March 1941. Ken was a young man in love. He had to been getting to know Marian for some time, and he knew she was the one. He asked and she said yes! He was able to buy a ring shortly thereafter in a fire sale at a local jewelry store. Plans for the happy event began. Unfortunately, as someone once said (and even sang), "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."
April 1941. Plans for the wedding went on hold, as the draft caused upheaval and found him suddenly sent by train to Louisiana for boot camp. It was a lonely time, as the people he met were nothing like the people he had known back home in North Dakota. He clung to his faith and exchanged letters with Marian and family back home. In July of that year, he got word that his brother Melvin and Marian's sister Pearl were planning a wedding. Loneliness intensified. (Melvin would also go on to fight in the war.)
December 7, 1941 was, as President Franklin D. Roosevelt put it, "a date which will live in infamy." Japanese forces bombed Pearl Harbor, killing thousands, sinking ships, and throwing the US into the War. Ken's upcoming furlough was put on hold as they were taken by train through Texas to San Francisco, on to Pendleton, Oregon, and then to Boise, Idaho. It was during this time that he got a phone call from his beloved Marian. She had the chance to take the train to Boise! He was able to arrange with his superior officers to get leave to find her in town and help her find a hotel when she arrived in early February 1942. The happy couple spent time together when he was permitted to do so by his very accommodating superiors. Ken and Marian bought a wedding ring on Thursday, and got their marriage license at the courthouse on Friday. They had passed a Baptist church advertising a Wednesday prayer meeting, and the pastor's name and phone number were on the sign board out front. Ken and Marian crowded into a telephone booth and called the pastor. When they asked him if he could perform the ceremony, the pastor asked...
"When?"
"Now."
"Do you have a marriage license?"
"Yes, we do."
"Do you have witnesses?"
They hadn't thought about that. The pastor invited them to his house to discuss. They would need at least two witnesses. The pastor's wife would be able to be one, and as they were brainstorming who could be the second witness, the pastor's wife commented that new neighbors had just moved in across the street, and she could go meet them and find out if they would be willing to do them a favor. The only people at the ceremony who knew each other were the pastor and his wife, and Ken and Marian. The neighbor who came over met everyone there for the first time.
It was Saturday, February 14, 1942. Valentine's Day.
That act of kindness to strangers began a long and happy marriage, though it would be a while before they would be able to spend much time together. They stayed together as long as they could until Ken's unit was sent back to California to catch the ship across the Pacific. Marian took the train back home, and Ken would go on to serve in New Caledonia, a small island off the eastern Australian coast. He would later be transferred to Europe, where he was part of the victory parade through Paris on V-E Day.
Sometime after his return to North Dakota, they had their first child. Four more children followed. Between 1973 and 1993, they welcomed seven grandchildren (the fourth being me). 1999 started a new era, as he dedicated his first great-grandson. Seven more great-grandchildren have followed in the years since.
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| Find someone who looks at you the way my grandparents looked at each other in 1985. |
They were happily married for 47 years.
The morning of November 7, 1989, Philippine time, my parents came in my room. Usually it was just my mom who came to wake me up, but I knew something was up when my dad was with her. They told me they had gotten a call the previous evening that Grandma and Grandpa had been together praying. When Grandpa was done, he waited for Grandma to take her turn, and she was silent. He looked up to discover she was too busy rejoicing at the feet of Jesus.
The afternoon of May 9, 2015, our family was gathered around his bed. He was moaning in pain. We each said our good byes. I asked him to give Grandma a big hug for me. My cousin Annika told him that she loved him, and he replied, "I love you." It was the last intelligible thing he said. My mom's cousin Nola arrived and he opened his eyes and acknowledged her. My mom was holding his hand and it went limp. Annika, a nurse, felt for a pulse and found none. My mom said, "He's singing with the angels." He was four months short of 100 years old.
I don't know how my grandparents' reunion went, but I imagine them running into each other's arms on the golden streets and dancing for joy, along with their son Robert, who was killed in a traffic accident in 1979. They weren't much for dancing in this life, but I picture them dancing arm in arm in heaven.
Perhaps they were joined in the reunion by a man whose name I don't even know, but whose kindness in performing a wedding ceremony at his house in Boise, Idaho for two strangers changed the course of their lives and paved the way for a long and happy relationship. A pastor who heeded the sage advice by the author of Hebrews (13:2), "Don’t forget to show hospitality to strangers, for some who have done this have entertained angels without realizing it!"
