Wedding Anniversary

Today is the anniversary of the wedding day for Deborah and me.  I still say that the only good decision that I've made in my life was to ask Deborah to marry me.  She dragged me out of my self- absorption and brooding to engage with life:  We left my Hillwood home where I had suffered and found rituals to distract me from my suffering.  We bought a new home and started a family with two delightful, adorable children, William and Kate, because of her daring and persistence, not mine.

Kate Pretending

Kate pretends all day long.  Here she is the bride at a wedding.

Joe Kitts

I attended the memorial service for Joe Kitts  last weekend.

In the late 1980s soon after my first wife and I had started going to Truro Episcopal Church in the midst of a disintegrating marriage, we asked for a conference with Joe Kitts.  My wife was British and, in arranging the meeting with Joe, I thought perhaps his British accent might carry more credibility with my wife than an American's.

Joe's words came with the right accent--and penetrating truth.  The meeting started with good humor.  (I was wearing a Barber that I'd bought in Britain, and Joe said, "Take your skin off and hang it there.")  But within moments, Joe had assessed our troubles and spoke candidly to us.  Joe told my wife in no uncertain terms that she may view our marriage as restraining her freedom, but that she had committed herself to me in an Holy agreement.

The marriage continued its decline, and I sought meetings with Joe alone after my wife had gotten her own apartment.  Joe continued to see me periodically at my request until the spring of 1992 when I finally surrendered to divorce.  On the day of the court proceeding, I attended early morning chapel at Truro, and Joe invited me down to his office afterwards.  I don't remember anything about what he said, but I do remember that I was crying for the first time in his presence.  He encouraged me as a father might to a son facing one of life's defeats.

My life was shattered by a profound sense of failure from the divorce, but my family and friends at Truro offered me hope and healing.  As a token to help me restore my life, my mother gave me a beautiful mantel clock that her grandmother had owned.  It was at least one hundred years old, and as beautiful as it was, it did not keep time well.

Somehow Joe learned of my clock, and I learned that he repaired old clocks as a hobby.  He agreed to repair it for me.  I assumed the clock would remain with him for a while, but within a few days, he told me when I saw him at church, "I've got your clock for you."  He gave it to me along with a new key to keep it wound.

Joe's repair of this clock provided a fitting metaphor for the way he helped to restore me following one of the most painful events of my life.  His strong hands, although not always delicate, worked with wisdom of the master.  Time will heal.  Tomorrow will be better.  And today delivers a chime on the quarter hour.