Ten

10 years ago today in a beautiful church in Los Angeles I witnessed a marriage. Two people vowed before God and their friends to love each other through sickness and in health...

We had just moved to Los Angeles, and although I knew the couple, I didn't know them well. During our time there, though, I got to know them very well. One half of the duo was a dear friend of my husbands since seminary. We spent a lot of time together as they showed us around town. We ate meals together. They hung out in our hot tub. I ended up working for one of them.

When the May Queen was born, we asked them to be Godparents. They've been wonderful and faithful Godparents. Now that we live nearly a continent away we visit. We call.

I sent them congratulations on this day. A decade. It's something worth celebrating.

But it's also bittersweet. See, this lovely couple is also gay. (The fact that a gay couple got married on May Day is not lost to me. Dance around the maypole, indeed!) When they were married in California their marriage was not recognized by the government. They did finally get married in the legal eyes of the state last year. But I'm not sure exactly what that means now that Proposition 8 has been passed. I'm not sure what it means legally, anyhow. I have a pretty good idea what it means emotionally. That their love is not considered good enough. That their commitment is not recognized, not valued.

A decade. Not enough marriages, of any ilk, last that long.

They've recognized their love and commitment. It's time we - individually and as a collective people of this land - recognize it as well.

A decade. It's been too long to wait.

(you can read more about my strong feelings on this subject in my old post God Loves Fags)