pat loughery

At the Pacific Science Center

Originally uploaded by PatL

Dear Bride,

Fifteen years ago today, in that little outdoor place between Redmond and Fall City, on the only day that it didn’t rain in July that year, we were married.

We had dated for three years before this, half of which time we weren’t living in the same city, so it didn’t feel that long.

We went to France for our honeymoon, which all seems a blur now. Who else but us would drive so much, visit so many places, on their honeymoon? But we wanted to see it all. Do you remember waking up and opening the shades in Combleaux to see Mont Blanc? Do you remember visiting the little village doctor and trying to translate our issue, and how excited that lady doctor was to practice her English with you practicing your French? Do you remember seafood platters, the Texas oil baron ruining Frenchmen everywhere for us Americans, deciding to live on candy alone, pizza, blowing the entire electrical panel in the hotel with your hair dryer (they deserved it anyway, giving a honeymooning couple Flintstone-style twin beds).

Do you remember the Louvre, Normandy, the old ladies at the beach in Nice, and leaving Paris the day before the Tour de France finished?

Our first few years were rough, as we grew to know each other. We went through too much – infertility, the death of our fathers and grandmother and grandfather.

But now, fifteen years later, things look different in hindsight.

The firecracker we adopted six years ago before we saw her outside the womb is a gift of grace from the Trinity to us. Her depth of emotion, intelligence and confidence remind me of you. Her eyes and wandering adventurousness remind me of me. Thank you for parenting her so well, for praying for her so much.  We’ve learned a lot about life and parenting and the nature of Father God with her, haven’t we?  (And about crossing the Canadian border).  Don’t be afraid, though.  She is, and always will be, our daughter.

The young ball-obsessed boy (doesn’t he remind you of Madison sometimes?) we conceived and gave birth to is a gift of grace from the Trinity to us. You alone know the cost you paid to conceive him, and the loss that we felt along the way. The rush of medical emergency when he was born is still surreal to me. Seeing him above the sheet, then being whisked to the incubator and praying him to life, to breath, all seems a distant memory. I remember the dull terror of the doctor telling me that you were losing too much blood, and things had to be done. I remember being torn – who do I stay with? Son or wife? – even when the medical staff told me to go with him. I remember being overly protective of my family during that day and the next, and wanting safety and appropriate concern from with those others, even if I asked in awkward ways.  And now, I see in his eyes the twinkle that I see in yours.  Of course, we also both see each others’ stubbornness in him too – poor child.  And his mother’s cleaning obsession.  Thankfully, that appears to be balanced by his father’s need for only a couple of pairs of shoes – one pair of sandals, one pair of hiking boots; what more could a person need?

Remember (how could you forget) the conversation we had when Roy asked me to leave software and come work with him? The risks you took that day – to income, identity and your own calling – were astronomical. Thank you for trusting and for believing in me, even if it didn’t work out (yet?) the way we hoped it would.

Thank you for being such a strong leader in the church we started, and for teaching the kids so well, for hearing the oddball stories that people needed to share, for staying emotionally engaged when it was difficult for me to do that.

Thank you for your commitment to our relationship, and for being so committed to serve others whose relationships are damaged and in pain. Your love for teaching pre-married couples and already-married couples makes me so proud, and motivates me so well. I’m praying that we hit an upswing soon, where the ones growing together outnumber the ones growing apart.

Thank you for committing that we won’t grow apart.

Thank you for balancing my own tendency to wander – emotionally and physically. And yes, I do still pray for a medical cure for seasickness so that we can sail around the world together. Although these days, I suppose that I’d settle just fine for a motor home trip, or a backpacking trip as long as we go to all seven continents, just for grins.

If we do that, we’ll bring along our own candy. But not Raisinettes. We can settle on Milk Duds, ok?

I love you with all my heart!

P