I talk too much.

That is not a secret from anyone who knows me.

I lived alone for most of my adult life and got used to silence. I had an ancient TV, a huge box that outweighed most couches but I seldom turned it on, mainly because my attention span is not the longest.

Part of my husband’s wedding vows to me were to thank me for showing up at our wedding and not chasing after a squirrel or a shiny ball. I have that filed away to square up with him later. Revenge is a dish best served cold, Mark Martin!

My work required frequent travel, and if not on a plane or in a car, I was on the phone most days. I was peopled-out by the weekend. I looked forward to nesting in my quiet house, reading books, and dancing around the kitchen alone.

But when I did get out of my cocoon, I would (and will) talk to anyone and anything, constantly and relentlessly. Wait staff, neighbors, and most dogs, cats and…squirrels. I share too much, too often.

I remind myself that God gave us two ears and one mouth for a reason. I’m working on listening more and spewing less. You hear that, Husband O’ Mine?? Smarty-Pants.

We went to Mark’s 45th high school reunion last weekend. Mark and I grew up in different cities, so I didn’t know anyone there, except a couple of people I had met once or twice in the past two years.

I got to practice my listening skills a lot that night. A loooottt. “Hey, you don’t remember me, do you?” A few seconds would go by as the other person would pause, head tilted while studying their face. One downward glance at their nametag and high school photo, and “Oh yes! Of course I remember you!”

I am a big fan of the idea that all people over 50 should wear name tags at all times, with an explanation of how you know them.

At the reunion, a man even older than us sat alone at an empty table. A well-worn cane leaned against his table.“Mark Martin! Is that you?”

A few seconds passed, and Mark quickly leaned over, putting one hand on the man’s shoulder and extending the other for a handshake. “Coach!” Mark said, “I can’t believe you remember me!”

He sat next to his high school coach, and they talked about games won in the past and people lost over the years since.

Other classmates would walk by, glance over with the same head tilt, smile broadly, shake his hand warmly, and start reminiscing. His table was surrounded by former players, all talking and laughing at once.

An hour or so later, as we were leaving, I noticed Coach sitting alone again, probably exhausted from all the conversation and attention, not to mention the handshaking. He slowly and painfully got up from his chair, a situation I can relate to more as I age. One hand was on his cane, and the other palm down, pushing against the table for support. He hesitated for a moment, stretching just a tiny bit backward… a move I know well.

I often tell Mark, “Let me unhinge” when I get up from a chair or out of a car, so I can briefly stretch to adjust my arthritic back for walking safely.

Coach cautiously made his way toward the open door and into the night.

Mark told me afterward that the coach had recently lost his wife. He imagined how hard it was for him to physically attend the reunion and emotionally cope without her.

He talked about how much it meant to see him, a man who helped shape him into the person he is today. He felt honored that Coach remembered him.

In the movie “White Christmas,” an old, retired General ran an inn in Vermont. It was in financial trouble. His former soldiers showed up to help him out.

In an early scene, the characters played by Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye see the General for the first time in years and are surprised to find him doing manual labor, carrying wood. The last time they saw him, he would have had hundreds of troops to handle any task, without question and immediately.

It is hard to see people around us get older. It makes us look in the mirror a little too honestly.

But in the end, their love and respect for their General made the years fall away in a few seconds. The barn door opens, the snow falls, and they are all singing: “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know…”

Time moves fast. Too fast.

My little Mama had an email account, but as she progressed in her dementia, I monitored it for her. Eventually, she forgot she had it. She passed away four years ago.

Her account still shows on my phone. It is 100% spam now. I should delete it, but I can’t get my heart to catch up with my head.

Every few weeks, I hit ‘Select All,’ then ‘Mark as Read.’

Mama kept my Poppy’s big shoes by his side of the bed, where he had left them the night before he died. I understand.

Mark and I got married in September, coming up on three years ago. I often wish Mama and Poppy had been alive to meet him. Mark and Pop would’ve had a great time watching sports and swearing about ‘those sorry Braves’. Just like Mark, Pop preferred Georgia Tech over Georgia (horrors, I know, but you can’t help who you love.)

On our way to the North Georgia mountains for our honeymoon, I realized Mama and Pop had gone there for their honeymoon too.

And we just moved into their old house, now our home.

I am grateful for wonderful parents. I am grateful for friends, my sweet husband, old movies, cats and dogs, and sunsets. I am most grateful for God, who loves to show mercy and grace and forgiveness and beauty…in the smallest details.

There is a book called “The Practice of the Presence of God” by Brother Lawrence. It is a small book written 300 years ago about talking with God throughout the day and night, trusting Him in everything. It is beautiful. I read it when I first got saved, and I try to follow his example.

I like to talk. Too much. Too often. In practicing ‘praying without ceasing,’ I often wonder if the Lord gets tired of my chatter. I frequently fall asleep during my nighttime prayers, and once while trying to praise Him, I told Him he was handsome. I mean, He is God, the creator of the universe and all things beautiful, so I’m sure He is quite handsome, but I don’t think that’s in the ‘How to Praise God’ handbook.

I hope St. Peter doesn’t point and laugh too much when I get to the Pearly Gates. I did read God will wipe away every tear. Sigh.

One of my prayers is for 30 years.

Mark and I married at age 60. We are now 63. In 20 years, we will be 83.

That’s not enough time.

Mark’s family lives well into their hundreds. He has an aunt who is 102, very alert, and healthy. His dad is 94 and doesn’t have to unhinge his back at all. He gets up faster than we do. It’s very humbling to Mark and me.

I found an old black-and-white photo of a woman in my Pop’s family who was 100 years old. She was wearing an old bathrobe that had seen better days, but what would anyone have said? “Hey Granny, go put some proper clothes on for the family picture!”

She died when she got hit by a trolley car.

So, we both have a shot at 100. All I’m asking for is 30 more years. Very doable.

I jokingly quote the Kenny Chesney song, “Everybody want to go to Heaven, nobody want to go now.” I am very grateful for our lives together and all the blessings God has so graciously given us. I am throughly enjoying my life.

But I also know Philippians 1:21: “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.” I know, both in my mind and heart, that this isn’t our ultimate home.

My simple understanding is that staying here on Earth is good because I can accomplish what God has planned for me, but going to Heaven is even better because God is there.

We can’t lose. Even if Mark and I don’t get our 30 more years, we win.

No matter what happens, no matter what we go through, or don’t get to, at the end of this life is…

The ultimate reunion with everyone we ever loved in Christ,

And…finally, meeting with the One who did the most menial labor of all…carrying a wooden cross for His creation who didn’t recognize Him.

An eternal Meeting, finally, with THE General of ALL Generals.

He didn’t and won’t forget us.

And, He didn’t forget you either.