A lot of things were brand new that day—my dress, my slip, my veil. The
experience of being doted over in preparation for a one-minute walk—as if I
were a queen. Hot curlers, make-up done just so, garter in place, pink lacy
nylons adjusted—the moment had nearly arrived.
Veil affixed, train smoothed out, ready to go. My dad looked at me as if
in a dream. It was as if he could believe the reality of this moment no more
than I could. For an instant, we were both frozen in time. Then we were given
the signal.
Holding my father’s arm gently, I took the first timid step toward my new
future. It seemed a mystery just how I was getting closer to the front of the
church—I felt like I was sort of floating down the aisle. But in what seemed
like a mere blink, I was there. My dad lifted my veil and went through the
traditional declaration of giving me away.
It was then that I came face to face with the man who’d filled both my
night’s and morning’s thoughts. I took his hands and in that moment, I felt as
though I’d taken the hands of the prince—my
prince. He looked at me with such love, as if he’d never seen anything so
beautiful—and I could swear that I blushed.
Two singers—three if you count my surprise serenade (that was a difficult
one to plan without the groom finding out), one exchange of rings, one prayer
of blessing, one couple’s communion, and a few wise words about marriage
later—and we were husband and wife.
I was so proud as I exited the
stage of the Florence Church of the Nazarene with my husband. It still seemed so unreal. But I was elated. I couldn’t
stop smiling. Even later when I saw our “get-away car” had been violated with
mounds of birdseed (some of which later sprouted
under the seats).
Yes, we were young (just eighteen and nineteen), but we had our whole
lives ahead—together! No more trying
to organize schedules to see each other. No more planning for “the big day”. No
more ‘I can’t wait’s. Our dreams had now become a reality. Witnessed by friends
and family, pronounced by a minister, ordained by God, and sealed with a kiss.
The thrill of that day will stick with me forever—the day I entered the
room as a betrothed bride and left it as a married woman. I’ll always remember
the look on my chosen one’s face, the glorious flower arrangements, the
congratulatory hugs in the receiving line, the gentle way my new husband kept
ushering me around as if I were a most fragile and precious treasure. All of
it.
There is nothing like the day of one’s wedding—nor should there be. It
should be a day of overwhelming joy in which you both step forward with a “yes”
in each of your hearts to pledge your love to one another before God and an
audience of witnesses. It’s a “from this day forward” beginning of a brand new
life. It’s something to be celebrated an oft remembered. Sure, things go
wrong—like two of my fake fingernails falling off during the ceremony and one
of the soloists stopping her guitar-playing because I looked at her while she
was singing and made her nervous. But those things just make it a more real and
colorful occasion in the memory banks of time.
My wedding day was truly a thrill I will never forget—and would never
want to.
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