Exactly twenty-five years ago in a small, red-bricked church, a young man and a young woman committed to spend the rest of their lives together. They bought a small, red-bricked house in Staten Island and filled it with two little girls and two little boys.
The young man and young woman learned what love meant when raising their children at home. When serving pastorally in urban Manhattan. When following Uncle Sam’s orders to suburban Maryland. Then to rustic Georgia. Then back to metropolitan New York.
Their days were filled with both work and laughter – both sweat on their brows and breezy strolls at dusk. Their evenings were devoted on their knees in petition and quiet desperation for things unknown, uncertain, unmanageable, and uneasy. Their mornings were flooded with bold voices singing praise and thanksgiving for His truth, peace, sovereignty, and faithfulness.
It has been twenty-five years and the young man and young woman are not quite as young now. Neither are they quite the same man and woman. Their days are still filled with both work and laughter. But their attitudes, perspectives, thinking, judgment, resolve, communication – even a tint of their hair – has been matured, refined, silvered – their crown of glory.
Their marriage reflects the sanctifying work of the Holy Spirit. And twenty-five years later, it is a beautiful thing to behold.