My husband and I were married in 1949. He had just returned from the Pacific Coast after his stint in the Navy. I met him 12 years earlier in high school and knew at once that I loved him.
We didn’t have a lot of money so we had to make due.
It was my idea to marry in a long abandoned church house. The door was hanging off the hinges, the roof was in poor shape, and the floor was dusty and creaky.
Despite the building’s poor shape, I thought marrying in the same exact place as my great grandmother was wonderful.
When I look back now, I know we made the right decision to have our ceremony there. This situation is testament to the fact that the cost of a marriage doesn’t matter as much as the love that creates the bond between a man and a woman.
We were married in the most rundown of places, yet our marriage endured for 50 years when I lost my beloved Albert.
Don’t ever pass up an opportunity to brighten your life with loving gestures.
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