Rubbing my hands together and smiling like the Grinch that stole Christmas, I look forward to the time when my husband says he will be away for a few hours.

I will finally have my quiet little nest back, with no TV blaring political stuff, golf, or war movies. I can sit without thinking about the laundry I should be doing or the organizing of drawers and shelves I obsessed over in the middle of the night. I can eat what I want when I want, even if I want popcorn, chocolates, and wine as my main meal. I can leave the house and come home when I want to without answering the “where, when, and why are you going” questions.

But as soon as that big-shouldered man leaves, I desperately miss him. I forget all the freedom I wanted and why. I wander around the house, not accomplishing anything but thinking how quiet and lonely it is without his presence. I am a rowboat whose ropes came untied from the dock, excited for open waters, only to find all I wanted was the intimate comfort of the harbor.

When I first announced on social media that I had gotten married (at age 60!), an old friend wrote, “Isn’t it nice to say the word husband?” She married late in life, just like me. And she was right. It is nice. And it’s still surprising to say that word, along with the word “us.”

And so nice.

I spent a lot of time at the Atlanta airport during my career. To reach baggage claim, you would come up a couple of giant and crowded escalators. At the top were drivers holding up signs with passengers’ names and families waiting on loved ones returning from trips. Kids would jump up and down seeing Mama or Daddy, grandparents would wave their arms frantically seeing their grandkids, and military spouses would hold handmade poster boards with American flags and hearts drawn on them. Everyone was excited to see someone who had just arrived.

I was a grouchy single businesswoman who had been on planes since 6 am, dragging a wobbly wheeled briefcase, wearing a suit too tight from too many client dinners, and pointy shoes that had rubbed a blister on my heels. I had been peopled and didn’t want any more peopling, so I steered far away from the celebrations. I often opted for the longer walk to the second escalator because fewer people were on it, despite the blisters.

But I saw the people at the top. I saw how happy they looked.

I wanted that. I often wondered what sort of relationship would warrant so much celebration. I dated a lot but never found that sort of bond with anyone I would not be mildly annoyed at having to pick up at the airport.

I often wish I had someone I would miss enough to run ecstatically towards in an airport.

It took me 60 years to find him.

I can’t even imagine being away from him for long. More than an hour or two is too long. I know that at our age, we don’t have time on our side, so every moment is precious. In less than ten years, we will be 70, and in less than 20…80.

Time flies. It does. Twenty years is a blink.

I wonder what I would be doing now if I had never met him.

Life is so much richer now. Maybe not our collective wallets, but the tapestry of life. The back side of a tapestry has lots of tangled, broken threads. It’s a mess. But the front is full of colors, patterns…life.

For most of my life, mine had grayish threads with a few colorful spots. Vacations, dinners out, funny movies and times with friends and family—fun, meaningful at times, but…still grayish.

When I was very little, my parents brought home our first color TV. Most shows were still broadcast in black and white, but the ones in color were proudly advertised as “In living color” before each show.

One year, while on vacation in Daytona Beach, Florida, our parents saw a sign that said, “Color TV Here,” so they decided we would stay there. The motel had one small color TV in the lobby. We left.

Life is too short to settle for gray.

Marriage is scary. If you listen to the stats, it is not advisable. If you listen to social media, it is downright crazy.

But it is not gray.

That doesn’t mean running headlong into financial and emotional disaster. Choose wisely and pray constantly. Know what you want and what you will not accept.

I found a little quote the day before our wedding. It’s a little high-brow, but the message to me was to ‘choose hope.’

At our wedding, we displayed this quote on a table. It now sits beside our bed at home.

“Let your lives together be woven as a parable of hope in a world so desperate for visible evidence that the eternal longing for redemption and reconciliation is real, that the deep ache for beauty might yet lead to something lasting, and that the glorious rumors of divine love and mercy are true.”

I have no idea who wrote this, but I sure am grateful.

And when you find hope, don’t hide it, especially from your spouse. Remind them how grateful you are to God for bringing you together. Create a habit of gratitude every day, hourly, and by the minute when needed. We are all flawed human beings, and lifting others up in this difficult, often heartbreaking world is so very important.

And thank God too. Always.

BTW, God is real. And He did not forget you either.