Fifteen

There have been two proposals amongst our friends on the deck of our mountain cottage.  We attended one of the weddings this last weekend that resulted from one such proposal.  Not that we had anything to do with the love match there at all, but I still feel a little cupidy that the cottage will be remembered fondly and described for years to come in response to the question, “How did he propose?”  One of the objectives from the start with the cottage was that it would serve as a happy place, a memories place–so this kind of story spoons up a heaping bowl of warm and fuzzy for me.

Our friends’ wedding dripped with sweetness and sincerity.  How could we not reflect on our own proposal story and nuptials many years ago after watching bride and groom promise glorious love and affection forevermore amen?

A college romance turned proposal mid-air turned young love wedding–all only start the story a-gallop.  At first the story unravels quickly like a timeline.  Dates, places, people.  Then we fill in the gaps with feelings, experience, moments–adding the breadth and depth.  At the wheel on the drive home Saturday night, my husband said something irresistible like, “I like how weddings refresh our own marriage and remind us of our wedding day.”  I shared how I found myself alone briefly before the ceremony in the dressing room crying at myself in the mirror, thinking of my father who died three years before.  I’m kind of a downer like that.

And, then, before we knew it, fifteen years have passed since my brother walked me down the aisle.  While towels and sheets–wedding gifts–have long frayed, there remain other gifts that still serve as tokens of that day.  They are gifts that have moved from duplex to apartments to three different houses.  Some still glisten good as new while others are caked with wax or are numbered few from butterfingers, plates shattered on the kitchen floor.

You don’t have to tell me that it is hopelessly sentimental and sappy that I wish this mirror, a wedding gift, could reflect choice scenes from the last 15 years–you know, those details that fill the timeline big and fat.  Sunkissed from beach vacations, good news like scholarships and school programs, successful new recipes, moving into our first house, gardening together, pregnancy tests, new jobs.  With a bowl of hot popcorn in hand, I would sit back and enjoy the show.  Oh my goodness, I would laugh at the hair and the clothes and cheer when we finally sold that embarrassing Bermuda Green Isuzu Amigo.  And I would glance knowingly to my side, squeeze his hand, and cry at the babies lost and the cancer fought.  A lot happens in 15 years, and I’ve learned that it isn’t what I’ve always expected.  Because that crystal jar, not crystal ball, merely decorates the time and space of our marriage.  For now we are hoping and praying that the glorious love and affection continues forevermore to infinity and beyond amen.