I’m riding down I-65 headed to Purvis, Mississippi by way of Mobile. The lonesome highway. Mostly because there’s nothing but pines, broom sedge, and mile markers along this stretch of road.

Supposedly, it’s also bears the name because Hank Sr. traveled a similar route back in the day. They say he wrote a lot of his lyrics behind the wheel. The lonesome cry in his voice was born here.

A man has time to think behind the wheel, which is what I’ve been doing for the last few hours.

I changed seats with Marion at the last stop. I’m pecking at the very small key pad on my phone with one finger. The glare on my screen makes it harrd 2 sea whad im doong.

The Christmas break has given me a lot to think about. Things like the changes in my life over the last year. Hallmark movies. How Santa really gets down all those chimneys. And hot chocolate.

Hot chocolate is good about anytime of year. But when you have a specially blended cup on a cold Christmas evening, a fire going, a sappy Hallmark movie playing out, sitting next to someone to whom you’ve promised your last forever, well, that’s about as good as it gets.

Getting married a second time late in life is a marvel to me. A bit of a mystery I don’t yet fully understand. It’s a gift I didn’t expect.

The best gifts, in fact, are the ones you don’t expect. You didn’t ask for it. You didn’t drop any hints for it. You didn’t circle it in the Sears Roebuck Christmas catalog.

It just comes to you.

You think about it. You try to understand it. You search for an explanation. And when you can’t come up with anything that makes sense, you finally realize that there’s nothing you can do but call it a gift.

We have laughed a lot about this journey of ours.

“Sometimes I forget I’m married,” she says.

“Me, too,” I admit.

Being married again has caught us both a little bit by surprise. I think that’s fair to say.

I think we both expected to be married forever. I should be coming up on 47 years. She should be looking at 40 years. Instead, we’re coming up on 3 months.

Life seldom plays out the way you expect it might. Not everyone gets to hold hands with one spouse into their nineties. That is a gift of a different kind.

But it’s not the only gift.

Last week we got a chance to visit the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, Tennessee. The once before gospel tabernacle where Sam Jones preached, turned into the home of country music in the 1920s when WSM radio took the Grand Old Opry to the air waves.

The old wooden floor. The low hanging balcony. The curved pews. The stage where Hank Sr. made history. It’s all still there.

Vince Gill and Amy Grant were on stage that night. The house was packed.

I expected great music. And we heard some exceptional  music. But what I didn’t expect was to hear a piece of their story. The nuance of a second chance that brought these two strangers together.

“In a pretty turbulent time of my life,” Vince said, “she gave my heart time to heal.”

That was 24 years ago for the two of them.

Neither one of us know for sure how long our second chance will play out. We’ve both learned how quickly life can turn upside down. But we both know that this particular turn has changed us.

Starting over again hasn’t been without its challenges. Every second chance couple on the planet gets that.

We have talked to enough of them to know that our story is not so different from a thousand others who have been where we are.

The family dynamics change. The routine changes. The holidays change.

But so have we changed. We’re more grateful. We’re more aware. We’re more, dare I say it, alive to the present.

I can only hope that your Christmas has been as good as ours. The presents were perfect. The family time was wonderful. And the hot chocolate was extraordinary.

But if I had to pick one gift that means the most, it would be our second chance at love and life.

Unfortunately, there was no tag on the box, but we both know Who put that one under the tree.