What makes a wedding?

Perfection was never really the object (even if we didn't realize that at the time)

The true look of triumph.

In a few days, Carson and I will celebrate our third wedding anniversary. 

Don’t worry—I’m not here to share any sage advice or wax poetic about all the amazing things we’ve learned in our 1,095 days. I figure I need to give it at least a few more years before positioning myself as a marriage expert. 

Instead, I just want to reminisce on the last 3 years and finally tell the story of a rainy, humid, sweltering wedding day that almost didn’t happen. 

Yes, that’s rain. And yes, this is my favorite picture from the entire day.

By the time I woke up on July 18, 2020, nothing short of a natural disaster could have ruined my day. 

Our engagement, though short, had been defined by the coronavirus pandemic, and the stress of planning and re-planning our wedding was finally paying off. 

This isn’t a story about the pandemic, but it isn’t not one, either. 

In June, we realized that the indoor venue we had booked—the church my family attended and served at—wouldn’t be conducive to social distancing restrictions. We found a new, 100% outdoor venue that, somehow, had availability on our date, and booked it within a weekend. (We found out later that the reason they had availability is that nobody wants to get married outside, in Alabama, in July.) 

Three days before the wedding, Alabama’s indoor mask mandate dropped. We canceled the dance floor rental last-minute and soldiered on, contingency plans in check. 

(It’s probably worth mentioning here that Carson and I dated for 6 years before we were engaged, and rescheduling our wedding day was not an option for either of us. We were fully prepared to have a private ceremony with only a minister and a witness if necessary.)

So I, the bride who said she’d never have an outdoor wedding, was the portrait of zen that morning. Whatever else happened, by the end of the day I would be married to my best friend. 

That knowledge was my superpower. 

Now, imagine this scene: I’m sitting in the bathroom, meticulously curling my hair and applying makeup before pictures and our official “first look.” There’s a flurry of activity in the farmhouse where the bridal party is getting ready, and someone mentions that it’s raining outside. 

“Rain?” I asked. 

“Yes…a little bit.” My mom, who had poked her head in to check on me, looked like she had just witnessed someone pull the pin from a grenade and launch it into that hairspray-clouded bathroom. 

“Oh. Okay.” I continued getting ready. I don’t want to pretend that I was the perfect, chill-girl bride for the entire wedding-planning process—there were definitely tears shed about mundane details along the way—but at that moment, nothing was going to derail our day.

Around an hour later, I walked out the front door of the house to show Carson my wedding garb for the first time. It rained the entire time—the hair I had spent precious minutes curling fell completely flat; my dress gained 15 pounds as every layer of petticoat soaked up water and mud from the ground; and the decorations we’d spent precious hours designing and creating had to be moved under cover. 

We spent the rest of the day dodging rain showers, running outside to grab photos whenever we got a moment of sunshine. The clouds cleared up in time for the ceremony, and the rest of the evening went off (more or less) without a hitch. 

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Our wedding day was far from magazine-perfect. I don’t remember the exact temperature, but I think it was around 143 degrees in St. Florian, Alabama, that day. The rain knocked all the curls out of my hair, which I ended up hastily pinning into a bun before family photos began. I accidentally walked down the aisle and stood for the entire ceremony with the train of my dress bustled. And I think there was some slight trauma for my aunt, the mastermind behind the florals and other decorations who somehow pulled everything together amid (at times) torrential downpours. 

But with every passing year, I’m reminded how little those imperfections and frustrations truly mattered. Here’s what was perfect: 

• The fact that my dad was our officiant.  

• The way our wedding party decorated the getaway car. 

• The guests who were able to attend—including some who have passed in the three short years since. 

• The hands-on involvement from family and friends, whether they were keeping us fed, placing flowers, or drying (and re-drying) chairs.

• The white oak hydrangeas that we harvested directly from my Mimi’s garden.

• The fact that we ended up staying long after the party was over because we were just soaking up an evening with our favorite people.

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Since that day, Carson and I have had the blessing of attending nearly a dozen weddings to watch our dearest friends and family make the same promise, and we’ve got at least 3 more coming up in the next year. I’m sure, from the perspective of each respective bride and groom, that their days had imperfections too. 

Something that’s become clearer to me, though, is that the beauty of a wedding isn’t in the florals, or the dress, or the venue. It’s in the humble activity of two individuals pledging, in the presence of God and the people who love them the most, to commit their lives to one another. 

Tim Keller says it best: 

“When two Christians … stand before the minister all decked out in their wedding finery, they realize they’re not just playing dress-up. What they’re saying is that someday they are going to be standing not before the minister but before the Lord. And they will turn to see each other without spot and blemish. And they hope to hear God say, ‘Well done, good and faithful servants. Over the years you have lifted one another up to me. You sacrificed for one another. You held one another up with prayer and with thanksgiving. You confronted each other. You rebuked each other. You hugged and you loved each other and continually pushed each other toward me. And now look at you. You’re radiant.’”

From The Meaning of Marriage

So no, I don’t know that much about marriage yet. But I do know this: I love Carson today more than I did yesterday, and tomorrow’s love will surpass even this. I’m unbelievably grateful for the gift of marriage and the opportunity to be his partner as we follow God and work to bring his kingdom to earth.