My parents celebrated their forty-seventh anniversary yesterday.

I know first hand it hasn’t always been happily ever after. I was there. But I AM proud of the fact that… forty seven dang years, and they’re still married… to each other. And I suspect that they still mostly like each other, sometimes…

That’s saying a lot, because I know those people, and I’ve lived with them, and it was no picnic.

I’m just kidding (mostly). But so many of my friends’ parents have been divorced, remarried, divorced again, yada yada yada, with all kinds of family drama surrounding the grandkids’ birthday parties and “I’m not coming to the baptism if HE is going to be there” and whatnot, and I’m SO fortunate that my parents never put me through that. They lived in the same home my entire childhood, took us to church, taught us Bible verses, went to work day after day at the same jobs, fed us vegetables, and put us through college. There was no abuse, no drinking, no cursing, no Jerry Springer drama that so many people I know had growing up.

Home was ALWAYS stable, consistent, and predictable, if not always the blissfully, joyously, happily ever after stuff of romantic comedies, and for THAT I’m grateful. They’re pretty much good people and I thank God for letting me grow up with them.

Way to go, mom and dad. Thanks for the example you provided to me and my sisters.

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