Seventy-four years ago this week, after a whirlwind wartime romance in Caracas, Venezuela, Arthur and Elizabeth married. Except for sharing a hunger for adventure far from home, their interests could not have been more different. He was a young Baylor University business grad from Waco; she was an artist and interior decorator, a Florida girl, and a recent graduate of Parsons School of Design in New York City. Her Miami boss assigned her a decorating job in South America.
There “Liz” Tucker stood on a bustling tarmac at Caracas Airport, needing someone to get a parked airplane out of her way, so she could sketch the terminal. Her other obstacle was “Art” Best, that tall Texan drink of water, the young airport manager for Pan American Airways. No doubt, one look at the cute, petite, albeit demanding brunette, and Art was happy to make it happen. Perhaps her agreement to a dinner and dancing date sealed the deal.
It would be the perfect love story from World War II, except that it wasn’t. Their lives, rich in blessings, exotic travels, and interesting international friends, were also haunted by ghosts of her unhappy childhood, his frequent long separations from the family, depression, his cancer, and ultimately, her dementia.
Yet, what I hold as treasure from their marriage, aside from being one of Art and Liz Best’s two daughters, is that through it all, my parents taught us to be thankful for the opportunities to celebrate life.
Despite their differences, they were united in raising us to love God and family. They taught us to trust Jesus, learn from the Bible, and to study hard at school. We were expected to be honest, kind, patient and faithful. Mom and Dad encouraged us to discover our talents and find contentment in our calling. When we ran into false starts, potholes, and a few wrong turns, they forgave our mistakes. My sister Carol and I learned too, the joy of friends and fellowship, from sharing belly laughs, to offering comfort, to feasting together. Steak and a glass of “bubbly” in the dining room was as much fun as salami sandwiches and iced tea from a thermos at the seaside.
Mom and Dad shared almost 53 years together on this earth. I’ve been slipping their faded photos into albums to pass on to our children and “grands.” I see in the images of their faces the course of long married life: the exuberance of newlyweds, the hard years, the delight of birthday hats and holidays, the old comfortable smiles exchanged in the confidence that they would be there for one another “‘til death did them part.”
When Dad departed in his sleep in May 1998, perhaps he was dreaming of their next world adventure together. He had to wait for her for several years, but she always was a little late for big events.
“Come on, Liz,” we’d often heard him say.
I know he could hardly wait for her to get there.
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.
. . . So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.”
1 Corinthians 15: 7-8,13a
