This is an opinion column. This week marks twenty-five years since we said our vows at a small Baptist church in northeast Alabama. That quarter-century seems all at once like a lifetime and a second. Would I even recognize year-old me if I passed her on the street? For some people, personal growth and change can strain a marriage.
My parents stressed two things regarding marriage. The first was that my mate needed to share my Christian faith. Both principles have served me well. One weekend, I went to Dothan to visit a college sorority sister, and she talked me into going on a blind date. To go to a Rotary Club event. In Dothan. But he was cute. Even more attractive than my friend promised when she pitched the idea.
He was a young trial lawyer a few years into his practice and intelligent enough to challenge me. I was a standard-issue Young Republican, fresh off a stint on Capitol Hill, where we were all drunk with the confidence of the midterms and the Republican Revolution.
We somehow got on the subject of tort reform. He made great arguments. And he was not one bit intimidated by me. I was hooked. A little over a year later, we were married. And then the challenges of real life found us. I had miscarriage after miscarriage, which devastated me and pulled me into a sea of depression. Finally, we were fortunate enough to become parents to the children we had prayed for. And through it all, he was as kind to me and dependable as the sun in the sky.
It went without saying that he would work hard every day and run through walls for our family. In the seasons when I wanted to be a full-time mom, he was supportive. In the seasons when I have wanted to have a life outside our home, he was equally on board. He will toil with clients for decades after his actual legal representation of them has concluded.
