Today is our 7th wedding anniversary.
I had just turned 22. I had been to almost no weddings, since we were among the first of our group of friends to tie the knot. I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t get a manicure, or research hairdressers, or even think about my hairstyle until the morning of the wedding (!?).
Basically, I was blissfully caught up in my man and completely unconcerned about everything else.
Even though I had a terrible hairdo, mostly hate the pictures (I’m only sharing ones I can tolerate and have Photoshopped, heh heh) and would basically do everything differently if I had to do it again, I still cherish this day so much. Because, as my dad said, it’s not the wedding but the marriage that counts.
I’ve always remembered him saying that, and taken comfort in the fact that despite my willy-nilly approach to wedding planning, my general lack of preferences and research, and all the moving parts I failed to even think about–the wedding is secondary. Make that extremely secondary.
The point is this beautiful relationship, and August 13th just happened to mark the first day of it.
I had waited for this day for so long, it seemed like it would never come. After 4 years of striving for self-control and trying to stay physically pure amidst our obsession with each other, I could hardly believe that in one day the boundaries would go away, and we would be free. (And oh was it ever worth the painfully difficult wait–young, umarried thangs take note!)
So I guess our throw-it-together/we-have-no-idea-what-we’re-doing/who-cares-anyway approach is kind of precious. We were young. We’d been dating for 4 years and just wanted to get to the good part. The part where I didn’t have to go home at the end of each evening together.
After all, what are drooping hairstyles and bad pictures when I was about to become one with the man God had gently and securely tied to my heart?
Happy anniversary, baby! I’ve loved every year . . . every month . . . every day.