No one would ever ask another person to give them thirty nine years. There is no such request recorded in human history. No sir, there is no place where a young man says to a young woman, “Give me the next thirty nine years.”
You ask, instead, that a woman give you her hand for the moment, then for an hour, long enough for your palms to get sweaty together and your fingers to learn how they lace together. An hour somehow leads to one year or so, the sweaty palms become a child or two or four. You learn how to sleep together, forget how you ever slept apart.Your beard grows white, dead, snowy white. She and you become the pair.
And, so, like all things that have to do with grace, you get that for which you do not ask, that for which you did not know to ask. A moment of her time, demurely given, chastely offered, turns out to be a life time.