Eleven Years

I don't think I've ever done an anniversary post. The master and I have--more often than not--chosen not to commemorate this day. We've celebrated our relationship, our commitment, our love, but this day? Not so much.
It was not an altogether happy occasion. It all came back to me today as I looked through our photos. My father's somber countenance. My mother's strained features. But as I made my way through the album, it struck me that the master looks quite oblivious to it all. He is too open and artless to hide or fake anything, so I think he must have been genuinely joyous. He had his share of struggles leading up to the wedding, I know, but I can tell--as of that afternoon--he was at peace. Indeed, his expression mimics the proverbial, "cat that swallowed the canary." Perhaps then, he decided to downplay our anniversary out of deference to me. That would be just like him.
When I look at my pictures, I remember what a mess of emotions I was that day. How could I forget when they are written all over my face? Happy, yes, to be marrying the man I loved. Relieved to be making it right (as right as we could). Blessed that so many of our friends and family came, without invitation, to show their love and support. But--truthfully--every bit as worried as my parents. The concern I saw in their faces magnified my own fears. I felt shame for disappointing them, and I wondered along with them if our marriage stood a chance. Worried that he felt trapped into marrying me. Was he going to resent this for the rest of his life? Worried that we were making a bad mistake worse. Realizing--even in my youthful naivete--that we "didn't have a pot to piss in, or a window to throw it out of." Selfish, petty sadness, too. I wanted my dream wedding. I'd imagined my wedding day since childhood (what little girl doesn't?) and though everyone went to great lengths to make it nice, very little was like my vision. I missed my hometown and my home church. The dress was borrowed and not what I would have picked. There was no photographer, just snapshots from a 35 millimeter. My girlfriends watched from a pew, instead of standing beside me as I so often pictured them. No exotic destination for a honeymoon; we drove around the block and later went to our married housing apartment to cram for Monday's finals.
They say hindsight is 20/20, and I would have to agree. While I still wouldn't mind taking that first honeymoon, I no longer grieve my "perfect wedding." As I've matured, I've watched what circuses weddings can become, and I'm not sorry at all that I "missed out." Last spring, my borrowed dress was gifted to me. I look at it every morning as I dress, and I think it quite lovely now. I will probably have it cleaned and boxed soon so that Abby can have the option of wearing it one day. And the master and me? Well, guilt may be a strong motivator, but it lacks staying power. Eleven years and six children later he's still here and happy. I consider him stuck. We've grown accustomed to the poorer end of "for richer or poorer," and we're making it work. My mom and dad are both prodigiously proud of their preacher son-in-law. If push came to shove, I do believe they'd take his part over mine.
I earnestly pray my children arrive at the alter blameless and carefree. I want that for them and their future spouses. Looking back will always be somewhat bittersweet, but it grows sweeter every year. And at the tender age of nineteen I learned a life lesson of forgiveness from my Lord that I would not forfeit for anything. Truly, He is a God who

"provide[s] for those who grieve in Zion-- to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor. Isaiah 61:3"