Technologically speaking, the day is… busy.
My phone buzzes with notification after notification. Texts, messages, comments, likes, emails… I’m bombarded with joy and well-wishes. I’ve just posted the announcement, and the response is overwhelming.
I… we… are getting married.
We are as surprised as anyone. Our joy radiates on our faces in the selfies we’ve posted. “We’re doing it,” we say to each other, giddy, over and over.
My phone lights up again. It’s a text from Fanny, one of my sweet teacher training graduates who has become a friend. It’s a picture of a short poem, “For Marriage” by John O’Donohue.
I cry as I read it. It’s perfect. Later, when I show it to him, he will cry, too, and say, “It’s perfect.”
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As spring unfolds the dream of the earth,
May you bring each other’s hearts to birth.
We’d talked about getting married long before Spring, as our love unfolded on chilly winter nights. I knew he was right for me. I knew I had prayed for him and that he’d shown up in just the way I’d asked and that he felt so correct next to me as I moved through life.
And then Spring. As I confronted big, joyful changes, I experienced the type of anxiety that only comes from life getting turned blessedly, uncontrollably upside down. One night, I had the inevitable come apart–sobbing, doubting, shrinking. I was so scared of his rejection, of his judgment, certain that he would run or lash out like others have in the past.
He wrapped around me like a warm, muscular blanket. I felt his breathing slow–willing me to join him in his calm–as he whispered, “It’s okay, baby. It’s all gonna be okay.” And I believed him.
And so it was, on a warm Spring night, that I knew I would say “yes” to forever with him.
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As the ocean finds calm in view of land,
May you love the gaze of each other’s mind.
We’re both a little sunburned as we sit on a bench, happily munching hushpuppies and fried okra. We laugh about the challenges of the day: our car getting stuck in the sand, getting lost on the beach, ending up at a local seafood shack instead of the romantic, fine-dining experience we’d expected. I’m reminded again of how well we navigate issues together.
After dinner, he asks if I want to go on a walk. I know why–and he knows I know why–but we both pretend that we don’t. We all but skip down to the dock, holding hands, speaking softly.
Next to the water, he pauses. He talks about how I’ve taught him to live with love instead of fear, how grateful he is for me, how he wants to spend the rest of his life with me. He kneels and asks the question, tears in his eyes. Yes. Yes. Absolutely, yes.
We hug and cry and laugh and jump up and down and run around in circles. We talk about plans and dreams. We pray together. Soon we will call family and friends to let them know, to start planning. But not yet. For a few precious moments, the ocean is the only witness to our joy.
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As the wind arises free and wild,
May nothing negative control your lives.
Love instead of fear. It becomes a mantra for us. As we look ahead to all the big changes: moving in together, his graduating, my starting school, beginning life together. Over and over, in those tense moments, we hold each other and say “love, not fear.” Love, not fear.
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As kindly as moonlight might search the dark,
So gentle may you be when light grows scarce.
It’s almost too much: Two Enneagram 4s sharing a first kiss under a full moon. By a swing set. On Thanksgiving.
It’s something we’ll laugh about. It’s something we’ll occasionally be moved to tears about. We will mark our month-iversaries not by the date, but by the arrival of the full moon. He kisses the moon tattoo on my arm and call me “ma lune” in texts. So much of our love happens in moonlight.
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As surprised as the silence that music opens,
May your words for each other be touched with reverence.
I love watching him play guitar and sing. He’s so calm and focused. He loves it so much. I’ll never forget the delight on his face when I dusted of the part of my brain that still remembers a few chords and played all the way through the Tom Petty song we both love. My heart feels like it’s going to burst when he’s making music for me. It’s like peeking into the depths of his sweet, beautiful soul.
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As warmly as the air draws in the light,
May you welcome each other’s every gift.
He always stops me to look at the sunset. He wraps his arms around me as we enjoy the neon brilliance of the evening over the skyline. Again, two Enneagram 4s. We are what we are.
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As elegant as dream absorbing the night,
May sleep find you clear of anger and hurt.
He works nights. Sometimes our moments are stolen kisses and whispered words of affirmation between shifts of sleeping, me waking as he crawls into bed. We make it work. Sometimes it’s hard, but we make it work.
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As twilight harvests all the day’s color,
May love bring you home to each other.
We sit on the patio that’s now ours, not just mine, overlooking the city, watching the sunset. All his things have found a place inside for now. We’ll slowly find places for everything in the coming days. We rock gently on the glider, holding hands, tired.
“How do you feel, my love?” I ask.
“Happy,” he says.
And for the moment, there is nothing else to say. It’s enough to be happy.
Happy and blessed.