How Do We Find the Right One?
In their aubergine gowns the bridesmaids wafted down the aisle one by one, like individual blooms released from a bouquet of violets. I watched them pass by with a serene smile on my face. They were followed by a tow-headed flower girl who couldn’t stop grinning as she scattered white rose petals along in her wake. She made me giggle. Then the tiny ring bearer, so solemn and serious as he bore his two golden treasures upon a silk pillow, clearly giving his assignment the grave attention he felt it deserved. I watched him slowing march past with completely dry eyes. But then, despite biting my tongue and digging my newly manicured nails into the palms of my hands, when the doors at the back of the church flew open and the beautiful bride stepped out on the arm of her father, I cried. I couldn’t help myself. I am such a sucker for weddings.
American society seems increasingly disdainful of ceremony. From music to attire, the modern Sunday morning church service more closely resembles a pep rally than the worshipful ritual of days gone by. Even current ecclesiastical architecture seems to regard the holy spires of old as too parochial for modern life, choosing instead to be indistinguishable from the gymnasium, arena or concert hall. It is rare that we dress to reflect the holy joy of an occasion and join together to witness a sacrament as old as time but I am grateful a wedding still commands that respect. We stand as one to honour the bride as she enters the church. We silently watch the exchange of the rings. We hear the age old vows newly spoken once again. We see the first official kiss. Is there a sweeter symbol of love in a cynical world? I think society longs for this ceremony in ways that go far beyond curious fascination. One need only look to the royal wedding of last year to see that this cherished ceremony is one that radiates joyful hope to a great many more that the ones sitting in the chosen church.
In their aubergine gowns the bridesmaids wafted down the aisle one by one, like individual blooms released from a bouquet of violets. I watched them pass by with a serene smile on my face. They were followed by a tow-headed flower girl who couldn’t stop grinning as she scattered white rose petals along in her wake. She made me giggle. Then the tiny ring bearer, so solemn and serious as he bore his two golden treasures upon a silk pillow, clearly giving his assignment the grave attention he felt it deserved. I watched him slowing march past with completely dry eyes. But then, despite biting my tongue and digging my newly manicured nails into the palms of my hands, when the doors at the back of the church flew open and the beautiful bride stepped out on the arm of her father, I cried. I couldn’t help myself. I am such a sucker for weddings.
After the wedding, I stood outside the congregation of friends and watched as the newly married couple greeted their guests and posed for photographs. Their happiness filled the air like a fragrance. Not for the first time, it occurred to me that true love is such a miracle. In the sea of souls on this over crowded planet, two people managed to find each other and be blessed with the sort of love that longs for forever, that begs to be sealed with an unending circle of gold? Well, no word but “miracle” could possibly fit. There are those who claim there is an infinite number of potential soul mates out there for each one of us, but the romantic in me chafes at that notion. I cannot even imagine a life with someone other than The Songwriter. But even given the possibility of multiple happy choices, how do we go about finding them? I realize this is a question with a multitude of answers, any perusal of any bookshop will tell me that. And though I have now been happily married for too long to allow me to convincingly lie about my age, I have no advice to give. I certainly followed no plan. I fell in love. I got married. And it worked out, beautifully. Why? I have no idea. There’s that word, miracle, once again.
I thought about all this all the way home, remembering recent conversations with some of my single friends, often hilarious tales of first dates and last dates, tales that made me realize how dreadfully out of touch I am with the fundamentals of the courting process today. We seem to have traveled so far from the day when the rules were as simple as “never call a boy, wait for him to call you”. As an unabashed lover of weddings and happily ever after, I wonder... how did my readers meet their true loves? Did you find your soul mate the first time out? Or did you perhaps have more than one? Did you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you found your prince, or princess?
I love love stories.
Tell me yours.
I love love stories.
Tell me yours.
And while you’re thinking about it, take a look at how it used to be.
Courtesy of my childhood idol, Hayley Mills.
Courtesy of my childhood idol, Hayley Mills.
Update: All your stories are wonderful!
Keep them coming!
