So it’s the week before Valentine’s Day and I thought I would take the time to love on my husband this week in my posts and tell you our story. Start here for day one.
We were engaged in April 2008 and planned to have the wedding in March of 2009. But as we started planning, we just kept hitting one wall after another. Nothing was coming together for that date. Nothing.
At the end of June, he took me on a surprise weekend getaway to celebrate my completing the Teacher’s Alternative Certification Program to become a teacher. I was changing careers, y’all. The plan was to leave my job in marketing and my home in Houston in August to move down to LJ and get a job as a teacher. (Which never happened by the way.) Well you try to get an apartment with no job lined up. They aren’t super eager to give you a lease. Plus, the apartments down here were expensive. Goodness. How was I going to afford it?
That was just one of many obstacles we encountered that led us to move the wedding date up. By seven months. From March to August. Remember, it was the end of June. So we had 6 weeks to plan and execute a wedding.
The cool thing is, once we changed the date, everything fell into place. Not an obstacle in sight. The church was available. The preacher was available. The restaurant was available. My two bridesmaids were available. Our brothers were available. Our parents were available. The timing was right so we could honeymoon and get back before the start of the school year when I would begin student teaching. My dress had even already been ordered.
As marketers who also planned several events and worked on tight deadlines on a daily basis, my girlfriends and I set out to accomplish the task of throwing a great wedding in 6 weeks. My mom was instrumental in securing all the vendors, meeting with the florist, and securing the location in Galveston. In addition to footing the bill.
We had a modest budget. But the wedding was perfect. It was everything I wanted it to be. It was pure Marcus and me. Nothing pretentious. There was no band. No big ballroom. Just about 100 people in my home church with a simple reception in the fellowship hall. Perfect. And fun. Even though it stormed so badly that we had to delay the start a bit so a large part of my family still driving through the torrent could get there.
But that’s almost an afterthought to me now. When I think about that day I forget it stormed. I forget that I broke my toe just a few days before and didn’t think I could wear my wedding shoes. (I managed to get into them though.) I forget that the week or so leading up to the wedding, my two bridesmaids were arguing over something trivial. I forget that the photographers were late.
No, when I think about that day, I remember Happiness. Joy. Contentment. Purpose. And wanting to savor every. single. moment.
I remember waking up extra early to go outside and sit on the porch of the beach house us girls rented. To listen to the sound of the ocean. To write in my journal. And to thank God for this day. This day that I prayed for so many years about. This day that I thought would never come in my life. This day that the Lord had made.
I remember writing a note to my beloved. And having his brother deliver it to him for me before the wedding.
I remember getting my make-up done and kicking everyone out of the room so I could have some quiet time and block out distractions.
I remember my dad playing the piano as we got ready.
I remember waiting with giddy excitement in the stairwell for everyone to be seated and the organ to start playing.
I remember sweating in the stairwell. The humidity was super high and it was hot in there.
I remember putting the veil over my face and taking my dad’s arm.
I remember taking my first steps and the organist flubbed a note. It didn’t matter though because in just a few moments, I would be standing next to my betrothed.
I remember walking down the aisle and dad telling me to breathe. To take it all in.
I remember hearing my dad say “her mother and I.”
I remember taking Marcus’ arm and walking up the stairs, tripping over my dress.
I remember looking into his eyes and wishing I could plant a big fat kiss on him.
I remember feeling as though the preacher, Marcus and I were the only people in the room as we pledged our lives to one another.
I remember surprising him by taking the microphone out from its hiding place.
I remember singing, watching him hold back tears. He was afraid if he cried, then I would cry. But I didn’t. I just got more animated. And meant every word of the song I sang.
I remember looking over at his little brother, the best man, sobbing with happiness for his big brother.
I remember seeing his mom and dad cry tears of joy.
I remember turning and facing the crowd and being presented as Mr. and Mrs.
I remember that day.
That day was a gift from God. Better than I could have ever imagined.
It was a great day.