Yesterday I met a man who was 84 years old. When I
met him, he introduced himself as Dinky, as that is what his wife had called
him. Dinky called his wife Sugar Babes.
Dinky and Sugar Babes were together for sixty-four
years.
Sixty-four years of highs and lows. Sixty-four years
of joy and heartache, of hard work and contentment. Sixty-four years of
children and grandchildren and change.
Dinky built three houses for Sugar Babes, with his
own hands. He built her a house when they were newlyweds. He built her a better
house when he could afford it. He built her a third house to confront the
reality of aging, when he realized that they needed something that better
suited their needs.
Sugar Babes passed away last year.
Right after Dinky introduced himself and shook my
hand, he pointed to a picture on the wall, a picture in full view of a chair
that he spends most of his time in, a picture of Sugar Babes.
“Son,” he said, “that is my wife. Isn’t she lovely?”
I can tell you that Sugar Babes was indeed a lovely
woman.
I can also tell you that Dinky still loves Sugar
Babes. Sixty-four years was not enough to encompass that love. His love for her
still exists, in his heart and mind and also in the hearts and minds of
everyone that knew them. Things as feeble as time and death could not cause
that love to cease.
People often go on a search for the profound. I
think that there are occasions in which the profound is right in front of us,
and we simply need to open our eyes and recognize it for what it is. If God is
love, then love is the evidence of His presence in our lives. It is the unseen
matter that transforms and connects us, that inspires us and makes us more than
we could ever be on our own. And while we cannot see it, we can see the
evidence of its existence by the effects that it has on those around us.
We can touch it with a held hand.
We can hear it in whispered words of encouragement.
We can feel it in a tender kiss.
We can see it in the deep and abiding love of Dinky
and Sugar Babes.
