Whatever lies ahead

It's been an interesting week, to say the least. I could write this morning about our new immigration policy, but I have little to no interest in it. I could write about Bill Cosby, but that seems to have been done by everyone who has a blog in this country, so I have little to no interest in writing about it. I could write about Adrian Peterson, but I have no interest in except to say that Michael Vick is playing football in the NFL today. You make the connection.

So, I've decided to write about what has affected me more than anything this week.

My wife has taken a job. Most folks would probably celebrate that. Me? If you are a daily (or even a sometimes) reader you know I'm not most folks.

There. Said it. You might not think that important, but I do. More than the money it brings in, more than the reasons she went back to work is the fact she is gone. I can't call her when I need to (which is all the time). I can't see her whenever I so desire. There is a disconnect. There is a scheduling. There is stress.

I read this a couple days back:

A devoted English couple died just 10 minutes apart after a 65-year romance that started in their teen years.

In their final days, Harry and Mavis Stevenson had been living in St. Werburgh's House Care Home in Derby because she had fallen ill and they could not stand being apart.

The Stevensons' family was not surprised when Mavis passed away on Nov. 3 at 89 but was shocked when her 88-year-old husband — who was in good health — shed a few tears and died by her side just minutes later, according to local media.

“Their love lasted and they were devoted to each other. I can imagine them being together now, after their death, side by side,” the couple’s nephew Stephen Cresswell, 63, 

Harry and Mavis met at the Asterdale social club before Harry joined the Royal Marines in 1943.

He stormed the beach at Normandy on D-Day to help liberate continental Europe from Hitler’s clutches and was shot in the hand while battling the Japanese in the Pacific theater, the local paper said.

But perhaps the most significant pain came from being apart from Mavis, who was waiting for him back in the United Kingdom.

I get that. And I would want that. No matter when, no matter how, that's what I want. Heck, I would like to go a few minutes before my dear Mary. I am struggling to live without her calming voice, without her calming demeanor. 

Whatever lies ahead, it lies better with her. We became a couple 30 years ago this month, two weeks from now, Egg Bowl Saturday (Mississippi State versus Ole Miss). We will spend this anniversary, Egg Bowl Saturday -- perhaps the most important Egg Bowl ever -- cleaning and working on a room upstairs of our church that will host a large fund-raising dinner on Dec. 6.

She is my right hand. I am her left. She is my up; I am her down(er). We are attached like twins of some ilk. The time away from her this week and in the weeks to come has been awful.

But I understand she is loving being with others rather than sitting at home talking with dogs and cats. I just don't like it.

I owe my life to Jesus, and to Mary. I don't forget that on a daily basis.

His love ran red at the cross. She met me and we met him at the cross. I was lost. I was in chains. The world had a hold on me, as Chris Tomlin says. Then I met her. And life literally hasn't been the same. I couldn't run, couldn't change, couldn't fix it till she lifted me up and turned my face toward his.

Love is indescribable. So I merely call it Mary.