I love my wife!

I met Sheri Anderson in the winter of 1982 at North Park College in Chicago, Illinois. Neither of us remembers each other but we do know that’s when we formally met. Where I do recall meeting her is on staff at Lake Beauty Covenant Bible Camp in Long Prairie, Minnesota where we both worked in the summer of 1983. My first impression of her was that she was a bit too strange for my liking. She thought I was stuck-up. But by the end of the summer, I was in love.

She was a pastor’s kid from Michigan. Her grandfather, also a minister, lived in a town near my hometown. After the camping season, she spent some time with her grandparents in Dassel, MN. I would make the short drive from Buffalo and spend the better part of the evening there and we would sit on the gliding swing in her grandparent’s backyard talking about what twitterpated young adults do. It didn’t matter what the topic was. Being with Sheri was the best.

I was in college in Minneapolis and she was in Chicago. Neither of us were sure how a long distance relationship would work. I was especially clueless since I had no idea how to date. I was always too scared to ask girls I liked in high school out on a date so I had no experience. So I kind of just went with the flow.

We did something that rarely happens today. We wrote letters to each other every day. I cannot tell you how excited I was to go to my P.O. box in the big hallway at Northwestern waiting for a letter from Sheri. We wrote about everything. I devoured every word. During our school breaks, one or the other would visit. It wasn’t long until I realized we were made for each other, as corny as that seems.

Sheri was in the concert choir at North Park. They were due to come to Minneapolis in the spring on a concert tour. I went with my mother to our small town jeweler and picked out a ring without her knowing. I knew this was a big risk but I was pretty sure the answer would be, “Yes.” My mother, recently widowed, gave me her diamond and I had it set in an unusual ring I knew she would love.

The big day came. I arranged with the choir director to steal her from the bus for a couple of hours. Then I arranged to have the small island chapel on Lake Josephine opened (something I had never seen happen). Inside the chapel I placed a sign that said, “Sheri, will you marry me? This is no drill.”

I brought her to Northwestern. She suspected nothing. There had just been a terrible spring storm that dropped a tornado just a couple miles away from the campus causing some major damage to a nearby mall so I was a bit concerned we’d have to run to a basement before I could pop the question.

I drove as close to the island as I could. We got out of the car and she seemed a bit confused why I was so excited to show her this tiny little chapel. We went inside and she looked all around, completely missing the large blue sign hanging on the wall. Then she started to leave. I said, “What’s that writing on the wall?” EGO MATER PULEBRAE DELECTIONIS ET TIMORIS ET AGNITIONIS ET SANCTAE SPEI ("I am the mother of beautiful delight and of reverence and of knowledge and of holy hope"). “It looks like Latin,” she said still oblivious to my sign. “Oh really?” I said. Sensing she was missing something she gave the chapel another look. She finally saw the sign. I got down on my knee and opened the box with the ring and held it out. I was so nervous that I forgot to ask her myself. Not one to miss such an important proposal, Sheri said, “Say it yourself. Say it yourself.” I came to my senses and I said it. Four words I have never regretted, “Will you marry me?”

Much to my relief, she said yes. We were so excited we were about to burst. She ran outside and I followed her. She wanted to see what her ring looked like in the sunlight. At that moment, I had arranged with campus security to ring the school bells (again, something I had never seen happen). I told her the bells were for us. They rang and rang. It was great to explain to folks at the school what the bells were for.

A year and couple months later we were married. On Monday, August 24, 2009, I will have been married to Sheri, my best friend, for 24 years. I cannot think of anyone I would have rather had at my side than Sheri Anderson from Livonia, Michigan. The joys and the struggles we’ve faced have come and gone so quickly. Our twin daughters, 22, have left the nest (almost). We’re now (almost) alone with each other again. We only had two years together before those little pumpkins came along and interrupted everything. Lesson one, birth control only works when you use it. Lesson two, babies change everything.

Now we have a big house and no kids. It’s just us again. And we’re a little confused. So much of our lives were spent raising the girls that we don’t know what to do with each other. A part of me is trying to remember what those early years were like, remembering the young Sheri and remembering what it was that made her so special. As we remember each other, and remember where to pick up the trail again, I know in my heart we were made for each other.

Before kids we used to talk about what it would be like to grow old together. What kind of grandparents would we be? What kind of vacations would we take? Who would our friends be? Where would we be living? What would our jobs be? What would our kids be like? What triumphs and tragedies would we experience and how would they shape us?

I can recall some of those conversations and I can confidently say we were wrong about most everything. We had no idea what life would do to us. We had no idea what kind of people we would become. We had no idea how hard adulthood and parenthood would be. We had no idea about the losses we would experience. We had no idea the tragedies we would suffer.

I can confidently say that the man I am today is not the man Sheri married. And she isn’t the woman I married. We’ve both changed immensely. We’ve matured and grown older together. We’ve slowed down, mellowed. We are each interested in things the other isn’t, and that’s O.K. As I write this, Sheri is at the movies all by herself. I hate going to movies but she loves it. That’s O.K. But we are still deeply committed to each other. When we’re apart for a while, and I see her, I’m home.

And she still drives me crazy. She does not tap the water out of her toothbrush to dry it out. She laughs way too loud at T.V. shows. She bangs the oatmeal spoon on the side of the sink, waking me up every morning. She uses glitter on her craft projects. I’m phobic about glitter. She obsesses about things for months at a time then she replaces it with a new obsession. She does not take the time to learn how a cell phone works. I’ve only twice called her on her cell phone and she’s actually answered. She can’t turn on a T.V. and make the DVD player work. She has a Master’s Degree with honors but she can’t send a text message. She snores and talks in her sleep. She puts her cold feet on my legs when I’m asleep waking me up. She buys too many shoes and I don’t like the smell of her hand lotions and lady things. But the list she has about me is much longer and way more embarrassing, I’m sure.

But that’s what love is. Love is having to say, “I’m sorry,” over and over and over. Love is going to Wendy’s in the middle of the night for chili during a pregnant craving. Love is buying a giant box of feminine items at Costco by myself when that’s so embarrassing.

As we approach 25 years together, I look forward to celebrating our commitment to each other, with you. We have a list in our bathroom of the places we want to go to celebrate next year, all by ourselves. She wants to go to Florida. I think that’s too hot and stinky. I want to go to Alaska, she thinks that’s too cold and wet. Who knows, maybe Tokyo?

So here’s to 24 years together! I love you Sheri. And thanks for never complaining about me leaving the seat up.