Eighteen years ago today I curled up for the last time on the edge of the twin bed I'd slept in since I was a little girl. I had just one hour before the hairdresser would pile my blond hair on top of my head and secure my bejeweled white veil. Two hours before I would slip into a flawless satin gown and take my Daddy's arm for a long walk down a rose-petaled aisle.
In those final moments in my childhood bedroom, I opened the Word and read with wonder the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians. "Love is patient. Love is kind...." I prayed that those words might define my life from that day on, and then I scribbled these dreamy verses on the last page of a journal that I had filled with love letters for my soon-to-be husband.
My Dream Come True
I’m about to walk down the aisle, Rob,
Soon I will vow “I Do,”
Yet I can hardly believe that on this day
All of my dreams are coming true.
It seems like only yesterday
You were that little boy called Robby B
Sitting in my fifth-grade class
In the desk right next to me.
And I was a girl who would have never guessed
That her eighth-grade party date
Would one day become her very best friend
And her beloved lifetime mate.
Although we didn’t know it then,
God smiled as our friendship began.
For He could see how perfectly
It fit into His plan.
With His heavenly touch He nurtured
Right from the very start
The miracle of binding love
In each of our young hearts.
He blessed our friendship
Through the years
With laughter and faith
And prayer and tears.
And He stood with joy
In that candle-lit room
When you dropped to your knees
And asked to become my groom.
So today, Rob, I will stand
With Christ at your side
And praise the Lord for His gift of love
That has allowed me to be your bride.
I hung eighteen paper hearts on our bathroom mirror this morning. On each heart I wrote one reason that I love my groom more today than I did when I said "I do" as a starry-eyed bride. I sprawled out on the bed that I have shared with the love of my life for eighteen years and I re-read love letters penned by a nineteen-year-old me in a humble brown journal. And despite all of my attempts to stir up new descriptors for this sweet day, I realized with a renewed sense of awe that this is the day that words fall short.
On this day, when the date on the calendar stirs up memories of a unity candle flickering into flame and images of a groom whose soul fits mine, all expressions fall short except for one: "Thank you, Lord Almighty. Thank you."
The Overflow: Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot sweep it away. -Song of Solomon 8:7