Young Love (#128)

November 28, 1969

Driving home from the church after 11:00 PM, Mom, Aunt Joyce, and I felt the satisfaction of successfully softening a hard moment. Peace had been restored, and we were able to laugh about our difference of opinion over, of all things, table skirts.

Nate’s many relatives had settled in at their hotel rooms, but the party had just begun at Mom and Dad’s. When we got there, Nate welcomed us at the door (with a giant hug for me), and we were glad to reconnect with Mary, Bervin, several aunts, all of our California relatives, a few of the bridesmaids, and of course Dad.

7-upMom didn’t even take her coat off before she was parading through the living room with a tray of 7-Up and cookies. “Let’s open some gifts!” she said, nodding toward a fresh pile of boxes under the piano. It was nearly midnight.

I glanced at Dad, a 70-year-old guy who was probably longing for his bed, but he helped himself to cookies and soda instead. Aunt Joyce dutifully picked up the gift-record book and a pen, ready to write it all down.

Gift bookWe opened gifts without looking at the time, and before we knew it, the clock chimed 3:00 AM. Someone shouted, “It’s November 29thwedding day!” and Nate and I could hardly believe it was finally here!

Our late-night party came to an end then, and he departed for the Holiday Inn. Everyone else gratefully scattered toward their beds, and Mom caught my eye. “You’ll be on the basement couch, Baby Ann (her pet name for me since babyhood) – your last night as my little girl.” Though she sounded sentimental, my guess is she was thinking, “And that’s not all bad.”

I gave her a smile and with my much-loved cousins adjourned to our sleeping spots in the basement. Brother Tom was down there, too, having surrendered his bedroom to others.

VowsLying in the dark, my last thought was about wedding vows. Nate and I had told Pastor Sweeting we wanted to say them from memory rather than repeat after him. He had discouraged us from adding that extra pressure, but how hard could it be? “For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer.”

I’d been carrying around a card with the words on it for more than a month, always intending to learn it, and now time was up. Turning on the light and reading it over a couple of times, I hoped that if those were the last words in my brain as I drifted to sleep, they’d be memorized by morning.

Wedding morningIn what seemed like just a few minutes, Mom was hollering down the stairs. “Everybody up! Breakfast is ready!” I wondered if she’d slept at all and hoped she could make it through the hectic day ahead.

Since I’d mimeographed the day’s schedule for each participant, we all knew where we should be, when. Our first official report-time was 3:00 PM at the church, ready for pictures by 4:00. So we ate breakfast leisurely, as if we had nothing else on the agenda.

I knew Nate had his own to-do list (picking up white gloves for the groomsmen, confirming honeymoon stuff, paying the preacher, spending time with his relatives), and I didn’t expect to see him till we were outfitted in our finery. We’d decided to take the group wedding pictures before the ceremony, so wedding guests wouldn’t have to wait too long for the reception to start.

It was then that I’d get to be with my groom… 4 o’clock… and I could hardly wait!

“[Lord], keep steady my steps according to your promise.” (Psalm 119:133)

Young Love (#114)

November 15, 1969

Nate and I decided to spend the weekend in Champaign. The only wedding detail left to tend to in Wilmette was the groom’s cake, and Mom said her lady-friends were looking forward to taking care of that in a few days.

Groom's cake boxesThe 104 pounds of fruit cake had arrived, and they planned to cut it into 500 pieces, wrap each one in Saran, fill the boxes, and cushion the cake with tiny strips of tissue. It sounded like lots of unnecessary work, but Mom had her heart set on sending each wedding guest home with a “favor.”

I still hadn’t picked up my wedding gown from a shop in suburban Chicago after its final alteration, but they promised it would be ready a few days before November 29. I tried not to stress about it.

There was one wedding detail, though, that Mom insisted I do her way, without even considering my opinion. Years earlier, she and Dad had been on a trip to Sweden, returning with rave reviews about what Swedish brides were wearing on their heads: small gold crowns. Since Dad was 100% Swedish and Mom was half, she had decided to bring that tradition to America – and bought a crown.

One day after Mary was engaged, Mom took us into her room and carefully pulled a blue velvet box down from her closet shelf, while briefing us on the new family tradition she was about to start. She described the pretty Swedish brides and then said, “Many of the state churches there own a crown so that any girl from the congregation can wear it on her wedding day. And guess what. We now have our very own crown!”

The crownGently she pulled it from the box to show us – a small gold headpiece with 12 large points and 12 small ones, each topped with a cultured pearl.

“Through the years,” she said, “all the brides in our extended family can wear it, and we’ll be sharing an important tradition with each other and also with our Swedish relatives.”

Mary and I looked at each other that day, unsure about whether or not we wanted to be “crowned” on our wedding days. But Mom was sure, so all we could do was smile and nod.

Mary is crowned.When Mary’s wedding day arrived in 1967 (right), she walked down the aisle with that crown on her head, and our cousin Gloria wore it again in 1968.

In 1969 it was my turn, and though I’d envisioned my veil attached to something lacy and sparkly, I followed in the cooperative footsteps of the other two brides – and agreed to wear the crown. Actually, it felt good to please Mom, after all she’d done for us.

 

I had only one reservation. With short hair and a veil that would be longer than my train, how was that crown going to stay on my head?

“Work at living in peace with everyone…” (Hebrews 12:14)

Young Love (#113)

November 14, 1969

Young people in their 20’s are living through the most exhilarating decade their lives will ever know. Some are graduating from college, traveling the world, choosing careers, entering the military. Others are getting married, having babies, buying homes, adapting to community life. Spiritual commitments are often made (or unmade) during this decade, and 20-somethings literally pass from childhood to adulthood.

20-somethingsNate and I were no exception. We never ran out of stimulating things to talk about.

Where should he apply for his first lawyer-job? Should we live in a big city? A suburb? A small town? Should we move to his home town? To mine? To a new part of the country? Where should I work? Or should I go back to school? Should we have children? If so, how many?

We were euphoric as we talked about our options. Life had no restrictions, and it seemed we could do anything we wanted. But this belief in unlimited choices, though typical of our age group, had its dangers. In our case it turned out to be too much gazing at the un-decided’s while ignoring one of the decided’s.

3.40It was Friday evening, and Nate and I enjoyed a glass of wine celebrating the many happy decisions ahead of us. Before we knew it, it was 2:00 AM – and then past 3:00. We began to rationalize how practical it would be for Nate to stay in the apartment till breakfast, only a few hours away.

Though we had a rule against him spending the night, most of the night had already passed. Besides, we’d stuck with our decision to remain sexually pure through lots of tempting moments. So we decided he could stay – promising each other we’d “be good.”

But that’s the thing about temptation. The devil whispers a mix of truth and lies into our ears, and before long we’ve stepped over a line we were determined not to cross.

With our inhibitions down because of the wine, our hugging and kissing started to get out of hand. Nate began whispering, “I probably shouldn’t stay.” I responded, “You probably should go.” But neither of us had the will power to pull apart. That’s when something very strange happened.

God has promised to provide an escape hatch when we’re having trouble resisting temptation, and on that Friday, Nate and I were having trouble. Right then, God delivered.

Out of nowhere I heard a car door slam down on the street, and a vivid picture popped into my muzzy mind: Mom…. arriving for a surprise visit.

Logic would say, “Impossible! It’s after 3:00 AM!” But Mom had pulled some pretty crazy stunts in her time. I sat bolt upright and said, “Quick! Grab your shoes and run for the back door! I think Mom’s here!”

“What?” he said in his confusion as he rolled off the Murphy bed and did what I asked. When I heard the back door close behind him, I knew he was headed for his car and his rented room.

I lay there quietly in the dark, waiting to hear Mom’s tap on the front door…. but it never came.

CerealIn a few hours, Nate returned for breakfast. Both of us agreed we’d had a close call – and were thankful for God’s odd but effective “way of escape.” Feeling humbled, we again determined to save our first sex for our wedding night – only 15 days away.

“There’s a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing.” (Ecclesiastes 3:5)