In September 1998, I made the best decision of my life and said “I do” to a most amazing woman.  In front of God and everyone I pledged my undying devotion to my best friend, confidante, lover; to the woman who would one day become the mother of my children, and so much more, including my guidepost, sounding board, and my inspiration.

Our honeymoon was a tour of bed and breakfasts up and down the Maine coastline.  There was whale watching.  There was hiking through Acadia National Park, carrying water bottles filled with champagne.  And there was lobster.  Lots of lobster.  Dinner one evening was in a swanky establishment called ‘Lobster in the Rough,’ which was housed in a military style Quonset hut off a gravel road in the country.  It was a “help yourself to the baked beans in the crock pot, and grab a drink from the cooler” kind of place.

We were literally the only two patrons in the restaurant, which was perhaps not too surprising in the post-Labor Day, early September timeframe.  Our hostess told us to pick out whatever music we wanted, so we rifled through the impressive album collection, and threw a 33 on the platter.  I asked my new bride to dance, and we slow danced amidst the picnic tables, much to the glee of the hostess and the cook.  The memory makes me smile even as I write this.

One afternoon we decided to take a side trip inland, and drove to Bangor.  While we were stopped at a gas station to top off the rental, my new bride cajoled me into asking the station attendant for directions to Stephen Kings’ house.  Eager to please, I reluctantly made my inquiry.

And thus began a lifetime of her making me do things I didn’t want to.

And I am much the better man for it.  It would be too simple to say that every introvert needs an extrovert.  Through our now 31 years together (28 married), my bride has simply made me better.  She has inspired me to be better, to want to be better, and to dance like no one is watching, even if they are.

The roll of the eyes and the heavy sigh from the station attendant told me that we weren’t the first people who had asked about Stephen Kings’ residence.  And the uncannily accurate directions sealed the deal.  This was in the days before smart phones, when you had to actually talk to a person to get directions.  “And then take a left at the barn, and if you see a cow you’ve gone too far…” were voice guides you won’t ever hear from Google maps.

We arrived at our destination to find we had been preceded by two young German tourists.  After communicating via hand signals, we snapped their photo in front of the ornate wrought iron gate, and then snapped our own.

Just a short side trip out of the way and another cherished memory made.

One of Samantha’s favorite analogies is that we’re on a journey down a river.  I’m a barge, slow and steady, carrying the load, taking it all in.  She’s a busy tugboat, zipping around me in circles, talking to everyone we pass.  When I need a course correction, she nudges me.  When she needs a rest, she throws me a line and I reel her in.

And so we motor on, down this endless, beautiful, river.  The scenery has changed a bit over time.  We’ve certainly had to navigate some rapids.  Maybe this old barge creaks more than it used to.  We’re not done, though.  There’s miles to go, things to see, people to meet.  But, oh, what a trip it’s been.  And how deeply blessed have I been to have you by my side.

Happy Anniversary.  Je t’adore.

P.A. Tennant – September, 2026

Soli Deo Gloria

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Photo: P.A. Tennant

Copyright 2026 Paul A. Tennant

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