I had promised my mom and dad that if we got married in August, I would start college in September in Pensacola.  I fully intended to do that, but when the time came, the logistics of getting there overwhelmed me.  The emotion I felt was relief--I didn't want to go anyway.  By January, I was starting to get the hang of housework.  I could do a couple of things with hamburger.  And I had reassessed my clothing.  My clothes weren't working in this new adult world.  Everything I owned was fluffy.  All the women I had met were at least ten years older than me.  Most had two or three kids.  I was an alien.  What does an eighteen year old girl talk to older women about?

My job helped, but it was boring.  I posted offerings at a local church--open an envelope, write it down. My only salvation was that I could sew.  So I started making a new wardrobe.  Straight skirts.  (Mine were all gathered with can-cans.)  Blouses--no fluff, no ruffles.   At least I would look like an adult.

Ken and I were living in two different worlds that intersected occasionally in the evenings--if he wasn't catching up on night time.  They had to fly nights for a certain number of hours each month to stay qualified.

Single seat aircraft, military, supersonic, weren't all that safe.  The things they did weren't safe.  People got killed.  I dealt with it by sticking my head in the ground.   I never saw him fly.  He left for work, he came home.  That was good enough for me.  He would come home from work and share something about his day, I would share something about mine.  His was fantasy, mine was real.  He lived in a story book with an entire cast of dare-devils who had adventures and excitement.

Eph. 5:25, 28a  "Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church and gave himself for it.  So ought men to love their wives…."

It was the thing that made it all worth it.  He loved me.  There was never any doubt about that.