My Wedding Day

 A heavy blanket of fog is not characteristic of January 2nd in Minnesota, but January 2nd of 2021 didn’t much care what was characteristic. It knew itself to be a day of mystery and exception, so it arrived shrouded in an impenetrable white fog that shone as if infused with the invisible morning light. Unlike your run-of-the-mill standard-type summer fog, that which January 2nd used to clothe itself was intensely likeable. Summer fog introduces an unpleasant clamminess to the air, this fog seemed to rob Minnesota winter of its bite and leave behind an undefinable but unmistakable sense of tranquility. Summer fog fills the air with scent of over-moist mulch, but the air of January 2nd was notably clean: almost purified. Likeable indeed.

But, as I drove the empty two-lane highways between my childhood home and the church, it was not the tranquil aura nor the clean air that left the mouth of my heart slack-jawed in awe. It was the trees. The fog that accompanied January 2nd seemed to have dipped the smallest branches of the leafless trees in a stunning shell of white chocolate frost: thick enough to be brilliant but fine enough to maintain the intricacy of the tree. As I cruised through, around, and between the rolling hills and miniature canyons that distinguish my little chunk of Minnesota from the rest of world, I was struck by a common and uncommon beauty of the rarest breed. It pushed the corners of my mouth up into a grin and the eyes of my heart up unto a Creator who couldn’t be anything other than an artist, and a generous one at that. Everyone with a good pair of eyes could see the fog in the air and the fog encrusting the trees, and I’m sure many that morning did. However, I couldn’t help but think that there was something more to that extraordinary fog than a good pair of eyes could see. 

I walked across the snow-dusted gravel parking lot and into the church feeling pretty good. Really good, in fact. It was my wedding day. I looked good: in the best shape of my life with a well-tailored suit and fresh haircut. Mostly, I knew that any day beginning with a drive like that, I drive with foggy air and clear mind, was bound for an elevated variety of greatness. My groomsmen arrived in behind me and filled our staging area with a levity and casualness that insulated me from the massive nature of the day. My best friends, my brothers, men who had walked through the paths of my life and the paths of my soul faithfully and patiently, these were the men I had and certainly they were the men I wanted. In flesh and bone the group was incomplete with my childhood companion and true brother Colin bound at home by the viral links of quarantine, but there was no emptiness, as I bring a significant amount of Colin with me wherever I go. We joked and chatted and relished the once in a lifetime moment by treating it much the same as any other. They prayed for me, for my wedding, and for my bride as only men who knew God could do. Really though, we just did all there was to do; we waited.

The morning hours were a microcosm of our engagement. The pace was much to slow for me but much too fast for my bride. There were moments of excitement and moments of heart-wrenching longing for the moment to come. It was necessary, but much of me wished it wasn’t. This was the state of things until someone, I wish I could remember who, cracked open the door and said, “It’s time.” Oh what unearthly and incomprehensible words they were, transforming Time my great adversary into Time my beloved friend. It was time, and I was ready.

I fulfilled all my ushering duties with a smile on my face and a mind fixed firmly in the near future. I hugged my mom and almost-mother-in-law and took my post center-stage. I embraced each of my groomsmen with a smile on my face, loving them dearly but not loving the fact that I was looking at them instead of my bride. After the last one took his place, we were ready. The stage was set, the music was playing, and the groom was about to explode. 

Then she appeared. Nothing can prepare a man to watch his bride walk down the aisle, and the notion that someone could put that moment into words is truly absurd to me. Yes, it’s beautiful, but I know that when you read that you don’t know what I mean. It lays a man bare, shatters what he thought he knew about the world, and changes his life forever. At least that’s what it did to me. I am far too dull to describe what I saw when I looked at my wife as she walked down the aisle. It wasn’t like seeing an angel. It wasn’t like being in a dream. Right then, for the first time, I saw my wife. And, just like when I saw Jesus for the very first time, it changed everything and I wondered why anyone would ever want to be anywhere else or look at anything else. The fog returned, this time from within my soul as tears threatened to wet my cheeks. But I didn’t move or blink or wipe my eyes for fear that maybe something would change, for I knew that any change would be for the worse because it couldn’t possibly get better. 

My gaze remained fixed on her and I remained in that joyous fog for the rest of the ceremony. We sang and listened and said “I do” and read our vows as brides and grooms do at weddings. The reading of the vows was a an interesting experience for me. I had written them myself (we shared vows save a few role-specific words), and I really did like them. In fact, the last sentence of our vows is probably my favorite thing that I’ve ever written. But as I made this massive promise to my almost-wife for everyone to hear, I felt a certain smallness, as if the action were really inconsequential. It wasn’t, of course, but I couldn’t and still can’t sake that feeling. My best guess as to the reason for this inkling is that I was not the one doing the binding. I wasn’t doing anything to make us married. Even more, I could not. That’s why the final words of the ceremony hit my heart with the most weight of any that day. “What God has joined together, let no man separate.” AMEN! What I am powerless to join, I am tasked and responsible not to split. That is a profound truth, and one that stirs the deep parts of my soul as I consider it.

I kissed my bride triumphantly and we walked down the aisle together. As we entered the world, so we approached the marriage altar: apart. But nothing except death would part us as we departed the altar and walked the aisle, and it is my prayer that the same would be true as we depart in time from our wedding day and walk through life. Indeed, it is not just a prayer, but also a promise. As surely as Jesus holds on to me, I will hold onto my wife until I can give her fully and freely to Jesus in the true marriage of which ours will only ever be a shadow. 

Our wedding day ended as most wedding days do, with a wedding night. We woke the next morning to find an extraordinary view out our panoramic second-story windows: a freezing, tranquil, clean fog. It clung to the trees with twice the resolve as the frost of the day before. Once again, I knew that this was no ordinary fog. It simply couldn’t be, and the fact that it followed us North and appeared again and again on our honeymoon cemented this notion in my mind. All at once that freezing fog was an “Amen” and a “Well done” and an “I love you” from Hannah and I’s best friend. It was a reminder that my God loves our little shadow wedding with a small amount of the same kind of love that he’ll love the real thing. It was a reminder that the things we do here under the sun really do matter a lot even though everything will one day be made new. It was a “Happy wedding day” from the one who was the happiest to see us married.