SIX YEARS

On Friday, I started to spot, so I knew what was coming. I was disappointed of course, but knowing the following day was set aside to celebrate six years of marriage with Philip was a major boon to my spirit. We had the whole day to do as we pleased, without the interruption of chores, errands, work or other people (no offense, other people). I was just hoping the full onslaught of my period would wait at least until Sunday so I could have sex with my husband on our anniversary.

Using the crossover of our wish lists, we decided to head to Rock Springs, but were turned away at 10 a.m. because the park was already full. After making a mental note to ourselves that we should never again attempt to visit Rock Springs during the summer on a weekend day (this has happened to us two or three times before), we made a U turn and headed to Canaveral National Seashore.

On the way, we made a pit stop at Walmart to buy beach chairs and a beach umbrella. This purchase pretty much doubled the amount of beach paraphernalia we had to schlep, but it was totally worthwhile -- Philip discovered he all of a sudden went from feeling like he could tolerate the beach to actually liking it!

All settled in under our umbrella, with the pristine sand dunes behind us, we dug into the lunch Philip had packed: an assortment of snacks, my favorite. Then we took a walk, we swam in the waves, and I read my book while Philip took a nap. It was perfect.

After we got back home and showered, Philip played bartender and mixed us each a cocktail that we enjoyed while chatting on the sofa. Then we decided to grab dinner at 310 Park South. Being so late, there was no wait at the restaurant, and an acoustic guitarist was even performing. We both really enjoyed our entrees and splurged on a mousse for dessert.

Lingering over each bite as the restaurant began to clear out, the lighting dim and the guitarist gently singing in the background, I felt that we were hanging in one of those rare transcendent moments when all is right and we are more in love than ever before. I gazed at him across the table and began to reflect on our six years of marriage, going from young, naive newlyweds to full-blown adults. How do you hold six years in your head -- all the laughter, all the arguments, all the lovemaking, all the bill paying, all the trips, all the quiet nights at home?

We just finished reading and discussing the last chapter of Love & War with our small group this week, and the authors write, "There are couples who find their way to something beautiful. Truly beautiful. We pray that you will be among ... those who find their way to a beautiful and powerful marriage. But there is no guarantee of course. So why bother? Why risk it? Why throw yourself wholeheartedly into such a dangerous, costly, and uncertain enterprise?"

In preparation for our small-group meeting, Philip and I discussed this question. Are we willing to throw ourselves wholeheartedly into our marriage? Why?

Our answer, of course, is yes, for myriad reasons. First off, happily, we still like each other. We still want each other. We still enjoy spending time together. But we have experienced moments when that's not entirely true, and we know more are bound to be ahead. So what about those times? Why fight for the marriage then?

The Sunday-school answer is that we want to obey God and honor our vows, and the gut-level answer is that when we don't get along, we hope things between us will change and improve in the future. The book's answer is that you fight for marriage because the whole point of life is learning to love, even when it's really crazy hard.

My answer included all these reasons, plus the one that is especially poignant on an anniversary -- I don't want to throw away all that we've built. Over six years, we've created a life from scratch that is so intertwined, I wouldn't know who I was without it. Our home, our families, our friends, our cats, our neighborhood, our finances, our routine, our diet, our values, our bucket list. The way we've learned each other -- what makes him mad, what turns her on, what brightens his day, what calms her down. The way we've figured out how to run our household like a well-oiled machine (most of the time). How hard we worked to surmount huge challenges like buying a house, finishing grad school and wrestling through this peculiar endeavor of trying to conceive. And our memories! So many memories that are so precious, so priceless, I would never want to diminish their value by walking away.

I thought about all these things as I studied Philip's face from across the table. It wasn't so articulate, but the complex symphony of all our years together flashed through my thoughts, and I felt overwhelmed -- with gratitude, with satisfaction, with love.

And when we got home, we took advantage of the fact that my period did, in fact, wait to fully assail me until Monday. And that's all I'll say about that.