The Beauty of Ordinary Days
What 49 years of love taught me about marriage.
Today is July 2nd. For most people, it's simply another day on the calendar. The 183rd day, and half-way through the year. For me, it's different. It would've been my parents' 43rd wedding anniversary. They would’ve been together for 49 years today as well.
Naturally, I miss him. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't wish I could call him, ask his advice, or simply hear one of his ridiculous jokes or impressions again. But when July 2nd comes around each year, I find myself thinking less about the loss and more about the life they built together. Anniversaries don't tell the whole story. They simply remind us that thousands of ordinary days came before them.
When I think about my parents, I don't picture an anniversary dinner or a formal wedding portrait. I picture a photograph taken on the deck of our shore house in Sea Isle City. My dad is standing there impossibly tan, wearing that unmistakable goofy grin that somehow made everyone around him smile. He has a drink in his hand and doesn't seem to have a care in the world. Next to him is my mom - barefoot after a long day on the beach, sand still clinging to her feet, her hair carrying just enough salt from the ocean breeze. Together they're soaking in the final warmth of the sun before it disappears behind the bay.
Nothing extraordinary was happening.
And that's exactly why I love that picture. It wasn't staged, a milestone or an anniversary (although it could’ve been). But it was simply another ordinary evening spent together. Looking back, I think that's what a great marriage actually looks like.
As a wedding officiant, I'm fortunate enough to witness one of the biggest days in a couple's life…The excitement is contagious. Months, sometimes years of planning all lead to one unforgettable day. The flowers are perfect, the attire is pressed, the music is timed down to the second. Every detail has been carefully considered. And it should be, your wedding deserves that kind of care.
But I've come to realize that while weddings are built around one extraordinary day, extraordinary marriages are built around thousands of wonderfully ordinary ones and the quiet moments sitting beside each other without feeling the need to fill the silence. Those moments don't usually make the photo album. Yet somehow, they're the ones that build a lifetime.
If you asked me what made my parents' marriage work, I'd probably give you two different answers.
My dad would've told you it was humor and hard work - He wasn't afraid to be himself. In fact, he almost made it a point to be. He made my mom laugh because he genuinely enjoyed making her laugh. He never hesitated to wrap his arms around her or let everyone know exactly how much he adored her.
My mom would probably tell you it was communication, understanding, and knowing when to give each other space. She understood that love isn't about constantly demanding someone's attention. Sometimes it's about recognizing what they need before they have to ask for it.
Somewhere between those two perspectives, they found their rhythm. It wasn't perfect. It was practiced.
As kids, we have a funny way of believing our parents have everything figured out. As adults, we realize they were simply figuring it out together. Looking back now, I know my parents carried burdens I'll probably never fully understand. There were challenges, losses, worries, moments that tested them in ways my brother, sister and I never saw.
What stands out to me now isn't that those hardships existed. It's that they never allowed those hardships to become ours.
They protected our home. They carried more than they let on. At the time, I thought life was simply easier than everyone made it sound. Now I realize it wasn't. They just chose, every single day, to make sure their family felt loved before they felt the weight of everything else.
That's a lesson I've carried into my own marriage.
Rachel and I have learned that life doesn't always slow down just because you want it to. Different work schedules. Raising two boys. Responsibilities that seem to multiply overnight. It's easy to become really good teammates. But every now and then, we have to remind ourselves to stop being teammates for a moment and become the couple we originally set out to be. Because someday, when our kids tell stories about us, I hope they don't just remember the things we did. I hope they remember how we loved each other while we were doing them.
Now, people often ask me what makes a memorable wedding ceremony. The answer isn't found in a script. It's found in the marriage that follows it. A ceremony is simply the first chapter. The real story is written over thousands of ordinary mornings, quiet evenings, spontaneous road trips, shared sunsets, difficult conversations, forgiven mistakes, and countless moments that never receive applause.
Those are the moments that become forty-nine years.
Today, I'll celebrate my parents' anniversary because their story continues. It lives on in mom, in our family, in every lesson they taught me without ever realizing they were teaching it, and it lives on every time I stand in front of a couple and remind them that the promises they're making aren't about creating a perfect marriage… They're about creating a lasting one.
If there's one hope I have for every couple I have the privilege of marrying, it's this:
Don't spend your marriage searching for the perfect partner. Spend it becoming one.
Forever isn't built on anniversaries. It's built on ordinary days. If you're fortunate enough to have enough of those ordinary days together, one day you'll look back and realize they were extraordinary all along.
Happy Anniversary, Mom & Dad
Thank you for showing me what forever really looks like.
