Preachers told young men and women - and old ones, for that matter - they must repent, or face the fires of hell.

Young men and women responded as young men and women will. They called those preachers names I would not utter in the company of my mom.

Some claimed they spoke for Jesus. Others outside the Jefferson County Courthouse, where men and women arrived this morning for the first gay marriage licenses issued in Alabama, claimed they spoke for love.

Lorraine Adams, a black woman married to a white man, argued out loud that the law banning same-sex marriages must be obeyed simply because it is the law - even though the same sort of Alabama interpretation of marriage outlawed her own vows until 2000.

"We are a nation of laws," she shouted. "We voted. What about that?"

Steve Todd

It was, without question, a landmark day in Alabama. Men married men. Women married women. They walked and ran and rolled out of the Jefferson County Courthouse in jeans or in tuxes, in gowns or in tie-dye T-shirts. At times it was hard to tell who stood for what, as marriage purists and marriage equality advocates danced and sang, at each other more than together, locked as if dueling to see whose version of "This Little Light of Mine" could reach the ears of God.

State Rep. Patricia Todd said she was "tickled to death and thrilled this day has finally come."

Former U.S. Attorney Doug Jones called it an historic day, like the one in 1964 in which the U.S. Supreme Court demanded that Ollie's Barbecue had to serve black people.

It was chaos, of course. Joyous, wondrous, angry, mean, spiteful chaos. It was everything, with every story in the world to tell.

Which is perhaps why Steve Todd's story touched me most.

He was there in Linn Park, alone. He was quiet. Subdued. He did not dance or sing or pick fights with those who disagreed with him - with his life. He merely looked, and listened, and took it all in with a tear in his eye.

He was in Birmingham, Alabama, watching the impossible.

See, Todd met the man of his dreams four decades ago, when Richard Nixon was in the White House and the average car cost $3,200. He met Ben in Miami in 1973, and they made a life together.

For most of that life, the idea of a man marrying another man was unthinkable. The tears came as he remembered those who never got to see today.

"I am of the age that so many people I know passed away from HIV," he said. "I lost so many friends and loved ones."

Steve is 69 years old now, his partner Ben 76. They moved to Alabama nine years ago - after he checked Alabama out and figured Birmingham would be the most welcoming spot. The Todds were married in New York on Aug. 1 of 2013, and returned to Crestwood. Steve Todd -- he is not the showy sort -- bought a rainbow flag last week, and he hung it on their home.

And the tears come again as he describes the life he has made. He thinks of how things could have been different - how things were different for so many people who could never make their love official, who were never, in many cases, allowed even to acknowledge that love.

Of course he cries. Because he looks around and sees freedom. He sees freedom for couples with whole lives in front of them. He sees others who are free to live with the people they love, to grow old and share the name and the life of the person - male or female - who gives them the greatest shot at happiness.

That is what cuts through all the chaos.

If there is a meaning to life, it is finding someone to share it with.

Today - despite all the efforts to stop it - that became legal for all people in Alabama.

AL.com Opinion