I am planting an altared space this year and I’d love to have your help. I have a brown thumb, so I need lots of support. In this garden, along with planting the traditional things that grow, I’m collecting treasures that tell stories. Please send me a symbol of your altared space. You can even be entered in the Friday giveaway.
I’m planting a heart rock in my garden to remind me that my husband loves me. He is a quiet person when it comes to feelings and there are seasons of my life that I forget what a steady presence he is for me because I am always hungry for words. This heart rock is the altared space I need to remind me of the messages he doesn’t always deliver out loud.
I’d been married a dozen years when my husband took my hand and began to walk with me down the creek path to the dance we were attending to celebrate Valentine’s Day.
Years earlier, when we were married, it was far from traditional. There were no guests, no cake and there was no ring: we eloped.
The path took us beside the creek and my husband grabbed my hand and pulled me onto my favorite February rock because the water level is low enough to see that it is actually shaped like a heart.
We stood on the heart rock and this man with whom I’d shared my life and two babies began to shower me with words. He bathed me with reasons he loved living with me and having his life overlap with mine.
It was not easy in those days. He was in school; I was working at 4 in the morning. We didn’t see each other much and, when we did, the conversation was more often about details than fairytales. There were plenty of reasons to fall out of love.
But there he was, talking about why he liked being my husband, and then, suddenly, he asked me to be his wife…for the remainder of our lives.
I did things the untraditional way. As a result I missed out on a lot. I got out of all kinds of family drama at the wedding I didn’t have, but I never got that Cinderella proposal. I was never the girl with the ring. I never felt that moment of having someone tell me they were choosing me to be their True Companion.
I think it’s romantic to start a marriage that way. But it is far, far more romantic to do it in the middle. In the middle of chaos and diapers and nagging and schedules that don’t mesh. To have my husband choose me when he’d seen my bed-head for a dozen years and been treated to just how often I don’t shave my legs…that is rock solid love.
He pulled a ring out of his pocket and handed it to me on the heart rock. I’ve been his wife ever since.
I’d love to plant a token of your romance story in my garden. Please send it to me.
The song, True Companion, is written and performed by Marc Cohn and is wonderful!