Then you stop hearing them. In Pittsburgh, I lived on Ohio River. The trains sound their horns as they run down the valley, and tug boats make their way up and down the river, blowing their whistles. I d sit on the back porch and listen to the sound of them, making their way up and down the river. I loved them.
Relationships can become like that.
At first, we hear the trumpets, and everything is fresh and wonderful. We had a couple in my first congregation who had been married for over sixty years. Yet every day, they walked down the street in front of my office, hand in hand. They still heard the trumpets. Some never know that they have missed anything, and so are content with what they have, and think that s the way it ought to be.