You've seen the pictures. Aren't they always the same?
The flowers.
The venue.
The groom, smiling as someone adjusts his boutonniere. He can't stop smiling.
The bride, smiling, surrounded by women in matching dresses who help her with her flowing white one. She's nervous.
The walk down the aisle with the daddy, smiles, tears, emotions captured in an image.
The ceremony. They hold hands. They kiss.
The new husband and wife, the bridal party, posing pretty and smiling till their cheeks ache.
The reception, wine glasses, wood floors, high heels, fancy plates, food, center pieces, decorations. Dancing, laughter, cake, girls in dresses, men in suits, speeches frozen mid-sentence.
The departure. Bubbles, rice, sparklers. The vehicle that tells the whole world that yet another couple has joined their lives in marriage. Waving, maybe some happy tears, always the smiles, the happy couple kisses again, and the sun sets.
They say a picture's worth a thousand words, but those pictures don't get everything. Though, considering how many detail shots there were, what could have been left out?
The mess left in the reception hall after everyone has left. The broom sweeping up crumbs and confetti, the flowers wilting away, the people going home. The honeymooners waiting for a flight, checking into a hotel, exhausted but exuberant. The bride taking down her elaborate hairdo, stiff from the hairspray, and the groom removing his wilted boutonniere. The first breakfast together as man and wife, or the move into their new home. No photographs of dirty laundry piling up on the floor, ruined dinners, unwashed dishes, fights over where the sofa should go. Or of long hugs after long days, words of forgiveness after frustration, or late night conversations that go deep into the heart.
Marriage is not always love and happiness. Sometimes it's even loathe and hurt. The marriage is so different from the wedding.
But . . . the wedding is beautiful because it's the start. They won't always be in love like that, they won't always be happy, and maybe they won't always be together. But sometimes, they fall deeper and deeper in love. Sometimes, they learn that earthly happiness isn't worth as much as heavenly joy. And sometimes, the stick together through tears and anger, and even through the wedding day was forty-seven years ago, they still hold hands when they walk.
They'll look back on that day, documented and preserved in a dusty album. They'll smile as they remember how young and ignorant they were, and they'll smile seeing how far they've come.
No one was hired to photograph every bouquet he bought her for her birthday or Valentine's day or for just because. She can't remember every dress she ever wore when she wanted to look pretty for him. And those rings that they still wear on their fingers have lost the sparkle of that magical day through the years of washing dishes, preparing food, cleaning the house, writing love notes, rubbing each other's cold hands. No, there are not pictures for every step of the way. But they know that pictures couldn't capture it all anyway, not all they've been through and not all the ways they've grown stronger.
They still smile, remembering. And they're still in love, still happy, so they kiss.
The flowers.
The venue.
The groom, smiling as someone adjusts his boutonniere. He can't stop smiling.
The bride, smiling, surrounded by women in matching dresses who help her with her flowing white one. She's nervous.
The walk down the aisle with the daddy, smiles, tears, emotions captured in an image.
The ceremony. They hold hands. They kiss.
The new husband and wife, the bridal party, posing pretty and smiling till their cheeks ache.
The reception, wine glasses, wood floors, high heels, fancy plates, food, center pieces, decorations. Dancing, laughter, cake, girls in dresses, men in suits, speeches frozen mid-sentence.
The departure. Bubbles, rice, sparklers. The vehicle that tells the whole world that yet another couple has joined their lives in marriage. Waving, maybe some happy tears, always the smiles, the happy couple kisses again, and the sun sets.
They say a picture's worth a thousand words, but those pictures don't get everything. Though, considering how many detail shots there were, what could have been left out?
The mess left in the reception hall after everyone has left. The broom sweeping up crumbs and confetti, the flowers wilting away, the people going home. The honeymooners waiting for a flight, checking into a hotel, exhausted but exuberant. The bride taking down her elaborate hairdo, stiff from the hairspray, and the groom removing his wilted boutonniere. The first breakfast together as man and wife, or the move into their new home. No photographs of dirty laundry piling up on the floor, ruined dinners, unwashed dishes, fights over where the sofa should go. Or of long hugs after long days, words of forgiveness after frustration, or late night conversations that go deep into the heart.
The wedding is documented down to the last detail shot of the sparkling rings. Is a wedding only about the things, the attractions? The ceremony and the celebration are not the same as the marriage, but maybe a lot of marriages are like the weddings, focused on material stuff and not the people it's supposed to be about. The wedding is hardly even about the marriage, and who remembers flower choices when they make a choice about a family? Does the venue have anything to do with the years of fidelity and commitment? Will the dress mean anything to her when she can't have a baby, or that fancy dinner carry him through the struggle of searching for a job?
A wedding is a beautiful celebration of . . . what? Love? Happiness?
Marriage is not always love and happiness. Sometimes it's even loathe and hurt. The marriage is so different from the wedding.
But . . . the wedding is beautiful because it's the start. They won't always be in love like that, they won't always be happy, and maybe they won't always be together. But sometimes, they fall deeper and deeper in love. Sometimes, they learn that earthly happiness isn't worth as much as heavenly joy. And sometimes, the stick together through tears and anger, and even through the wedding day was forty-seven years ago, they still hold hands when they walk.
They'll look back on that day, documented and preserved in a dusty album. They'll smile as they remember how young and ignorant they were, and they'll smile seeing how far they've come.
No one was hired to photograph every bouquet he bought her for her birthday or Valentine's day or for just because. She can't remember every dress she ever wore when she wanted to look pretty for him. And those rings that they still wear on their fingers have lost the sparkle of that magical day through the years of washing dishes, preparing food, cleaning the house, writing love notes, rubbing each other's cold hands. No, there are not pictures for every step of the way. But they know that pictures couldn't capture it all anyway, not all they've been through and not all the ways they've grown stronger.
They still smile, remembering. And they're still in love, still happy, so they kiss.
