Yesterday afternoon we attended the wedding of one of my husband's coworkers. There was a sweetness about her wedding that felt safe and familiar, maybe because it reminded me a little of our wedding, and of our story. This coworker and her husband met in high school at The Melting Pot, where they were both employed. Jordan and I met in high school at TCBY, where we were both employed. She and her husband spent hours during and after their shifts talking about everything, both important and unimportant; so did we. She briefly broke her husband's heart when she went to prom with another guy, as did I. She and her husband have a box of letters they wrote to one another throughout their relationship that they've pledged to open in five years; we had a similar box of letters. They set aside a time during the wedding ceremony for their parents to bless them as they began their marriage; we did the same in our ceremony.
Our stories weren't identical by any means. They had more of a legitimate reason for their box of letters, as they lived in different states for the majority of their dating relationship. Jordan and I not only lived in the same state, but also in the same city, eventually attending the same college, where we only had to walk a few paces to get from my dorm building to his (and yet, we could still fill a large box with all the letters we wrote to each other. This either makes us hopelessly romantic or hopelessly pathetic. You decide.) At the start of their relationship, they texted. Jordan and I instant messaged (IM'd) using America Online (AOL). Does that even exist anymore? Another difference: at my wedding, I was able to fairly easily choose five close friends and family members to be my wedding attendants. Jordan's coworker (if I counted correctly) had eleven. My son Asher could hardly contain himself as the line of beautiful bridesmaids seemingly never ended. "Mom," he whispered loudly, "I think there are more than ten!" (which, for Asher, is new numerical territory. Ten is the highest number in his world. Ten more minutes of playtime sounds like blissful eternity to him. If he sees a food he really loves - pickles, for instance - he asks for ten. I say one cookie, he counters ten. We are still working on the concept of realistic bargaining.) "Mom, I think there are more than ten! I think there are eleven. Or twenty-six!"
As their beautiful ceremony was followed by an equally beautiful reception, I continued to sentimentally reflect on my own love story, and I was not the only one doing so. All around me, other couples were dancing, slipping their arms around one another, and holding hands. Again, my thoughts were taken back, this time to when Jordan and I returned from our honeymoon and developed the pictures from the disposable cameras we'd left on the tables at our reception. There were numerous self-taken pictures ("selfies," before "selfies" were a thing) of couples kissing, primarily older couples who had been married for twenty-plus years. I remember thinking at the time that it was sort of sweet that our wedding had rekindled romantic feelings for these couples, and simultaneously being sort of grossed out, wondering what I was supposed to do with all these pictures of old people making out.
Now that I've joined the ranks of old people who make out at weddings, I get it. Weddings make me fall really in love with Jordan again. I love remembering what it felt like to be in the sweet beginning season of marriage - the season that the couple we watched yesterday are in right now, with the innocence and excitement and newness that is tangible. That is a wonderful, wonderful season to be in. But yesterday I realized that I also love the richness of the season Jordan and I are in right now. The season of seven years under our belt. The season of packing up all three kids, the double stroller, and diaper bag with snacks and games for Asher, bottles, baby food, and extra clothes and then taking all of this with us to this really classy wedding because, by God, we will NOT let having three small children stop us from having a good time! The season of life where I have not one handsome guy that wants to marry me, but two (after the wedding Asher told all of Jordan's coworkers that when he turned five years old, he was going to marry Mommy). The season of life that is less new but is honestly, no, I mean honestly no less precious and wonderful and romantic in its own way. The season of being seasoned. And what I love is that couples who have been married twenty or thirty or fifty years may read this blog and laugh because I'm still such a rookie, and because there is so much more seasoning to look forward to. We have so much more to anticipate.
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| Our younger, more innocent selves, staring into the depths of my bouquet. |
I did not intend to write this blog in honor of our anniversary. I actually wrote it awhile ago, saved it as a draft, and forgot about it. But I thought today might be an appropriate day to publish it, as today does happen to be our anniversary. It's our 7th (just wait till we make it past ten; Asher will be so impressed!) Last night, Jordan told me he thought Asher would be lucky to find a woman like me: a woman who can cook well, who cleans the house really well, and who bears children really well. Don't freak out, ladies and feminists. While I may do these things moderately well (some of the time) and my husband does appreciate it, in this instance he was teasing, and he also supports me in a variety of other, more modern endeavors. Actually, when he got to the last item on his list (bears children well), I thought he said a woman who buries children well, and things got really weird for a second. In all seriousness, though, I spent a lot of time praying yesterday for the future marriages of Asher, Nora, and Abel. I prayed that God would bless them with marriages full of joy, love, and laughter, like the marriage I've shared with their Daddy. When Jordan and I got married, we were blessed to have parents and grandparents with solid marriages we could look up to. My prayer is that when our own kids get married (in like 40 plus years), that they will feel the same about our marriage.
And so, happy anniversary, Jordan. I don't think I could love you more, but I will always strive to love you better.
