This story made me go aaawww...

An hour before my ceremony, I nearly collapsed. As the photographer snapped pictures, my smile was strained; I was terrified. My fiance, Brad, and I had dated for two years and been engaged for one. We knew each other well. But did we know what the future would hold for us? Of course not. "So let me get this straight," my brain was saying. "I'm supposed to decide today to be with one person for the rest of my life because, up until now, things have been great? Because, so far, I still love him?"

This made no sense. I was tormented by what everyone had told me for years about marriage in general, and my fiance in particular -- the old "you'll just know" or "trust your gut." Well, this time, I didn't know, and my gut had a bad stomachache. So naturally, I took the path of any good drama queen: I dropped my bouquet, slumped into a nearby chair, and burst into tears.

Brad rushed over and shooed away the photographer. While he was aware that I'd had many doubts during the past year I'd had many doubts during the past year, he had none. My own hesitations, on the other hand, were quite serious; I'd even harbored a crush on another man during my engagement year. I'd confessed everything to Brad -- I did love him, after all, and wanted our relationship to be honest. But we were so different -- opposites in too many ways. (More than one friend had observed that we were a lot like that Green Acres couple from the '70s: I was "Gimme Park Avenue" and he was "Farm Livin' Is the Life for Me.")

How could it work, I wondered, when reality would inevitably come knocking? We loved each other -- a lot, as it turned out. But what sane person could believe that love alone would pass the test of time, particularly when 50 percent of today's marriages end in divorce?

So there I was: big white dress, mascara running. "How can I say 'forever'?" I sobbed. "It's too long to commit to!" Brad took my hand. "How about this," he said gently, not even remotely offended. "Can you commit to being with me for one year?"

"Of course," I said, sniffling."That's easy, but -- " He interrupted me. "Then let's take it one year at a time. Publicly, we'll say our vows, 'until death do us part.' But privately, we'll have our own little arrangement. Each year on our anniversary, I'll ask you if you want to renew. We'll do this a year at a time. Can you do that?"

Overwhelmed by the generosity of his answer, I said that I could. And I did.

***

What a 'generous' man... now this is an example of loving someone truly.

Of course, if seen from a cynical viewpoint Brad took the opportunity to keep his options open. Creating an escape clause on his wedding day! But then again, no marriage is carved in stone anyway. It does not mean a union will last forever and a day once it's consummated in front of God and the world. No one can be utmost certain that their marriage will stand the test of time.

After all, a marriage is between the two people involved in it at the end of the day. And isn't the whole point of an anniversary celebrated for two people to renew their commitment to each other yearly?

I say yes.