Category Archives: God’s plans for us

Young Love (#132)

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November 29, 1969… 6:00 PM

As my bridesmaids and I gathered at the door of the ladies lounge waiting for our cue to move to the back of the sanctuary, we heard the organ sound six distinct bells, indicating it was 6:00 and the ceremony was beginning. Though we couldn’t see from where we were, we knew the candle-lighters were moving down the double aisles with their tapers, lighting candles.

I glanced one last time at the card I was holding in my hand – the vows I would make to Nate – and realized I hadn’t really memorized them yet. But just then Helen appeared. “OK, girls. Time to go.” The bridesmaids, flower girl, ring bearer, and I paraded out behind her, single file like ducklings following their mother.

As we giggled with excitement, Helen put her finger to her lips. “Shhh!”

KenTomWe got to the back of the church in time to see Nate’s parents being seated by his brother Ken (L) and Mom heading down the aisle on Tom’s arm. (R)

 

Beautiful chamber music from a professional string group was softly playing at the front of the church (making me wish I hadn’t quit violin lessons in 8th grade). Their sound was heart-stirring and set the perfect mood.

Connie came around the corner with Dad in tow, directing him to stand near me. But before that, the photographer lined us up for one last picture before we went in.

Bridesmaids

The men, looking spectacular in their cut-away tuxes, were already in place at the front, though they were so far away, I could hardly tell who was who. But I knew Nate was at the bottom of the steps, ready to receive me, and I wished I could run down the aisle and throw myself into his arms.

But one by one Helen and Connie signaled each bridesmaid to start, reminding them to walk slowly. What a thrill to watch this procession of my 7 dearest friends, each one representing a particular time in my life. I had the sense that the 8 of us would never be together like this again… which made the moment even more significant.

Little onesAnd then it was time for our little ones to go, and Connie gave them a pep talk, telling them not to rush. “But,” said Brittney, “how many pieces of flower should I put on the floor?”

We told her to do whatever she wanted with the rose petals. She could drop them one by one as she walked or dump them all out together when she got there. It was up to her.

Timmy proudly carried his pillow with its dime store rings, his coat tails swinging back and forth as he walked. By the time they reached the front, they looked so small in that massive room they almost disappeared.

And then it was our turn – Dad and me. I looked at him and was overwhelmed with how much I loved him.

Father and daughterHe had put up with a great deal to get me raised (I hadn’t been the obliging daughter Mary had), and now he’d blessed me with the wedding I’d wanted. I was overwhelmed with gratitude and felt like crying.

But the tum-tum-de-dum of the organ’s wedding march sounded, our signal to start, so I looped my arm through Dad’s and hung on tight. And then, what is true for every bride became true for me. During the slow and deliberate walk down the aisle, my strong bond with Dad began to loosen. By the time he had escorted me to the front, my heart had made a seismic shift.

And it wasn’t difficult to let go of him and grab onto Nate – who was about to become my main man.

Sanctuary

“Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us.” (Psalm 90:17)

Young Love (#130)

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November 29, 1969… 4:00 PM

 

Sisters.With two more hours before the ceremony, we were right on schedule. The photographer told us he had all he needed from the men’s dressing room, but he continued to direct traffic in the ladies lounge where all of us were ready.

Looking up from his clipboard he said, “Where are the mothers?”

The mothers

I was won-dering the same thing, hoping they weren’t in the basement rearranging table skirts. But just then, in they came – dressed and holding hands. Mom, familiar with all the nooks and crannies of Moody Church, had found a private place for the two of them to dress. No doubt they had been getting to know each other better, too.

The six children had arrived also, in a group, with their mothers. They had dressed at home and looked adorable. I was thankful for their willingness to cooperate and that none of them had gotten sick or were experiencing stage fright.

The childrenTimmy, the ring bearer, asked for his satin pillow, and once he had it, came to me with a question. “Mommy said these rings aren’t the real ones,” he said, fingering the two bands tied on with ribbons. “Is that right?”

I squatted down in front of him and tried to explain that the rings he was going to carry were real rings, though I didn’t tell him they’d come from a dime store. “They’re very important,” I told him, “because just like the other rings, they’re circles that go ’round and ’round. The circles represent love that goes around forever and ever. Just imagine that!”

“Oh,” he said, fingering his rings. “OK.” And he wandered off.

That reminded me. Where were our real rings? Relying on my responsible fiancé, I assumed he had them in his pocket and would see to it that Mary, my maid of honor, would have the ring for him, and his brother Ken, the best man, would have mine.

Our wedding bands weren’t fancy, but we’d had them engraved inside. Both included our initials, the wedding date, and the reference to a Song of Solomon verse (“I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.”). My ring for him said, Sol. 2:16    M.A.J. to W.N.N    11-29-69. His for me said the same, with initials reversed.

MomAs we posed for photos, I kept glancing at the door (now open), watching for Nate. The mothers stepped forward for their pictures with the bride, and as we were arranging ourselves for the next photograph someone said, “Hey – there’s Nate!”

 

 

The groom appears

 

 

I turned around, and my heart melted. There was my good-lookin’ guy, outfitted in his English tail coat, causing my heart to skip a beat. It was a moment of passion in which I could hardly believe that this wonderful person was actually willing to marry me.

“Could I have Meg for one minute?” he asked the photographer.

I thought, “You can have me for a lifetime!”

We came together with a meaningful embrace and stepped into the hall where he pulled our rings out of his pocket. “See? Engraved just like we wanted,” and he let me study them.

Nate's ring“When you put this ring on my finger,” he said, “it’ll be the highlight of my life.”

I smiled and kissed him. “Me too.”

He gave me his ring for Mary, just as the photographer stuck his head into the hall. “Time to assemble everybody in the church sanctuary for group pictures.”

And off we went, followed by a parade of all our nearest and dearest.

“[We] walked with many, leading the festive procession to the house of God with joyful and thankful shouts.” (Psalm 42:4)

Young Love (#129)

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November 29, 1969…. 3:00 PM

Mom's noteIt was our wedding day at last, and before Mom fed us all a nourishing breakfast, she jotted a note in her diary (right).

I’d written out the day’s schedule for every person in the wedding party and those helping at the reception, since Principal Scarce had let me use the school’s mimeograph machine.

MimeographedEach set of instructions was 5 pages long, and I was grateful for his gift. The last page was a sketch of the sanctuary platform marked with X’s and O’s for the wedding party.

A little after 3:00, cars began arriving at Moody Church from all directions. I rode with Mom and several others, and we were late… of course. But it was gratifying to me, as I walked into the church “ladies lounge” where we would dress, that several of the bridesmaids were already there, outfitted in their gowns.

The photographer was there, too, and announced he’d be taking pictures of us getting ready, as soon as everyone in the room was presentable. While he and his assistant waited, they hunted for the groom. Wherever Nate was, I knew he had probably arrived early and was already available for photos. Later I learned that not only was he ready, but his father and brother were, too.

The groomFather and sons

 

 

 

 

 

I couldn’t wait to see him but forced myself to keep my mind focused on the schedule. Our timetable didn’t allow for dawdling.

As I took my gown out of its hanging bag, I had a twinge of nervousness, wondering if it would fit right. Had I gained or lost weight since the fitting weeks before? Zero-hour had arrived.

Stepping into it, I flashed-back to the happy days spent shopping for a gown with Mom, Aunt Agnes, Mary and others. Pulling the heavy satin fabric on felt just as good as it had on that day long ago, when I chose this dress. And I still loved it.

The smooth satin reminded me of Mom’s wedding gown from 1941. She had picked a dress without lace, pearls, or sequins, but it had scores of satin-covered buttons up the back that had always fascinated me. I wanted the same thing when I got married, and indeed I got them.

48 buttons“My girls” worked together to close all 48 buttons, and once everything was fastened, the gown fit perfectly. I felt “elegant,” a word I’d never applied to any other clothing I had ever worn.

 

 

When the photographer reappeared, anxious to start, he asked me to face the mirror and put on my lipstick. I had to laugh, since I didn’t wear any. After all, it was the sixties, and many girls were wearing white lipstick, so why bother.

LipstickBut I borrowed a tube from one of the other girls and pretended. In those days I didn’t wear makeup at all and had never worn earrings, so getting ready was easy. If it hadn’t been for the Swedish crown and its long veil (with multiple combs and bobby pins), I’d have been ready in 10 minutes.

But my eyes kept turning toward the door, hoping Nate would walk in. Since the plan was to take platform pictures of the entire wedding party ahead of the ceremony, we knew we’d be together before I walked down the aisle to meet him. Back in those days, wedding planners hadn’t heard of “a reveal,” so we had no special plan for getting the first glimpse of each other.

All I wanted was to get my arms around him on our wedding day, and I had full confidence that wherever he was, he was craving the same thing about me.

“I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.” (Song of Solomon 2:16)