The Wedding Report #3.5

The dense city lights and urban dwellings have slowly decrescendoed into the wide open farmland of northern Virginia. I am glad to have the snarled traffic and bomb threats behind me. I’m partially soaked from standing in the rain when my building was evacuated; standing at the bus stop didn’t help matters, either. But I am here now with the endless green of the rolling hills before me. Every landscape and vista still seems so familiar, in spite of the fact that I hardly make it out here anymore…

People have built huge homes here, mansions. But as we drive by at this late hour – it’s past seven already – I notice how many of them are clearly an active abode, but the lights are off, their giant halls of wood and marble are silent, no one is home. What is the purpose of such a giant, empty shell? Who would stay at work until well after dark simply to afford to have a house that could comfortably shelter ten people? Does not such misguided devotion leave a modern castle as nothing more than a cave – cold, dark, unfeeling? Many people would like to have beautiful things and a stunning home to put them in, but how many consider that they themselves could fill even the simplest abode with magnificent beauty?

Oh, but of course. And here is the most beautiful house I have seen all day. You cannot see it from the road, except a momentary glimpse through the trees. It seems old, the wood and stone seem to propel the structure into another century, but it is alive. It is nothing more than a cottage compared to the giants I have passed today, but here, there is warmth. There is love. And in a few short days, it will be a home.

As I walk toward the house, the cool early fall air carries the scents of dying leaves and wet dirt and gravel. The door opens, and my senses change entirely: my damp clothes are dried, the rush of cinnamon-and-apple cider fills my nose. Laughter saturates the air, the kind of wholehearted, carefree sound that can make the most afflicted heart believe there is yet hope in the land of the living. There is luggage to be carried and tasks to be accomplished, but the priority now is to greet the loved ones that encircle me. We may not be able to remember when we first met each other, but none of us can forget what we went through together. And we are here to celebrate an amazing happenstance of love. The bride-to-be is dazed, yet glowing, as if part of her still believes this party is for someone else. But there is an unmistakable spark in her eyes that speaks of a love yet to be fulfilled in whole. She waits for the day when she doesn’t have to say goodnight to the one who holds her heart, but it is not far away.

That night I drift to sleep on a floor, speaking in hushed tones to someone I used to share everything with. She is married herself now, and is well down her own path, one I cannot completely empathize with or understand. But to my joy, she is still her, the same girl whom I would talk with while staring into a dark night ceiling – as we are now – and talk about our cares before turning to prayer. She would drift off to sleep while we prayed sometimes. She knows what it is to be comfortable and trusting in the arms of an unseen Father.

Rain is falling so hard on the tin roof of the stable that it’s hard to hear a thing that’s going on. I might be six feet away from the bride and groom, but their voices are lost to the ambient noise. But it’s pretty fair to assume what they’re saying. We’re standing in wedding-day formation, but in jeans and other casual wear, all staring to the center, where the couple nervously fidgets while pretending to place rings on one other’s fingers. Around us, family and friends has the large room in an uproar; long, sheer sheets of white are being draped over the rafters, along with white Christmas lights. There is a table of flowers, a table of candles, so much left to be done. And in only twenty-four hours, it will all come to pass.

I pretend to hold flowers, wonder what they will look like. I wonder if I will cry. Do I even know how real this is?

Later, after dinner, I wander out to the veranda. It’s almost completely dark, but I can still make out the outline of the Blue Ridge, below and before me. The rain is gentler now, but the wind is biting and cold, whipping the fabric of my skirt and wrap against my skin. I don’t mind it at all; I’m just thankful it’s finally fall. Resting my hands against the wet, rough paint of one of the porch posts, I wonder how many people have soaked in the view of a day like this from this very spot.

I am happy to be here. I’m glad for the quiet and the peace, in spite of the craziness of the wedding preparations. This marriage is right, and they will say their vows tomorrow, and the rest will be, quite literally, icing on the cake.

Later, a few of us belt out popular musical tunes from the loft of the barn. Think of me, think of me fondly, when we said goodbye…

We’re driving through the countryside, and I can’t believe what a blur today has been. The house was a flurry of activity with bridesmaids, sisters, mothers, and a bride getting ready. But everything was, at the same time, calm and collected. She sat patiently getting her hair done, smiling – beaming – as it watching herself be transformed before her own eyes. And now she’s squished into the seat in front of me, huge skirt poofing every which way, as she grasps the gorgeous bouquet of cream and red roses. We’ve driven over these unpaved roads before, but not like this. There’s no turning back now. The next time she drives over this path, she will be married. It starts to sink in, and she admits butterflies; so she begins singing. It is the sweetest tune, and she carries it along without reservation. I’ve never heard this song before, because it is her vow; it’s the one she wrote for him, and will be singing to him for the first time ever in a matter of minutes. It’s beautiful. And somewhere between the beginning and the end of the melody, she relaxes.

Was this the same girl whose bed I used to sprawl across as a freshman, when we’d talk about weddings in this far-and-away sense, talk about what colors we wanted, and what we wanted our processional to be?

So much has changed… and so much hasn’t.

The music is softly playing, and I look through the light tool to see the candelabras all brightly lit, making a way down the aisle. The first pair of bridesmaids is walking down. I look at my counterpart and smile. I’m glad I get to walk down the aisle with her, more than anyone else. We step up, waiting for our cue, and my foot tingles slightly where the groom accidentally dropped a table on it the night before. The poor guy. He was mortified.

We are directed to step out, and down the path we walk. There is a soft and holy glow over this place. I hear the echo of my own heels against the stone floor, but I don’t think anyone else notices. They’re already looking behind, to get the first glimpse of her. As they have every right to. We get situated up front, and just in time: she comes down the aisle, with her soft smile and glowing face, walking with deliberateness and strength, and close to her Daddy. But she only has eyes for the man at the end of the aisle.

I tear up. I always wondered what this would be like, and it’s nothing like I expected. It’s nothing but wonderful. For all the years I’ve known her, she’s never looked so happy and at peace. I can’t get over how right it feels. It’s almost like getting to see a piece of heaven before any of our time.

They speak, we sing, they say their vows so everyone can hear. It’s not raining. They exchange rings, the real ones this time, and I strain to see her face from my peculiar angle. We pray, I open my eyes, and they are man and wife. He kisses her tenderly before leading her down the aisle in triumph. We follow them back and throw our arms around them. I tell him he is one unreasonably lucky guy. He agrees.

There is singing and dancing, abundant laughter echoing into the night. And then the time comes to say goodbye. We cheer and shower them with rose petals as they make their way to their car; that car that is so familiar, with so many memories for my own part, and now the two are off to start their own adventure.

Congrats, Pete and Kell. You did it… we did it… God has done it.