Linda and I are going to tag-team preaching Sunday on the subject of "Marriage for the Long Haul." We've been at it for 45 years, so I am finally getting somewhat comfortable with tackling the subject. Years ago when our kids were teenagers, people begged me to preach a series on how to raise teenagers. I kept telling them that we weren't out of the woods yet, declined as politely as I could, and told them I might try the subject when we saw how they turned out. I think they turned out OK, but never did get around to that particular series. But since Medicare has officially certified me as being old, I guess I'm ready to dive into this business of marriage for the long haul.
I'm actually looking forward to it. We've had a bit of fun putting it all together, and I do believe we've identified a few principles that actually work. Tonight as a part of my gratitude routine, I'll give you an advance on one of them by way of a true story.
"It'll be SO nice!" she said, trying to convince me with her most alluring voice. I'm surprised she didn't ply me with alcohol or try to entice me as a means of convincing me of the rightness of her cause. "Can't you just see it? It's quiet, has a nice spacious lawn, the creek out back; it's close to the kids..." She droned on for some time, citing all the benefits of picking up and moving from the first home we'd ever owned, which was paid for, and from which I expected to be carried feet first some day, to be within walking distance of the grandkids instead of a ten minute drive. All I could see was all the work and money it would take to get to what she saw.
The house needed major renovation. The previous owner had begun the project, with new roof, siding, and windows, but the inside really needed to be taken down to the studs and rebuilt. Having undertaken kitchen and bathroom remodels in the old house, I didn't relish the thought of remodeling now. After all, I am ten years older than when we tackled the projects in Cassadaga. But if there's one thing sure about Linda, she's persistent. She did catch me, after all. And over the course of a year, she wore down my resistance. Two years ago, we bought, renovated, and moved. The remodeling is still in progress.
The Cassadaga house didn't sell as we had hoped, but with the exception of the past six months, it's been paying for itself, as we've been able to rent it out. Tonight it looks like we have a new tenant, so although we don't have a lump sum to pay off the loans we took out to finance our new old home, we aren't losing money. And, Linda was right. We are within sight of the vision she had for the place, and it IS good! Most every evening we walk the perimeter, looking at the falls, checking the creek, watching Emma cavorting across the lawn and into the weeds, chasing whatever has caught her fancy at the time. It's quiet and peaceful. Fifty years ago, Hal Borland wrote a book entitled "Homeland;" essays on living on sixty acres in rural Vermont. In one of his essays, he wrote about walking the boundaries of his property, commenting that "it gives a sense of belonging." In the country, the land doesn't belong to us as much as we belong to it. We only have 2 1/2 acres here, but I understand what he was saying. I belong here more than anywhere I've ever been. I was wrong and she was right, and admitting so is not such a bad thing when it leads to such a good ending.
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