I love summer for so many reasons: vacations, beaches, pools, no schedule to follow. I also love that summer always brings with it lots of weddings, and of course, lots of memories. I know some people roll their eyes at the sight of another heavy stock invitation to nuptials at sunset, but me? I start looking for a babysitter right away. There's nothing better than sitting with the man of your dreams (who happens to be sweating miserably in his tie)and watching two people promise before God and family to do everything you two have been doing for the last 11 years.
A few weeks ago, Billy and i celebrated our eleventh wedding anniversary. A week before that we attended the wedding of a young couple who were embarking on the same journey we were celebrating. As we watched them together, pronounced man and wife, exiting the chapel arm in arm, I could remember being them, young and with no idea of what being married really meant. I'm amazed when i look back at how much has happened in those 11 years. The things that have grayed my hair and given me the lines on my face, I never could have imagined that day in the church. I wish I could figure out a way to give out advice to those young marrieds, but really, who wants to listen to an old woman with three children wax poetic about the ups and downs of marriage. Would they listen?
One of the ironies of getting married is that everything is planned out and executed so perfectly and the wedding goes off without a hitch. Marriage is never like that. Stemware gets broken, fine china chips, and flatware disappears and turns up later in the sandbox. Wedding pictures fade and get misplaced, dresses don't fit anymore, and the top layer of the cake you saved in the freezer goes unnoticed because SOMEONE came home from football practice exhausted. The fancy wineglasses stay on the top shelf for fear of little hands, and no one even remembers who caught the bouquet.
Everything that seemed so important in the engagement months starts to fade away and real life, and love, starts to settle in. Bills arrive, babies arrive, moving trucks arrive. New friends come and old friends go; football teams win and then they lose. Cars break down, babies get sick, and there never seems to be enough time. The more you plan, the less control you seem to have. And yet, that's the beauty of marriage. Despite the monotony of monogamy, every day is something new; something you don't know how to handle and yet you somehow figure it out, together. You buy your first house, signing papers that make your hands shake. But you do it together, two signatures, not just one. You bring home the first baby from the hospital, hands still shaking and hearts swelling with pride and praise, praying that if you don't do it right, at least maybe he will, because we're a team.
That's how you make it eleven years, 35 years, 50 years. If you're lucky, you wake up every morning next to that same person who looked so handsome in the black tuxedo, the one who still changes the oil in your van, who brings home take-out when you're just too worn out to cook, and goes outside to throw the football with the boys even though he's too tired to stand. As long as OUR boys can see what makes a marriage work, I guess i shouldn't worry about doling out all that advice to the young couples. They'll figure it out on their own, just like we do.
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