“My dear, you are so lucky. I used to have what you have.
The well-dressed elderly lady seated in the church pew next to me took me quite by surprise as she leaned in and spoke to me following the Sunday service. Somewhat befuddled, I managed to utter a quiet thank you, although at that instant I was a little unsure of the meaning behind her words. What did I possess that this obviously well-off woman did not? Strands of pearls adorned her neck, and I could not help but notice the many sparkling gemstones that graced her aging fingers.
As I looked down at my own hands, the answer became apparent. Interlocked in my hand was the hand of my husband. Listening to the sermon together on Sunday mornings had led us to a natural closeness to God and to each other. More often than not, my husband would reach for my hand during the sermon or put his arm around mine during the time of silent prayer and reflection. This time together was sacred to us in more than just the obvious way. With our two young daughters in their Sunday school rooms, we reconnected and recharged after a hectic week of work, playgroups, and diaper changes.
When I looked across the pew at the woman next to me, I realized that she sat alone. Most likely, the husband whose hand once held hers on Sunday mornings had passed on and left her with the memories of what I now share with my husband. “I am so lucky, I whispered to her in reply. As I stood up and prepared to leave the church, I looked up at my husband, Allen, and smiled. What I have with him is indeed a special blessing.
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