Never Forever | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Never Forever | Previous Challenge Entry
By Marlene Bonney
05/22/18
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I met him in the Spring that year, when dandelions were springing up and multiplying like the unwanted white hairs on my aging head. My husband of forty years had passed away the year before, our children grown and gone. Grandchildren were around, some on the horizon and yet-to-be, but far away from here. I had felt most fulfilled as a wife, mother and grandmother and was floundering like a fish out of water to find God’s plan for my remaining years. I did not want to squander them in a porch rocking chair, but neither did I want to sky-dive, travel by myself to unknown regions, or enter into senior Bingo-like activities cropping up all over the area like the pesky dandelions in my back yard. I had eventually thrown myself into a frenzy of undeveloped talents that had been waiting in the wings like awakening Sleeping Beauties. I enrolled in literature courses at the local college and rediscovered writing—poetry, mostly, as I admired the works of Helen Steiner Rice—but also, some essays and short stories.

And, that’s about the time I met him, a widower who was, like myself, trying to find his way in unknown territory. This was not supposed to happen, I had thought, not at this stage in my life. Yet, there he was seated next to me at church, a sad greeting smile lingering on his lips after we were introduced by mutual friends. Oh, how I tried to ignore his crinkling smiling blue eyes and handsome, rugged face; his still tall, rather paunchy physique more attractive than my own. But he seemed to show up everywhere I turned—until I began to appreciate the persistence in this, rather, unusual courtship.

Spring turned into summer quickly and, like my budding romance, flowers bloomed in unexpected places all around me: the shaded glen were nothing would grow before, its dirt dry and unyielding; a lilac bush that had not produced for years suddenly filled with fragrant sprays of purple blossoms; perennials springing up that had somehow survived from the previous year’s planting. And, it seemed like anything was possible, even if unlikely. My bruised heart was healing and opening up to Stan’s wooing, as surely as my garden plantings were warming up under the sun’s rays.

Like seasoned warriors, we, Stan and I, continued praying for God’s will in our relationship as we delved into the unfamiliar land of second love. It was different from the young love we had experienced with our spouses, yet the same in many ways. The winking and flirting were still there, the attractions remained present, but the companionship was deeper and the fellowship sweeter. Because we knew we were not invincible, that we were not immune to the cycles of life and death, but also that we could still be productive Christians in our circle of friends, “content to fill a little space if He be glorified.”

It was to be an Autumn wedding. Under the brilliant turning leaves falling on the church's side yard, their reds and golds, oranges and occasional greens winking up and crunching beneath our feet, an appropriate substitute to a little flower-girl’s rose petals carpeting our path down the “aisle.” There, under a golden decorated trellised archway, had stood Stan’s eldest son as Best Man and opposite him, my oldest daughter as Matron-of-Honor, both teary-eyed and emotional. Our ageless pastor, with Bible in hand, had awaited our approach somewhat impatiently, shifting from one foot to the other in the cool October wind. And, the “to death do us part” phrases within our vows to each other seemed to float through the air like the gossamer threads of fleeting time reigning over the consecration of our union.

Now, it is winter here in Michigan when pending snowstorms occasionally put wet blankets on our plans. Stan and I are not making snow forts or playing Fox & Geese in our Winter Wonderland (unless we give in to the pleas of visiting grandchildren), but we are known to make a Snow Angel or two on our way to fill the bird feeders. Mittened hand in mittened hand, bundled up to our eyes in scarves, hats, boots and mufflers, we help each other up and down, arthritic knees and hips labeling our bodies as “old” even though our hearts are young and blessed.

At peace with God and each other, we daily submit to His plan of whatever years we have left together.
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Ecclesiastes 3 New International Version (NIV) A Time for Everything
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:
2     a time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
3     a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
4     a time to weep and a time to laugh,
    a time to mourn and a time to dance,
5     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
6     a time to search and a time to give up,
    a time to keep and a time to throw away,
7     a time to tear and a time to mend,
    a time to be silent and a time to speak,
8     a time to love and a time to hate,
    a time for war and a time for peace.
12 I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. 13 That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God. 14 I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that people will fear him.

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