I don't blame my in-laws for assuming I would only be a fleeting part of their daughter's life

From left, this was Judy, Terry, me and Tom on our wedding day (June 6, 1992). I'm sure Judy and Tom did not see this coming when they first met me six years earlier.

Today would have been my in-laws' 63rd wedding anniversary. Tom and Judy were married on July 1, 1961, but sadly, neither is still around to celebrate the milestone.

I vividly remember the first time I met them. Terry and I had been dating for a couple of weeks when she brought me home for the first time in mid-March 1986. I feel like it was a Saturday afternoon, but I can't be sure of that.

Tom and Judy were relaxing in their living room when we walked in and Terry introduced me. I was on my best, most polite 16-year-old boy behavior and said something to the effect of, "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Ross."

They returned the sentiment, but in a decidedly half-hearted way. It's not that they were impolite or anything, but they didn't leap out of their chairs to greet me, either.

The reason for this, I found out sometime later, was that they figured I wasn't going to be in the picture for very long. According to Terry, they thought she was in a fickle stage and would be moving from boy to boy for the foreseeable future.

I was also a kid from school and not someone from church, which undoubtedly colored their initial assessment of me somewhat.

We all know how things turned out, of course. I stuck around for the rest of both of their lives. (And let it be known, a few years after Terry and I started dating, I also began regularly attending the Church of the Blessed Hope. So really, how bad could I have been?)

I've always found this story to be funny, but I've also reached the point in life where I kind of get it, too.

Terry and I have raised five kids into adulthood. For better or worse, we know how most high school relationships end. Tom and Judy had no reason to think the kid in the jean jacket standing in their living room trying to impress them would play any role in their family's long-term future.

What were the odds they would never manage to get rid of me? As my dad would have said, slim to none, and Slim just left town.

Yet, in the face of any reasonable expectation, here we are.

I miss them both. Before they each passed away, I would have appreciated one more opportunity to look them square in the eye and say, in all sincerity, "I told you so."

"For I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am"

You might possibly recognize today's headline as the words of the Apostle Paul (specifically from Philippians 4:11). I wanted to point that out immediately because, while Paul learned to be that way in life, I most certainly have not.

Some background: Most Sunday mornings, Terry and I sit in with the Young Adult Sunday School class at our church. We are decidedly no longer "young adults," but I made sure the members of the class are OK with our participation (either they are or they're too polite to say otherwise).

The class has been going through a book of short, Bible-based essays written by a friend of ours named Kyle Tucker. Kyle lives in Virginia. He is a big bear of a man with an even bigger personality. He is smart and funny, and I always enjoy his insights into all things spiritual.

Recently we read one of Kyle's missives around success: how we measure it, how we should measure it, and what "contentment" really means.

Two things struck me:

(1) We're almost inevitably happier people when we learn to appreciate what we have and where life has taken us. But "contentment" is not the same thing as apathy. You should always strive to improve in the ways that really matter, but the stuff you own is probably more than you really need. More stuff is not going to make you happier.

(2) We often admire those who have learned to be content, but we ignore how they got there in the first place. In Kyle's words, when it comes to spiritual "success" in life, "we too often admire the accomplishment rather than the qualities that brought about the success." Too true. I want to learn to be truly content and not constantly dissatisfied and ungrateful for what I have, but I don't necessarily want to put in the work that will get me there.

To that last point, the people with the best, most fulfilling outlook on life usually get there through determination, focus, perseverance and desire. They work to be happy, and while they're not apathetic, for them it's not always about what's next. They're perfectly happy where they are. They learn over time to be that way.

This flies in the face of what society tells us, which is that you can never have too much money, too many possessions, too much fame, etc.

The wise man/woman, on the other hand, counts his/her blessings every day and lives in a state of consistent, grateful contentment.

That's where I want to be when I grow up.

I have almost three dozen neckties that get little to no use

There was a time when I wore a tie five or even six days a week.

When I worked at the Cleveland Clinic, for example, I wore ties Monday through Thursday (and sometimes Friday depending on what was going on), and then I would wear a full suit on Sunday mornings for church.

Nowadays, my office (like most others) has gone business casual. And with the pandemic and subsequent work-from-home routine, my dress code has loosened even further.

Even for church my usual attire now is a sport coat with open shirt collar. I'll wear a tie only when I'm giving the exhortation, which happens about five times a year.

I just went into my closet and counted 35 very nice neckties hanging in there, most of which I haven't worn in years.

Some are very formal and were bought to match a particular dress shirt.

Others are informal, including the holiday-themed ties I have for Christmas and Valentine's Day.

None are likely to see the light of day more than once or twice in a calendar year...if even that often.

I'm not sure how I feel about that. I was always comfortable wearing a tie to work. It was never constricting to me, and honestly, the days when I wore suits were easier, sartorially speaking. Just match a suit with an appropriate dress shirt and tie (there were really only so many combinations, so even I couldn't screw it up), and you were good to go.

I always thought, too, that there was something to the idea of "dress professionally, act professionally." A tie didn't make me feel stuffy, it made me feel confident and well-dressed.

Of course, no one is stopping me from wearing a tie now. I could do it whenever I want. But I know that when I go back to the office, a tie always generates a lot of questions from people. Why the tie? What's the occasion? What made you decide to wear that?

My response, by the way, never varies. Unsmilingly, I look at them and respond, "I have a job interview today." At first they look surprised, then they realize I'm just messing with them.

I kind of miss tie-inspired humor.

My new toy (and why you need unnecessary stuff in your life)

I recently purchased this beautiful tenor saxophone. It is, by far, the nicest horn I've ever owned.

To be specific, it's a Cannonball Big Bell Stone Series T5. It comes with a whole bunch of unnecessaries: two necks, 16 semi-precious inlaid stones, and a lot of beautiful engraving.

My favorite part? It honks. And I mean that in the best way possible. I love the big tone this thing produces (particularly when you use the "fat neck"). I'm having a ball learning its little nuances.

I will occasionally play this saxophone in church, but for the most part, I play it because I love playing it. It doesn't matter if anyone else hears.

They say that boys love their toys, but the girls I know love them just as much. Those "toys" vary from person to person. They can be cool crafting supplies, vintage cars, sound equipment, books, fishing lures, rare coins, whatever. The point is, they bring joy.

They may have no seemingly "useful" function, but they bring joy.

If you have no use for joy, I'm not sure what to tell you. Your toys are just as important as the tools you use on the job. Even if they never earn you a single dollar, they nourish that part of you that can only be fed by intangibles.

So don't feel bad if a good chunk of your discretionary income goes toward something (or a lot of somethings) for which you have absolutely no practical need.

There's a part of you that's better off for having it.

COVID has reminded me of the comfort of routine

Since 1989, most Sunday mornings have been pretty much the same for me and Terry: We attend church and Sunday School.

Unless one or both of us happen to be traveling, there simply is no NOT going to church. In addition to all of the spiritual/emotional/mental benefits of attending, there is also the fact that our little congregation is getting even littler over time, so we hold down a few of the jobs that keep the group going.

Terry, for example, is the Sunday School treasurer, while my daughter Elissa is Sunday School secretary. I'm a deacon and a trustee, and I provide the exhortation 4-5 times a year.

There is nothing special in this as we have many people who are just as involved, and in many cases much more so. It's what you do in a small church.

What I've come to realize since last March when the coronavirus changed everything is that, for many years, I took for granted the comfort of our carbon copy Sunday mornings.

Because it's all necessarily different now, right? We're back to offering in-person services, but many (half or more?) of the congregation instead tune in online via livestream. And when you're there in person, you have to wear a mask the whole time of course.

There's also the fact that our congregational singing is somewhat curtailed, or at least the volume of it is. And whereas I used to play along with the hymns on my wind synthesizer, I can't do that nowadays because it's an instrument you blow into, and creating a stream of air necessarily means also creating and releasing a stream of potentially infectious respiratory droplets. I get it, so I don't play.

Our Sunday School closing period used to be a lot longer in that we would go around the room and mention the names of people who could use prayers and/or who had some good news that deserved thankfulness and praise. We still do that, but it's all gathered and distributed electronically now, rather than verbally.

The fact is, we're doing what I would say is a very good job under the circumstances, but it's still not the same. I had no idea I would ever miss that "same" until it was gone. Like everything good in our lives, I suppose.

There is a fine line between being in a rut and taking comfort in routine. I'm looking forward to putting COVID-19 in the rearview mirror so I can experience the difference again.