At church on Sundays, there is an older couple that sits behind me. And I don’t mean older as in most of the population is older than I am. The man told me on Sunday that he turns 91 tomorrow – Tuesday, May 18. His wife turned 90 in February.

I’ve spoken to this couple quite often. For one, I’ve sat in “their pew” a couple of times. They also say hello to me every time they walk in – even if it’s the middle of the service. Well, he says, “Hello, young lady.” She says, “You’re so beautiful.” For she has dementia…and probably needs a little help with her eyesight.

Over the past months, I’ve learned bits and pieces about this couple. He once told me what he made back in the 30s and 40s compared to what he makes today through wise investments. It’s quite a difference – and you can tell by the really nice truck he drives.

This week he informed me that all but two of his grandchildren had been in over the weekend to celebrate his birthday. I asked him how many grandchildren he has. He told me has two sons, six grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. Some of the came from as far as California. Meanwhile, his wife held my hand, told me how lovely I am, asked if she could kiss me, told me I had beautiful hands, and then asked if I would give her a kiss.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he told me, “but she was once a quiet thing. She would just sit there and wouldn’t say a word. That was before her disease.”

I could believe it, although she does often speak all kinds of things during the service. Fortunately, she doesn’t have a very loud voice. I think he’s louder as he hisses for her to be quiet.

“We were late today,” he continued. “Sometimes it’s just hard to get her up in the mornings, and get her dressed and get her here to church. But we do it. And I take her out to dinner some Saturdays. She enjoys that.”

I hardly knew what to say. For what do you tell a 91-year-old man who struggles himself to walk (although he informed me he still drives tractors and large equipment – I guess on their land) how much you admire him? For here he is taking care of his wife of who knows how many years (70 or more?), gets her up, dresses her, takes her to church and dinner and puts up with who knows what as she forgets where she is, who she is or what her life contained. Or how do you put into words the integrity of a man whose generations rise up and come miles to celebrate his birthday? The English language falls short.

You know, the man isn’t much to look at. By the age of 91, no one is. Gray hair, stooped, a cane, shaky voice. But he is exactly the sort of man I want to marry. A man of integrity, faith and a love so great it lasts over 70 years “for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.”