Twenty five years ago today, I walked down the aisle an unsuspecting young man of 20 years who was thrilled to the core to be marrying Sonya Edwards, who I had been dating for two years. As we have discussed many times since neither one of us had the slightest idea what we were doing, only that we truly and deeply loved each other and wanted to spend our lives together.
Two weeks before our first anniversary, our first child was born (yeah, do the math), a girl, Beth, now married herself. When Beth was about 18 months old, Sonya was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease about which we knew virtually nothing other than it was a type of cancer. A surgery and lots of radiation later, we held on for the wild ride of CT scans for the next two years until we would know whether all those shadows were something scary or just scar tissue. Thankfully she was pronounced clean and we could start trying to have children again.
It was a while, but in 1991, just over six years since Beth’s arrival, Timothy was born. We’ve always considered him a miracle in the sense that we did not know for sure if Sonya would be able to become pregnant again. If you’ve ever met Timothy, you’ll probably not be surprised to find out that radiation was somehow involved, though you would likely have been thinking more along the line of Three Mile Island.
In 1995, quite unexpectedly, we found that we were expecting a third child who entered this world in December of that year, Abigail is, as her name suggests, a source of joy. After that blessing, Sonya was pretty insistent that I visit a particular doctor about a particular procedure. Using some pretty colorful language she…uhm…convinced me to go.
When I talked to my Dad about getting married, I was making $6.00 or so an hour working at a pest control company. He said it wasn’t enough to live on, so I asked my boss if I could get a raise up to $7.00 so “I can ask Sonya to marry me.” With complete disregard to my impact on Sonya’s future, he agreed to give me a raise. So, we married with making just over today’s minimum wage and her making more per hour but only working 30 hours or so a week. When the aforementioned unexpected first child was born, Sonya quit her job and I got a new job (delivery courier) making $310 a week. The young Bill Gates was getting a run for his money.
I eventually lost that job due to various off the job injuries that caused me to miss work for extended periods of time. So, after getting inspiration from the movie Baby Boom with Diane Keaton, we started working from our basement making decorative crafts both to wholesale to stores and retail at various shows around our area. I wielded a mean hot glue gun in those days. It goes without saying that Sonya’s unending work ethic drove our income as I was mostly useless with a leg length, post surgical cast while being intimate with my new best friend, Percocet.
After than episode, I was called to pastor a small family owned and operated church well south of Atlanta. For two years we ministered together and she was my biggest cheerleader even when things fell apart. She stood with me as we started a new church in a skating rink, even when we had to set up our Sunday morning chairs beside Saturday night’s wrestling ring. After our subsequent departure they bought property and continue to meet until this day, some 16 years later.
She stood with me as we could not afford to continue to pay rent and have to move back home: her to her parents and me to mine as neither home was big enough for our family of four. She waited patiently as my Mom used it as an excuse to enclose their garage, something she’d always wanted to do, so that we could move there together for the few months it took to find another ministry position.
She labored through a mission church assignment where she was the only nursery worker and the setting was truly a challenge. She gained poise and confidence as I served with a great staff at an Atlanta area mega church, always providing the balance I needed and warnings about who was legit and who was out to get me.
After God began to wrestle with me about leading a local church again, she prayed and partnered in another new adventure that brought us to New Bethany in 1998. She’s home-schooled all three of our children: Beth to scholarship and a graduation Cum Laude with distinction, Timothy to his recent acceptance to college to begin in the fall and Abigail who is now in middle school. In the midst of this she’s become an amazing home decor person, furniture recoverer, greeting card designer, costume maker, home organizer, horticultural practitioner, cook extraordinaire, Ebay seller and more other things than I can bring to mind.
She has provided more wisdom, encouragement and love to me than I could ever have been able to imagine coming from one person. She has read the Bible through more times than I’ve thought about doing it. She’s respected by everyone who has ever met her and the model for pastor’s wives: just be yourself and don’t worry about it. If you want to wear a skirt, wear a skirt. If you want to wear jeans, wear jeans. If you want to sit on the back row instead of the front one, then sit there every week. Make your husband your first priority after Christ and who cares if you play the piano, direct VBS or sing solos. Guide your own children to Godliness and shrug off the expectations of others.
In those melancholy moments I wonder what I would do if Sonya were to die. The only answer I can come up with is that I’d probably die too. I cannot imagine the poor woman who would have to measure up to the standard bearer and I hope I never have to find out. I really and truly hope that February 4, 2009 is the anniversary of our first twenty five years, not just twenty five years.
For whoever is reading, I love Sonya Duren like I love no one else. I would marry her over again, every single time. She’s everything I never knew I wanted and more.
I love you, honey. God is glorified in your life and both He and I are pleased.
I can’t wait for BC…
