For one to experience the true brilliance of autumn in South Texas, one must graciously regard the intermittent days of crisp air and cool breezes. Here, where sweltering summer days linger and reemerge, the quiet entrance of the fall season bestows a palpable gratitude to those who take notice.

On the very first fall weekend that hints of cold, we drive ninety minutes west on IH-10 to visit Dewberry Farm in Brookshire. We do this so our children will notice the seasons, connect with a family tradition, feel a reverence for our simple moments together.

Every year, this excursion marks our gentle passage into a season of thanksgiving and praise, a celebration of this beautiful life, a celebration of our family.

We were blessed to celebrate the sacrament of marriage ten years ago on a Thanksgiving weekend—simply no better season to mark our eternal love.

In the fifteen years since we met, especially in our ten years of marriage, we have known dark and bright skies, storms and rainbows. In every season, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, we have served one another and will serve one another, as we promised, for all the days of our life.

Upon another Thanksgiving season, for everything that is beautiful in all creation, for the blessings of hearth and home, for all our kind friends, for all our beloved family, we pray a reverent grace, an unending song of thankfulness. And, for this world we all share, for those most in need, we pray for lasting peace.

Upon the tenth anniversary of our marriage, I am so deeply blessed to share this beautiful life with my best friend, my soul mate, my everything. Our faith has filled the past ten years with the most peaceful gifts of love, joy, and hope, miracle upon miracle.

When we reflected on how to spend our anniversary, Shervin and I thought only of taking part in the ordinary Thanksgiving traditions at Oma and Papa’s house in Bulverde. We did not want a big party or a fancy date—we wanted a moment true to our love. The children lavished us with hugs, kisses, and artwork celebrating our anniversary.

Shervin presented me with a stunning diamond ring, designed by himself to tell the story of us, including the three birthstones of our most precious gifts. In some pure way his grand gift was very humble, a genuflection to the sacrifice of childbearing. We laughed as the children were most excited by the box. My gift to Shervin was also symbolic of our story, including a frame with the lyrics of Moon River and wooden figurines, each attached to biblical verses, the prayers God answered through him—especially the hope of children.

We ended the day in San Antonio with my family playing at the park, enjoying dinner at a Mexican restaurant, and preparing dessert at the home of my brother. In those evening hours, the same hours that held our wedding reception ten years before, I felt blessed beyond measure, bundling the children in their coats, sitting beside a fire pit on the deck, surrounded by my dear parents and siblings, wrapped in Shervin’s arms, making s’mores with the three greatest gifts of our love.

I could spend my whole life trying to sing a song, dance a dance, or pattern the words to express the meaning of our love. On each of our ordinary days, seeing one another has been all we needed to smile. And whether in laughter or in tears, when we could only believe, we have believed. When we could only serve, we have served. When we could only love, we have loved.

Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.
Song of Solomon 8:7

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