Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet they was none of them. Psalm 139:16
I’ve been blogging about our year of jubilee and chronicling on social media how flight crews, hotel staff, and friends across Darjeeling, India, and the Kathmandu valley in Nepal have celebrated our 50th anniversary.
Friends here and at home have treated the occasion with kindness and regard, and we have felt loved and honored. The celebration is not over. Friends at home will continue to wish us well, and our children and grandchildren will join us for a long weekend in Chicago in early August.
But today is the actual day, June 8. We are alone in Kolkata and alone is good. We woke to the sounds of the early morning chicken market outside our window, as the squawking fades into the shouts of vendors setting up their stalls and the honking of horns. We walked over to the Oberoi for a lavish buffet and other unexpected anniversary cake. Then we walked back to our hotel in the humid heat (feels like 113). We’ll rest this afternoon before leaving tomorrow to visit our friend Smeeta in Mumbai. The next day, we return to Kolkata, from where we will fly home on the 12th.
Of course, time alone is part of what we signed up for 50 years ago today. Community is important, but so is time alone, an essential aspect of the sanctuary we have tried to cultivate. Private moments are the essence of the intimacy we share, even when others are in the same room—even, as it turns out when one of us is unconscious.
So, two such moments, from this trip, part of a half-century of such moments, each building on other moments in a crescendo of praise to our God and to our love. The first occurred in Darjeeling when the staff at Taj Chia Kurtir surprised us with a specially set table strewn with flower petals. And then, as though that were not enough, a string trio came over from the bar and played “Can’t Help Falling in Love with You,” popularized by Elvis.
We both wept. This is ironic for several reasons. First, neither of us are country music fans or Elvis fans. Second, as I’ve written before, our tastes in music do not overlap. It was not “our song.” Finally, we prefer to think of ourselves as loving each other, a commitment, as opposed to “being in love,” an emotion.
And yet there was a moment, surrounded by people who barely know us when everything came together in a private moment that recognized the sovereign purposes of God and the enormity of his gracious provision. Did we have such moments when we first married? Yes, I’m sure we did. But that we still have them, and have them more frequently, is what we celebrate in this season of our lives. There is so much we have done and learned and forgotten, but our life together is a tapestry of such moments.
The second private moment was also public. Last weekend, I had the opportunity to preach at a church service in Bhaktapur, Nepal, but it was a little iffy. I had a stomach virus for a couple of days, with diarrhea, low-grade fever, and muscle and joint pain. But I was feeling better that morning and decided to go ahead; it was a sermon I had preached just the weekend before in another place. I had only had one opportunity to be with this congregation, and I had been looking forward to it for some time.
It was a hot day (daytime temperatures here are in the 90s), and I was still weak. No air conditioning, of course. About two-thirds of the way through the sermon, I fainted. I don’t remember anything about it, but apparently, I lost consciousness and was clinging to the pulpit, which couldn’t support me. Our friend Baileyna was translating. She moved to support me but couldn’t. Then the pastor (her husband Richan) and a few young men sitting in the front lowered me to the floor.
As I came to, Richan asked if I wanted to go to the hospital, but I did not. I felt okay. Instead, they brought a chair, and I got back up, sat down, and finished the sermon. This is not a story about me but about us. And so strong is our identity as a couple that everyone’s eyes were on Katie. Would she panic? If so, what would they do? How could they take care of two people at once?
Katie, however, sat quietly in the back of the room and prayed. This, too, is part of where we have come, to a place where we pray for each other rather than worry about each other. I’ve written about her faith and prayer before, in the context of my bout with COVID-19. And we continue to learn how to commit ourselves to God’s purpose and plan.
There was a time I would have attributed this to Katie’s more stoic, Germanic nature. But that is not sufficient to account for the peace with which we have faced such moments, as when she fell down the stairs last year and suffered a brain injury. My calm reaction surprised even me. What I see in Katie, and sense in myself, is a growing ability to trust God with the uncertainties we face.
I think of Katie as the Apostle Peter describes Sarah, Abraham’s wife, in 1 Peter 2. She is becoming, by God’s grace, like the “holy women of old” who “hoped in God” and were “not afraid of anything that is frightening.” This is not where she started. As a young mom she was often anxious about our kids, about our finances, and about our future. Even about our love.
But God is working in us and through us. That morning the congregation was apparently encouraged by my perseverance and Katie’s remarkable calm. I don’t think anyone has ever listened to my preaching as closely as that congregation did to the last third of my sermon about why the New Covenant is better.
But our marriage covenant was also on display, two imperfect people in a moment of extremity finding all we need in a God who is merciful and kind. I’m sure there are many such moments to come. I expect we are just warming up for the challenges of aging. But for the time being, we face them together, one flesh bound by covenant, experiencing moments of deep joy and deepening faith.
So happy anniversary, Katie Metts. I am blessed beyond my capacity to express.
I love you. And I’m still in love with you, too.
the daysman 