If two lie down together, they will keep warm;
But how can one be warm alone?
~ The Preacher
“I’m going to go out and cut some wood.”
“Want me to go with you?” she asked.
“That would be great.”
Living in the mountains is something I have dreamed about for over forty years—and now that dream has come true at the foot of Mt. Princeton. I am in heaven. I step out on my deck at night and can see a million pin-pricks of light in the night sky. Like so many tiny holes to heaven. I can go for a walk and dodge prickly pairs, see antelope, and smell the gentle decay of fallen leaves in the river bottom.
I am living my dream.
My wife is living my dream—not hers.
She is a city girl. She likes the close proximity of Hobby Lobby, Dollar Tree and Costco. She likes the security of people she loves very close to her or within easy driving distance. She likes well-kept lawns, paved streets and stop lights.
So what is she doing volunteering to step outside and hold logs while I cut them with a chainsaw? She isn’t living her life. She is living life. A life she didn’t choose. A life that is happening before us as we follow the calling of the Lord.
Nearly 34 years ago we entered a covenant together for better or worse and she is anything if not loyal to a promise. When we watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy the character she most closely identifies with is Samwise Gamgee. If Frodo, the ring-bearer, must go into Mordor then Sam will follow. It is who he is.
It is who she is.
Last night my hand was hung loosely over the arm of my chair as we were mindlessly watching one of our favorite shows and she slipped her hand inside of mine. We are living in the confluence or our lives—now that kids are grown and gone and grandkids are a thousand miles away. Our souls are knitting together. We are becoming one—our hearts are beating together.
Did you hear about the couple who had been married for 72 years and loved each other to the very end? The couple was hospitalized after a car accident just outside of Marshalltown, Iowa. They were given a shared room in the ICU where they held hands in adjacent beds.
At 3:38 pm on a Wednesday, Gordon’s breathing stopped. Though he was no longer alive, his heart monitor continued to register a beat.
The nurse told Gordon and Norma’s son, Dennis Yeager, that the monitor was beeping “because they’re holding hands, and Norma’s heart beat is going through him.”
Norma died at 4:38 pm, exactly one hour later.
Even when we are cutting wood together or praying together over a meal, we are living in the confluence of our lives.