“Where did we put The Book?” My husband looked at me, eyes wide open.
It was a steamy, muggy day in late August, but we were focused on the crisp fall air awaiting us in the weeks ahead. Football season was right around the corner!
“It should be right over here,” I answered.
Walking over to the credenza, I opened the top drawer. Some greeting cards for a recent birthday were mixed in with postcards from a trip in the spring, along with appointment cards for upcoming medical visits and haircuts. But The Book where we record our picks for the Sunday NFL football games every week was nowhere to be found. My heartbeat quickened.
Twenty-five years ago, if anyone had told me that I would watch a football game at some point in my future — never mind actually look forward to football, or want to keep track of my picks, or even understand football — I would have laughed.
Yet, that is exactly what happened. As my husband and I were getting to know each other, our schedules made Sunday a good day to get together. One day my husband suggested that we take a look at the games, and make some picks. Although I wasn’t interested, I said sure, knowing that when he saw how terrible I was, he would give it up.
But when he started explaining it to me, he was so enthusiastic, and so patient, that I actually became interested. I couldn’t keep anything straight, but I started trying and paid attention. Before long I couldn’t wait to make our pics. We found The Book and started keeping track of our picks. And, as time passed, each week we added a notation in The Book of a high point or a challenge we had faced together.
“Maybe we left it in the den.” We headed down the stairs to the TV room. After a few moments I heard my husband yell: “Here it is!”
I turned around and saw that all the cushions had been yanked off the sofa, and he was pulling his hand up from beneath the very lowest one, holding The Book jubilantly in the air.
“Touchdown,” I cried.
We paused, looking at each other, then hugged each other tight. We both knew what the other one was thinking: The Book is more than a book, it is a testament to our life together. It’s a part of us, physical proof, evidence of all the seasons that we have been blessed to share. The Book is a treasure, chronicling our most cherished memories.
After a minute, my husband said: “So, let’s go make our picks.”
And we headed back upstairs to do just that, starting another season together, blessed as a team, bestowed with the gift of time, and thankful for the love we share.
This is part of the series called “The Human Being Fully Alive” found here.