“I Carole, take you Keith, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, I promise to love and cherish you.”
“To Have and To Hold” refers to more than the physical. “To have” is to receive the gift of the other without reservation; “to hold” implies the commitment to giving. Keith and I are both good givers.
Keith and I had a lot of “better or worse” behind us when we met in our fifties. In our previous marriages, the better had brought us children, interesting jobs, and wonderful friendships. The worse brought the death of friends and family, rejections, and disruptions, including divorce. Thereafter, we did a lot of soul searching and praying— and continue to do so.
“For richer or for poorer.” We’ve never really been poor, but both of us have lived through tight times. Fifteen dollars to make it through the week. Lots of peanut butter sandwiches. Clipping coupons. Turning up the air conditioning; turning down the heat. These days, thanks to many blessings and good planning, we’re comfortable.
“In sickness and in health.” We’re in our seventies now and thank God we have not experienced a serious illness or health crisis. Yet. We’re still hitting all points: physical, spiritual, intellectual, family, and community. But we’re not as physically strong, energetic, or steady on our feet as we used to be. So, we watch ourselves and protect one another.
Then the promise: “to love and cherish you.” According to the Apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 13:4-7, “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” He goes on to say, “Love never fails…” But Keith and I are not always patient or kind; we can be envious, boastful, and prideful – and our failures to keep that promise go on. So, when we fail to love as promised, we say four things: I forgive you, please forgive me, thank you, and I love you. Saying four things and meaning it. That's a promise I can keep.
Our dog, Coby, is nearing the end of his sweet happy dog life. He is 13 which is a good lifespan for a Lab. He struggles standing up off the wood floors. We’ve put carpet strips through the halls so he has comfortable routes wherever he wants to go. He can’t jump up on our bed anymore, and can’t go down the front steps, but he adapts, goes out the back steps instead, sleeps on the low couch in the living room now, that he’s adopted as his. He can’t do long hikes anymore but he stares at me in the early mornings until I take him on our short walk through the woods to the bay. He gets so excited, wagging hard, following me from room to room as I get ready. Once outside, he trudges slowly along the path, limping slightly, no longer racing eagerly all over the woods. I know it is the natural course of things, I know it is almost his time to go, but still I am heartbroken, tearing up even as I write this. We promise him we’ll be with him to the end. “We’ll be there your whole life,” I tell him. Sometimes I hear my husband saying quietly “all the way, buddy,” as he pats him on his head.
I questioned my promise at the seventy-five-kilometer mark of the race. I had hit the wall, in runner-speak, lost the will to continue. Out of gas, ready to pack it in. I wasn’t sure I could keep my word and cross the finish line of the Ronda 101. In this precarious moment, I deferred to sound council for motivation. I dialed, mid-stride, an SOS call to my lover, my partner, my friend. “I’m going to have to walk the last 26 kilometers. It’ll take me (checking the Garmin watch) about 6 hours. I’ll die! This is a disaster.” She told me, “Calm down, relax. Take it a step at a time. But you must finish. Everyone is watching, rooting you on. You will not quit.” So, I dug in deep and finished the race.
The internal promises, the ones we make to ourselves, get shared. Guided along by the grace of others. The lover, the stranger, the family, the friend.
I was going to start this by saying that I’ve never broken a promise and I’ve never made one.
But I’ve just remembered: I did make a promise once; I promised my mum I would never do a ouija board.
I don’t know what news story or anecdote she’d heard, but she came to me very frightened when I was about nine or ten. She’d heard children were wetting themselves in fright, and having nightmares after using them.
Anyway, I kept my promise. But now I’m wondering if I just never had an opportunity to break it?
If somebody had whipped one out at a party, would I have played? If I’d really wanted to try one, would I have stopped, remembering my promise?
I feel like a lot of promises are like that: it’s luck, rather than will, that decides whether we can keep them or not.
I also think there is something very sinister about them. 'Is that a threat?' 'No, it’s a promise'. It’s telling somebody that you will do something no matter what, or else...
The sanctity of a promise is strong with this one. Broken promises devastate me so I don't make many, in the interest of diminished disappointments. I did make one that I worked tirelessly to keep for nearly 3 decades now. As a girl, “because I said so” was often the reason behind what I considered to be an unnecessary, stifling, and outdated edict in our household. There was no lesson to be learned without siting an actual consequence we were avoiding or demonstrating a logistical issue with planning. My understanding was that as parents we should always identify an opportunity to teach our children and equip them for a lifetime of decision making. My childhood was great and I was often obstinate and mouthy, which is why my folks would sometimes resort to this easy way out, but I promised myself, and my future children, that I would never give that answer. Perhaps coincidentally, my son is an inquisitive, forward thinking young man, and always has been. There were many occasions when the challenge to continue giving meaningful answers and substantial reasons was downright comical. I recall his little voice coming from the carseat behind me - “Mummy, do we have chemical mixers in our tummies that turn food into blood?”
“I Carole, take you Keith, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, I promise to love and cherish you.”
“To Have and To Hold” refers to more than the physical. “To have” is to receive the gift of the other without reservation; “to hold” implies the commitment to giving. Keith and I are both good givers.
Keith and I had a lot of “better or worse” behind us when we met in our fifties. In our previous marriages, the better had brought us children, interesting jobs, and wonderful friendships. The worse brought the death of friends and family, rejections, and disruptions, including divorce. Thereafter, we did a lot of soul searching and praying— and continue to do so.
“For richer or for poorer.” We’ve never really been poor, but both of us have lived through tight times. Fifteen dollars to make it through the week. Lots of peanut butter sandwiches. Clipping coupons. Turning up the air conditioning; turning down the heat. These days, thanks to many blessings and good planning, we’re comfortable.
“In sickness and in health.” We’re in our seventies now and thank God we have not experienced a serious illness or health crisis. Yet. We’re still hitting all points: physical, spiritual, intellectual, family, and community. But we’re not as physically strong, energetic, or steady on our feet as we used to be. So, we watch ourselves and protect one another.
Then the promise: “to love and cherish you.” According to the Apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 13:4-7, “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” He goes on to say, “Love never fails…” But Keith and I are not always patient or kind; we can be envious, boastful, and prideful – and our failures to keep that promise go on. So, when we fail to love as promised, we say four things: I forgive you, please forgive me, thank you, and I love you. Saying four things and meaning it. That's a promise I can keep.
Our dog, Coby, is nearing the end of his sweet happy dog life. He is 13 which is a good lifespan for a Lab. He struggles standing up off the wood floors. We’ve put carpet strips through the halls so he has comfortable routes wherever he wants to go. He can’t jump up on our bed anymore, and can’t go down the front steps, but he adapts, goes out the back steps instead, sleeps on the low couch in the living room now, that he’s adopted as his. He can’t do long hikes anymore but he stares at me in the early mornings until I take him on our short walk through the woods to the bay. He gets so excited, wagging hard, following me from room to room as I get ready. Once outside, he trudges slowly along the path, limping slightly, no longer racing eagerly all over the woods. I know it is the natural course of things, I know it is almost his time to go, but still I am heartbroken, tearing up even as I write this. We promise him we’ll be with him to the end. “We’ll be there your whole life,” I tell him. Sometimes I hear my husband saying quietly “all the way, buddy,” as he pats him on his head.
I questioned my promise at the seventy-five-kilometer mark of the race. I had hit the wall, in runner-speak, lost the will to continue. Out of gas, ready to pack it in. I wasn’t sure I could keep my word and cross the finish line of the Ronda 101. In this precarious moment, I deferred to sound council for motivation. I dialed, mid-stride, an SOS call to my lover, my partner, my friend. “I’m going to have to walk the last 26 kilometers. It’ll take me (checking the Garmin watch) about 6 hours. I’ll die! This is a disaster.” She told me, “Calm down, relax. Take it a step at a time. But you must finish. Everyone is watching, rooting you on. You will not quit.” So, I dug in deep and finished the race.
The internal promises, the ones we make to ourselves, get shared. Guided along by the grace of others. The lover, the stranger, the family, the friend.
I was going to start this by saying that I’ve never broken a promise and I’ve never made one.
But I’ve just remembered: I did make a promise once; I promised my mum I would never do a ouija board.
I don’t know what news story or anecdote she’d heard, but she came to me very frightened when I was about nine or ten. She’d heard children were wetting themselves in fright, and having nightmares after using them.
Anyway, I kept my promise. But now I’m wondering if I just never had an opportunity to break it?
If somebody had whipped one out at a party, would I have played? If I’d really wanted to try one, would I have stopped, remembering my promise?
I feel like a lot of promises are like that: it’s luck, rather than will, that decides whether we can keep them or not.
I also think there is something very sinister about them. 'Is that a threat?' 'No, it’s a promise'. It’s telling somebody that you will do something no matter what, or else...
For me was real intense honest open mind Creative times made my school there in this times was a big school Berlín for me personal
TXUS PARRAS
The sanctity of a promise is strong with this one. Broken promises devastate me so I don't make many, in the interest of diminished disappointments. I did make one that I worked tirelessly to keep for nearly 3 decades now. As a girl, “because I said so” was often the reason behind what I considered to be an unnecessary, stifling, and outdated edict in our household. There was no lesson to be learned without siting an actual consequence we were avoiding or demonstrating a logistical issue with planning. My understanding was that as parents we should always identify an opportunity to teach our children and equip them for a lifetime of decision making. My childhood was great and I was often obstinate and mouthy, which is why my folks would sometimes resort to this easy way out, but I promised myself, and my future children, that I would never give that answer. Perhaps coincidentally, my son is an inquisitive, forward thinking young man, and always has been. There were many occasions when the challenge to continue giving meaningful answers and substantial reasons was downright comical. I recall his little voice coming from the carseat behind me - “Mummy, do we have chemical mixers in our tummies that turn food into blood?”