By Sandra Bost
Next Thursday is my 32nd wedding anniversary, which seems like yesterday–and forever. Thirty-two years with the love of my life. Anniversaries have a way of inviting reflection. Not just on romance, but on the faithful–sometimes quiet–love of God woven through our stories long before we recognize it.
When I was in the third grade, I fell in love with Little House on the Prairie. I admired the Ingalls family for their faith, devotion to one another, and their grit in the face of adversity. Laura, with her bold spirit and stubborn hope, quickly became my favorite. I watched her grow up and eventually marry Almonzo–the gentle, steadfast man who loved her well. In my young mind, he was dreamy.
Years later, at nineteen, I met my own Almonzo–even though I was clueless. He played drums in a Christian band with my daddy and eventually attended the same church as me. He was kind, dependable, and endlessly patient. We talked on the phone nearly every day. He listened as I rambled about my current crushes and daily drama. I rolled my eyes at his stories–work antics, memories from his time in Los Angeles attending Musician’s Institute–and thought nothing of it. He was just my friend.
Or so I thought.
Then came the moment that changed everything. During a double date at an event that my dad’s band was headlining, I found myself unable to focus on the man sitting beside me–AKA my date. My eyes kept drifting to the drummer. It was as if something clicked–like waking up from a long sleep. Suddenly, all the subtle ways Jeff had shown patient, selfless love came rushing into view. (Not to mention those dreamy blue eyes and ripped Levi’s!) Let’s just say, goodbyes that night were a little awkward as I began to grapple with this new awareness.
Looking back, I realize how much that experience mirrors our spiritual lives. Scripture reminds us in 1 John 4:19, “we love because He first loved us” (NIV). God’s love, like Jeff’s friendship, often surrounds us long before we fully recognize it. He listens. He shows up. He waits patiently. And then, one day, our eyes are opened to the truth that He has been there all along.
From that fatefully awkward concert night, our love story unfolded simply–New Year’s Eve with church friends, prayers spoken together, and sparkling cider in red solo cups. At midnight, Jeff leaned in and kissed me as fireworks lit the sky. It felt like celebration, confirmation, and promise all at once. Soon after came Valentine’s Day which brought the sweetest card bearing the first “I love you” that would steady my heart for decades to come.
Marriage, of course, is not made of mountaintop moments alone. Thirty-two years have brought both joy and heartbreak, victories and failures. We have stumbled. We have made mistakes. But we have always gotten back up–dusting each other off and pressing forward. That perseverance reflects the kind of Love that Paul wrote about in 1 Corinthians 13. That kind of Love is not merely a feeling, it is a commitment–a Covenant between two imperfect souls led by the ONLY one able to hold them together.
Our imperfect love has taught us about the perfect goodness of God. When we failed each other, His grace met us. When we didn’t have answers, His faithfulness carried us. Marriage has become a living reminder that covenant Love–God’s Love–is not fragile. It is resilient. It remains.
If you’re waiting, wondering, or walking through a season where love feels unseen, take heart. Sometimes the greatest love stories–human and divine–are unfolding quietly, patiently, right beside us. And when our eyes are opened, we discover that we were never unloved. We were simply learning how to see.
Happy Anniversary, Babe.
