My wife and I had just

attended the funeral of someone we had known for years.

The person died unexpectedly and, when something like

that happens, the people left behind often begin to

ponder the great questions of life.

I suppose that's what was

happening with my wife when she turned to me in the car

on the way home and said, "David, if something

happened to me, would you remarry?"

Now, there are some

questions for which there is no right answer. No matter

what answer you give, you are doomed. This was one of

those times.

Cindy and I have been

married over 28 years. I was 20 and she was 19 when we

walked the green mile together. Not one of our friends or

family members ever thought we'd make it past the first

five years. We struggled against great odds and, somehow,

prevailed. I can't imagine life without her, so I never

think about the question she asked in the car that day.

The question had been asked

before through the years and I had, as people of dim wit

are prone to do, attempted to answer the unanswerable

question. In the past, I had answered, "No, honey, I

can't imagine being married to anyone else." That is

not the correct answer.

"Well, why not? Is

marriage to me so bad that you're soured on the whole

concept?" Strike one.

I should add, at this

point, that, after 28 years of marriage, I'm just as

confused about women as I was when I had my first date

and did and said all the wrong things. Women are like

God. They are knowable yet remain largely unknown. Their

ways are not your ways. Women, like God, remain a

mystery.

An elderly man once

confided in me, "Son, it takes at least 20 years for

men to learn the rules. And then, after 20 years, I'll be

danged if they don't go and change the rules!"

Later, when the question

was asked again, believing myself to be older and wiser,

my response was, "You know, I've thought about that

question and after due consideration, I think I would

probably remarry if something happened to you."

Again, that is not the correct answer.

"So," says she,

"you've been thinking about being with someone else

for the rest of your life... got anybody in mind?"

Strike two.

So, here the question was

again. But this time, I had considered the question for

years, searching for the right answer should the question

arise again.

"You, know

honey," I began, "life with you has been so

wonderful, so grand, that, if something happened to you,

I would probably consider remarriage at some point in

time, if for no other reason, to recapture some of the

joy that we have shared."

She was quiet a moment and

I knew that a follow-up question was coming. In fact, I

was so certain that I knew what the question would be

that I had already formed the answer. "And what kind

of person do you think you'd marry?" she asked

sweetly.

"Why, dear, I would

marry a person that was just like the first girl I

married."

She smiled ever so briefly,

then inquired, "And what kind of person would that

be?"

"Why," I replied,

"I'd marry a 19-year-old." After all, I

reasoned, it worked so well the first time, why not try

it again?

The warm day began to grow

icy cold and the storm clouds began to roll in.

"Oh, really," she

said slowly, her voice laced with just the slightest bit

of venom. "And you think you could get a 19-year-old

to marry YOU?"

"Well, let's consider

the facts," I said. "When you were 19, I had no

steady job, no education, no home, no car, no money, no

career, no future, and no stability. You married me

anyway. Now I have a career, a house, a couple of

degrees, some money in the bank, a good car, a good

reputation, a great future and I have some measure of

stability. So, yeah, I think probably a 19-year-old would

marry me. Heck, it would probably be easy!"

Strike three, end of

inning, end of game, season over.

Now, I know what you're

thinking. "What a moron!" But you see, when you

keep getting the unanswerable questions, and you finally

realize there are no right answers, you may as well have

some fun when giving the wrong answers. And, if you're

lucky, if your answer is wrong enough, maybe - just

maybe - the unanswerable question will not come up

again.

[Father

David Epps is rector of Christ the King Charismatic

Episcopal Church which meets at 10 a.m. Sundays in the

Carmichael-Hemperley chapel on Ga. Highway 74 in

Peachtree City. He may be contacted online at [email protected] .]