little kitchen, a small living area, and a place for my sister and I to sleep and a place for my mom and dad to sleep. It would definitely be considered sub-standard housing. It was close to work though–all you had to was climb the stairs to go to church.

I don’t remember not being happy in that cramped basement. In fact, I don’t remember a time when I ever knew that my parents were anything but thrilled with where we were and what we were doing.

As an adult, I now know there were times of stress and turmoil and financial difficulties, because they have shared the stories of those times with me. But growing up, I never knew. I only knew the laughter, happiness and peace that reigned in my home.

We moved around, because at that time pastors in our denomination were moved every two to four years, if not more often, whether or not you wanted to. My sister and I didn’t always want to go, but it was part of the life my parents had been called to, and we understood the calling even if we disagreed with the method.

We understood something else early on, also. We understood that our home wasn’t the wood or bricks that surrounded us. Our home was the people living inside. We lived in a lot of different places. Some houses we liked, some towns we liked. Some we very much didn’t. But it wasn’t the structure that made up our home. It was us.

Our parents helped us understand that no matter where we were sent, we would be home because home was where our family was.

Over the decades, my parents have been devoted to each other and to us, their children. Now they have grandchildren that they are devoted to. They have been devoted to the members of each church they have pastored.

Today, they celebrate those decades of devotion. Today, I celebrate having parents that showed me what having a covenant marriage is all about; that showed me how to celebrate family; that showed me how to laugh even through the tough times; and that showed me the value of home. Not the place, but the people inside the place.