I watched the sunset yesterday. The long shadows stretched out across the lawn like they were lying down for a nap. The rays of the sun flickered off the water, and if you stood in just the right place it would make you squint your eyes.

Sunsets always put me in a reflective mood. I’m no poet, but I have a soul that is easily moved. The tip-tops of the tall pines and poplar were bathed in a golden blanket, the light slowly disappearing as the shadow of the earth’s horizon chased the last touch of light upwards to the last leaf.

I said something romantic to Marion.

“Reminds me of sitting in a deer stand, watching the sun move up the trees like this.”

She responded tenderly.

“Yup! About now is when you start thinking ‘The Big One’ is gonna walk right out in front of you.”

You see, we get each other.

All Sunday morning her house was a bustle of hustle. Mums and fall leaves and ribbons were fixed in place. Table settings were arranged. Food was prepared and cooked. Her best friends came over to help with all the arrangements. Her daughter, Charlie, carried little Cooper around in his blanket while making sure everything was just right for the day.

By the time I arrived in the early afternoon, most all the work was done.

The Thursday before, Marion and I built a little post and beam “arbor” at the far end of her backyard. We dug the holes just a few feet away from the crest of the hill that leads down to the lake. Eventually, there will be a swing that hangs from it. But for now, it will serve a different purpose.

We stood in front of it for a few minutes, looking through the trees and out across the lake. Our jeans were dirty. We had concrete dust on our hands and knees.

“Just a few more days,” I said, “and we’re gonna be standing right here.”

“I know,” she says. “It’s kind of scary.”

We both have had our moments, I guess. Second chances are not without a few complicated issues. You don’t stay married to someone for 30 or 40-something years and not have questions about whether you’d do it all over again.

“You still have time to change your mind.” She grins.

“You are gonna be here, aren’t you?” I had reason to ask.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I might have to pack a bag in case I decide to run.”

“In that case, I want the keys to your truck.”

On Sunday, when I turned in her driveway, the first thing I did was check to make sure her truck was there. And it was. Parked at the top of the hill.

Her friend, Leah, told me, “Don’t worry. I have her keys.”

There have been times when our days together have been a constant back-and-forth banter of laughter. I’m not saying we’re funny, just that we make each other laugh. Sometimes we laugh so hard, our bellies hurt, and we can’t breathe.

We have spent hours talking about the deep stuff of life. Our faith. Our dreams. Our families. Two people our age get together and you bring a lot of history with you. There are adjustments to be worked out. Traditions to be navigated. Changes come that make an impact with ripple effects that go way beyond just the two of us.

I’m not sure how it’s all supposed to work. Neither one of us was planning on being widowed. Neither one of us had any ideas about getting married again. Neither one of us saw this day coming.

But little by little it came. It was barely 10 days ago when we looked at each other and said, “Let’s do this. How’s the 20th look to you?”

When yesterday came, it was a simple affair. Just our kids, grandchildren, and a few friends.

Marion, to be honest, was quite brave. She wanted it to just be the two of us and the preacher. She never wanted to be the center of attention. The thought of a bunch of other people all looking at her gives her the shakes, even if it is family.

Now that it’s over, we’re both glad we had our closest friends and family around us.

There was no music. No flower girls. No walk down the aisle. Just jeans, boots and the most gorgeous day on the planet.

One of my very best friends did the ceremony for us. He’s a college professor by trade, who also happens to have his credentials for doing wedding ceremonies. So, we asked him to say the words with us.

He made the introductory comments. Led us through a few scriptures. Prayed for us. Then he asked me the question of whether I do or I don’t. Of course, I said, “I do.”

He asked the same of Marion.

We talked about this moment last Thursday when we were standing down here by the lake. Marion told me she could mix it up a little bit during the ceremony. I said something like, “You wouldn’t.” And she said, “You don’t want to try me.” And I said, “I double-dog-dare-you.”

O Lord, I am so slow to learn.

Shawn asked her if she promised to take me. He paused for the answer.

“Well,” she said, “let me ask something first.”

Shawn looked up from his notes. This was not the response he was expecting.

I’m looking at the ground. I’m pretty sure I was praying really hard.

She went on. “Does he come with a warranty, and does the lemon-law apply here?”

Long pause. Then chuckles.

She finally said, “I do.” And the rest is history.

I’m driving down the highway back to my house this morning. Today, I am watching the sunrise over the pines in the distance. I can see maybe 40 geese silhouetted against the orange and yellow horizon.

Sunset and sunrise. Every day is a new day. A new beginning. I didn’t make this up, it’s been this way since the Good Lord spoke it all into existence.

“We should write all this down some day for our kids and grandkids,” Marion said. “I want them to know how fragile life can be, how quickly it can change, how even though our best plans may not work out, no matter what happens in life, how God always has another plan in mind.”

This is the essence of a second chance. This is the color of the sun rising on a new day.

As I look at my left hand atop the steering wheel, there’s a new ring on my finger. Yesterday, just like I did 46 years ago, I spoke of vows that will carry us forward “until death do us part.” I meant those words the first time, and I meant them this time.

I pull up and park my truck at home. She’s got a full day. I have things to do here.

My phone dings. She’s sent me a text. “We’re gonna have a great life together.”

I know we are. It’s a new day.