(I would do this post for the picture alone. Be still my heart.)
This morning, David leaned down and kissed me hard. Aftershave, cologne, starch, and toothpaste. Delicious. He said, "Do you know where I was sixteen years ago?"
Yes, I said. Waiting for me.
And he was. I had a 6 a.m. hair appointment in order to meet David at the temple in time for our sealing and I was running late. He was standing in the foyer grinning at me from across the room when I finally arrived.
"Yeah," he said, "Why did we get married so early?"
We couldn't wait, I said.
He smiled. It was the exact same smile from sixteen years ago. It always says the same thing, "Hey, we're together. What could go wrong?"
The truth is, plenty.
After the last nine months we know that for sure.
But also, the truth is, nothing. Nothing, really.
And after the last nine months we know that even surer.
Remember Adam and Eve? I think about them a lot. I think about the part when they had to leave the garden and how much sense it made and how it was part of the plan and how God gave them his blessings as they left. And then I think about what they had for dinner that first night.
I mean, really.
I think it's a great plan, I think they thought it was a great plan, I am sure it was the only plan that would work, but on that first night in the wilderness with the cold and the bugs and the predators and the vastness of space above them, what did they do for dinner?
But then there are moments--moments like the one I just had, when David came home, his arms full of roses, the love all over his face--when I think they didn't even care what they had for dinner. As long as they were together. As long as they sat across the fire, across the table, across the altar, from each other.
I love most every thing about married life. The waking, and working, and struggling, and laughing, and growing, and birthing, and fighting, and fixing, and praying, and necking. But today also especially these: the hand holding mine in the wilderness, the covenant binding us together, and the smile that still says, despite all our familiarity with the vast, gaping maw of reality, "Hey, we're together. What could go wrong?"