One for the books

A college friend once told me that he wanted to write a book about all the women he had ever met, that he felt lucky to have known so many great ones who had inspired or changed him in some way--regardless of how slight it may have been.

I didn't bother telling him that it had been done, or that a better story might come from Amanda and me because, while the cast of characters we have known haven't always been "inspiring" per se, they have certainly been unforgettable. It is the first of many of our imaginary collaborations.

And I couldn't write that without including Dr. John Rankin, best known to many of you as the reverend who baptized Cienna and married Larry and me. He died early this week. Upon hearing the news, my first thought was selfish. "Did he know how much he had done for me? The strength he gave me when I was a single mother? The wonderful words of advice he shared during meetings before our marriage that Larry and I still talk about?" It definitely felt like the loss of family.

I've been given two pieces of advice that I think are important to share. The first comes from my aunt when I told her how I was feeling about the loss of this man, who was known to some of us as The Rev. She said, "I don't think you had to make a special point of telling him how thankful you were right before he died. His whole life was about sharing the love of Christ and doing things that would make you feel thankful. It was his calling."

The second came a long time ago from Joanne Grimes, following the death of a high school friend. Her son and I were both taking this death hard, and she said, "You have to live a little more each day." I found that advice particularly comforting, and I let that guide me. I learned to really live in the moment and appreciate each day I was given. It's a way of honoring the time my friend did not have. So I live a little more each day for her, and she's in good company.

I know The Rev didn't just touch my life. He touched so many lives in so many ways, including that of my husband and children. How special it is to me to remember the conversation I had with him about Larry, telling him I was going to be married, asking if he'd officiate the ceremony.

"He's just a good guy, you know. And you really do know when you know because when it's the right person there's no room to question the love. You just wake up every day sure of it. Like instinct," I said.

"Well, get him in here, and we'll have a little talk, and we'll see if I can approve," The Rev said jokingly.

I think it's different, special, when the reverend who marries you is one who watched you come of age--to see you through your failures and triumphs, and then to see you on the happiest day of your life. For a girl who didn't have much of a relationship with her father, it was nice to have a man there who watched me grow up.

Larry and I met with him a few times, talking about what marriage is, what it means and how it should not be entered lightly. Not bad advice for two people who pretty much went from being hookups to hitched.

The Rev's advice was unique. It was Christian in base, but he couldn't help but draw from his decades of experience in marriage to his wife Barbara. There was no question, simply by the way he spoke her name, how much he was in love with her after so many years. He'd frequently say, true to his playful nature, "Even at 70-something, she has the sexiest legs I've ever seen." It was a beautiful love--the kind that comes from spending more of your life with each other than without, and never growing tired of someone's presence in your space.

I haven't said this before to anyone, but The Rev asked Larry a question during one of those meetings: "Why do you want to marry this girl? What makes her the one over any other girl you've been with or known?"

And Larry, who surprisingly spoke as relaxed as if the two were sharing a beer together, said, "Because I've never wanted to spend every day with someone the way I do with her. It's fun with her even when it's not supposed to be, and I just know."

To be honest, I may not have been sure until I heard him say that and just...felt the truth--maybe for the first time in my whole life.

"And what about you, young lady? You always said you didn't want to get married. What about him changed your mind?"

"Him. He changed my heart. I didn't want to get married to anyone. I didn't care about the dress or the registry or the colors. I still don't. None of those things make for a lasting relationship. But I want to wake up with him every day and know it's right. I want to build things with him--a family, a savings account, a retirement fund, photo albums full of family vacations and birthdays and memories. For a girl who never really trusted in marriage or forevers, he's inspired me to believe in both. And the most intimate relationship I've ever shared has been with God, and I want to share that with Larry now, and that's really why I'm here," I said.

Of course my answer was long. Luckily, I wrote it down in my journal that day so I could share it again here.

And for that moment, we all had tears in our eyes. Instinctively I knew that The Rev was remembering when he and Barbara were that young, just starting to chart their course. And Larry and I were hoping and praying that our life together would be as full, and right, as his and Barbara's had been.

We talked a lot during our meetings, and I'd like to share the three things I think of most often.

He said:

"Whenever there is a problem in a marriage, it's in one of two places--the bank or the bedroom."

"Never tell anyone about your sex life. If you want to feel a cold bedroom, buddy, that's the way to do it."

"Say thank you. For the big things, for the little things, every day."

I still laugh to this day, remembering how many times Larry said "thank you" that morning after we left The Rev. He still says "thank you" a lot, just not every 10 minutes.

After we were married, between photos and more photos, the ceremony and the reception, The Rev called me into his office and gave me a copy of my marriage license and the verses in the ceremony. I still look at those things from time to time, along with the photos, and remember the day we said "I do" which I like to refer to as "the day we did." I think of how far we've come. I think of all the changes we've endured. I think of how close we felt that day and how much closer we are now. I think of what it really means to be intimate with someone. I think of love.

And I'm so glad The Rev was there when it all began--for me, and for my marriage. To say I'll never forget him is an understatement. I think of him every time I say or hear two important words: "thank you."

Thank you, Rev.