Today's my wedding anniversary.
Thirty-one years ago, I said yes to the man who I would eventually share not only the mountaintops but the valleys as well.
We met in the most unlikely of places--a redneck bar called the "Bucket of Blood." I was finishing college and he had just been discharged from the Marine Corps. My mother had warned me about these places but oh the wonder of youth.
I enjoyed listening and dancing to any bands my friends and I could get to within a decent driving radius. That night, I'd convinced my sisters and a friend to stop there to listen to some old rock and roll.
He didn't ask me to dance. He swept my younger sister across the crowded dance floor while I trailed behind his lanky friend.
The following Saturday night, I made sure when I saw him pass by my table--he'd notice me. I'm still surprised he did. When he pulled me to floor and never left my side the rest of the evening, I knew I'd found the one.
He promised he'd call me for a real date. The next day--I broke off with the man I'd been dating for two years and waited for that call.
Two weeks later--he kept his promise.
After a whirlwind three months, he offered me his heart and a marriage proposal.
Six months later, I walked into the arms of a man who has never let me go. And I thank God each day for him.