Chapter Twenty Three; The Anniversary

Another year has passed.

Time is marked and plotted and organized. Twelve months, 365 days, one endless circle of numbers that keeps repeating. We revisit and acknowledge yearly this passage of time again and again. Another birthday. Another anniversary.

They are guideposts that protect us from simply getting lost in the circular motion of time. When a date that carries significance on our calendar arrives, we have to look up and look around. And do the obligatory assessment:

Where have I been? Where am I now? Where am I going?

Today is one of those days for me. It is my 14th wedding anniversary. Or is it? After all, my marriage did not survive.

Fourteen years ago today I was in college. And pregnant. And shell shocked. And scared. And on auto pilot.

I was marrying a stranger, stuck on a runaway train with momentum so powerful superman on steroids could not have stopped it. The few times I had suggested maybe . . . not? Marriage? My doubts were gently, yet effectively, silenced. My parents, my friends, my soon to be husband, everyone advised that this was the smart and best idea. And I am smart. And I always try my best. So this seemed to be the rational answer. And I am not one to fight logic.

April 9th was a beautiful day in 1994.

Today it is a beautiful day in 2008.

Back then I was 21, hesitantly walking a brick pathway, then bravely standing beneath a bell tower only to obediently recite the words the Justice of the Peace prompted me to say.

I was terrified.

Now I am 35, confidently striding up that same brick pathway, peacefully standing beneath the same bell tower and owning every thought inside my head, every action of my present life, and every decision that impacts my future. No one prompts me.

And this time I am not scared.

Just a few hours before I had pulled from storage a dusty box.

And now I stand under this bell tower holding its contents.

14 years in a shoe box takes its toll on daisies.

I remember holding this bouquet so many years ago, watching the delicate flowers shake as I said words that truly had no meaning to me. Now, although the petals are almost dust, they are solid in my firm grip, moving only because of the spring breeze.

I gently place the crumpling and brittle remnants of that day on the ground, close my eyes, and think back to the younger scared version of myself and whisper to her in my mind, “I am sorry it took me so long to get here. You were brave. And you should be proud. Come with me now. I can take it from here.”

And I quietly retreat. Leaving the past to turn to dust with the daisies.

At the end of the walk way, something beckons me to turn and I look back, one more stolen moment of contemplation.

And as I do, I am struck by the silhouette of the four story bell tower against the sun beams streaming through the clouds in the distance. The sight is magnificent. But my silent observation is utterly brief, for instantly the air is pierced with sound and song.

The bells. Begin. To chime.

Loud and true. Big and bold.

As the air echoes and swells with deafening melodic chords, the perfection of the timing is a choreography that shouts and proclaims an affirmation of my life’s journey: past, present, and future.

In my awe, the tears come, as I realize that now, forever and always, April 9th was just assigned a new meaning. It will no longer stand for fear and failure, sadness and surrender.

Instead this date will now signify the miraculous moment when I saw, heard and felt a wondrous truth:

The unwavering and real.

Love and presence.

Of God.