In the past week, two different people (both Christians, by the way) have commented to me that the honeymoon is more important to plan for and allot funds to than the wedding.
The first, a woman, reasoned that the family and friends who would attend the wedding and reception wouldn't appreciate all the effort and cash spent on throwing a great party for all of them to enjoy, so why bother? They'd just complain about the food or the wait service, so forget them. Spend your energy and money on planning a fun honeymoon, and make it about yourselves.
The second was a guy. Now, I understand that men, in general, are more excited about the honeymoon than the wedding itself, because nonstop sex in an exotic locale captures their attention more than frou frou bouquets and one-day-rental tuxes with backless vests. However, this guy I was talking to spoke in terms of "we," as in, both he and his (female) fiance agree that saving up money for the honeymoon and spending time planning it is a higher priority than the wedding itself.
Is it just me, or is that a little jacked up?
I'm not really one to think on the spot. No, I just kind of chuckle awkwardly and look at the floor if somebody says something that for whatever reason rubs me the wrong way. Then I think more about it later, come up with what I should have said, and then tell the blogosphere. So here it is.
Why do we get married? Is it so that we can jet over to Hawaii, play on jet skis, and swim with the dolphins? Do we invite others to our ceremonies just because they'll get ticked if we don't? Is the wedding just something to get over with, so that the real fun can start in the Heavenly Bed®?
No, we get married so we can become one, so God can supernaturally and mystically bind our lives and our bodies together for life; and we do it in the presence of witnesses who love us and who we want to share in the mystery and the joy. These are not pesky people whom we have to begrudgingly feed and entertain before we can get started on the fun stuff. We don't invite them because we're expected to. We invite them because their presence makes the experience deeper. And we include them by planning a meaningful ceremony that will engage their attention, by being involved in and prayerful about selecting the words that are said and the songs that are sung. We thank them and celebrate with them by throwing a great party, with beautiful decorations, delicious food, dancing, laughter, and hugs.
I'll go on lots of vacations with Philip, but I'll only marry him once. We'll travel the world over, but I'll only say "I do" one time. I'll wake up with him in paradise many times in the course of our life together, but I'll only bring all our loved ones together under one roof in the lovely, joyful, exciting occasion that is a wedding once in my life.
To me, all of that is worth spending the time and money on.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Monday, June 20, 2005
BAD BLOGGERS
Philip and I are bad bloggers. By "bad," I mean that we never blog. If you come here and want to read something new, I'm really sorry. My current excuse is that our wedding is in 39 days. THIRTY-NINE DAYS. Holy crap. I gotta go.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
HEAVEN AND EARTH
Last night, our twentysomething group from church had a wonderful time at our vespers service at Bethune Beach ("vespers" is an archaic word meaning "evening"). It just seemed that God was smiling on us the whole time. The weather was beautiful - sunny, with a robust wind - and the attendance was very surprising. We had new people come out, college kids who were back in town for the summer, and even our PASTOR'S family. I mean, I know pastors aren't super-stars, but to have the head pastor of the church come out to support an event felt significant. We had the perfect amount of food, and we even had a gifted guitar player named Aaron show up, so I didn't have to struggle my way through the chords of praise songs; I could just concentrate on leading the singing. And Philip did great at delivering the devotional message.
The sunset was almost mystical ... creamy ... it put me under a bit of a spell. There's nothing like a sunset over the beach. A group of us went for a walk all the way down to the National Seashore ... It must have been a couple miles. We talked as the waves washed over our feet and the stars slowly filled up the sky. The night was just one big amen ... friends and nature and food and coversation and worship ... it was joy.
However, upon returning to Orlando, Philip and I overheard something that made us instantly mourn. People very close to us had made a destructive decision that instantly sent our spirits into sadness. Then on my drive back to my house, I called my dad, who shared with me his discouragement over an ongoing situation with my grandma. The reality of life was heavy on me as I lay in my bed thinking.
While there are moments of extreme beauty and togetherness in life, there are also harmful choices, lack of self-control, and selfishness. Here in this life, we will always have to deal with the foolish things that we do, and that those around us do. There is just no escaping sin. And these situations are always complicated. They're not black and white; they're not isolated. They're messy and intertwined; their stories have multiple sides and ripple back through generations of problems. And as I thought through the two situations in particular that I was confronted with last night, my heart was low. I was confused about how I should respond. I was heartbroken for the people most directly involved. It was pain.
But I tried to recenter my thoughts on my evening at Bethune Beach, which had given me a slight taste of what heaven will be like ... when the scenery will always be breathtaking, when friendships will always be rich and fulfilling, when the food will be delicious, the ideas inspiring, the songs thunderous and moving. When there will be enough time to do the things you want to do. When there's no more mess or maintenance. When there's no more rushing ahead because there's no more waiting - it's all happening, right now, in surround sound on an IMAX screen. When we're in the presence of perfection, light, beauty, wholeness, goodness, power, life ... the very presence of GOD HIMSELF, in the flesh.
That's the hope I have as a Christian. That's what allows me to fall asleep peacefully and not despair over all the brokenness that surrounds me each day. That's what gives me a clue as to how to respond to difficult and painful situations ... and what allows me to enjoy a night like the one at Bethune Beach even more deeply and fully.
The sunset was almost mystical ... creamy ... it put me under a bit of a spell. There's nothing like a sunset over the beach. A group of us went for a walk all the way down to the National Seashore ... It must have been a couple miles. We talked as the waves washed over our feet and the stars slowly filled up the sky. The night was just one big amen ... friends and nature and food and coversation and worship ... it was joy.
However, upon returning to Orlando, Philip and I overheard something that made us instantly mourn. People very close to us had made a destructive decision that instantly sent our spirits into sadness. Then on my drive back to my house, I called my dad, who shared with me his discouragement over an ongoing situation with my grandma. The reality of life was heavy on me as I lay in my bed thinking.
While there are moments of extreme beauty and togetherness in life, there are also harmful choices, lack of self-control, and selfishness. Here in this life, we will always have to deal with the foolish things that we do, and that those around us do. There is just no escaping sin. And these situations are always complicated. They're not black and white; they're not isolated. They're messy and intertwined; their stories have multiple sides and ripple back through generations of problems. And as I thought through the two situations in particular that I was confronted with last night, my heart was low. I was confused about how I should respond. I was heartbroken for the people most directly involved. It was pain.
But I tried to recenter my thoughts on my evening at Bethune Beach, which had given me a slight taste of what heaven will be like ... when the scenery will always be breathtaking, when friendships will always be rich and fulfilling, when the food will be delicious, the ideas inspiring, the songs thunderous and moving. When there will be enough time to do the things you want to do. When there's no more mess or maintenance. When there's no more rushing ahead because there's no more waiting - it's all happening, right now, in surround sound on an IMAX screen. When we're in the presence of perfection, light, beauty, wholeness, goodness, power, life ... the very presence of GOD HIMSELF, in the flesh.
That's the hope I have as a Christian. That's what allows me to fall asleep peacefully and not despair over all the brokenness that surrounds me each day. That's what gives me a clue as to how to respond to difficult and painful situations ... and what allows me to enjoy a night like the one at Bethune Beach even more deeply and fully.
Friday, May 13, 2005
TWO YEARS
Yesterday marked two years since Philip and I met and began dating. To commemorate, we drove out to the Orange County fairgrounds, where roadies were setting up for Cornerstone Florida. C-stone FL debuted in 2003, and Philip and I met there when we both helped set up the Relevant Media Group vendor booth.
Driving onto the grass next to the tent area, Philip and I were both hit with the powerful realization of how much had changed in the time since we drove up on that grass two years ago. All at once, I just began to ball. Blowing my nose in an Arby's napkin, I couldn't even express what was making me cry so hard at first.
I was just thinking of all the change... all the friends we had lost, all the friends we had gained... the places Philip had lived and I had lived... the job changes... his grandpa's stroke and my grandpa's death...
But most of all, I was thinking of the me who I was two years ago, lonelier than I'd ever been, trying to twist and struggle into adulthood without the near support of family or good friends... flubbing and faking my way through my role as a young professional, not even valuable enough to the company at that time to be a full-time employee... living in the spare bedroom of a Best Buy manager, my personal belongings not even numbering enough to fill up my Saturn compact. God, it's making me cry again now.
And then Philip came along, and everything changed. And kept changing, and kept changing. I have a church home now. I am a writer now. I am planning a wedding. I have friends. I am busy. I have a place to live that belongs equally to myself and my roommates, where I am free to keep my own schedule, use the rooms as I please, put my food in the fridge, and decorate to my tastes. And I have a best friend, someone to share life with... to talk with, explore with, cry with, learn with, laugh with.
He was my savior two years ago, the beginning of a whole new life for me in Florida, one that is full and fun and messy and hard and beautiful.
I never thought I'd stay here, but that night at the fairgrounds two years ago, I met the one. I met the reason I'd end up sticking around, even after my time at Relevant was done. And with him, we've built this whole world together... and it just keeps changing. It'll change again in two months, when we become husband and wife and I leave this suburbian house for Philip's cozy downtown apartment.
And so I mourned for all the change last night... even though much of it was good, because change - even good change - is difficult, because it forces you to sacrifice things that are comfortable and familiar, even if those things oppress you.
And I mourned for that girl I was two years ago, who was so lonely and lost and confused. I released the pain of growing up and letting go. I said good-bye to all the other roads I might have taken, because I took THIS road, and it lead me here, to where I am, where I belong, at Philip's side, serving together in the ways we serve now.
There is something wonderful about mourning. It's cathartic, cleansing. Jesus said the mourners are actually blessed - happy. I agree.
Driving onto the grass next to the tent area, Philip and I were both hit with the powerful realization of how much had changed in the time since we drove up on that grass two years ago. All at once, I just began to ball. Blowing my nose in an Arby's napkin, I couldn't even express what was making me cry so hard at first.
I was just thinking of all the change... all the friends we had lost, all the friends we had gained... the places Philip had lived and I had lived... the job changes... his grandpa's stroke and my grandpa's death...
But most of all, I was thinking of the me who I was two years ago, lonelier than I'd ever been, trying to twist and struggle into adulthood without the near support of family or good friends... flubbing and faking my way through my role as a young professional, not even valuable enough to the company at that time to be a full-time employee... living in the spare bedroom of a Best Buy manager, my personal belongings not even numbering enough to fill up my Saturn compact. God, it's making me cry again now.
And then Philip came along, and everything changed. And kept changing, and kept changing. I have a church home now. I am a writer now. I am planning a wedding. I have friends. I am busy. I have a place to live that belongs equally to myself and my roommates, where I am free to keep my own schedule, use the rooms as I please, put my food in the fridge, and decorate to my tastes. And I have a best friend, someone to share life with... to talk with, explore with, cry with, learn with, laugh with.
He was my savior two years ago, the beginning of a whole new life for me in Florida, one that is full and fun and messy and hard and beautiful.
I never thought I'd stay here, but that night at the fairgrounds two years ago, I met the one. I met the reason I'd end up sticking around, even after my time at Relevant was done. And with him, we've built this whole world together... and it just keeps changing. It'll change again in two months, when we become husband and wife and I leave this suburbian house for Philip's cozy downtown apartment.
And so I mourned for all the change last night... even though much of it was good, because change - even good change - is difficult, because it forces you to sacrifice things that are comfortable and familiar, even if those things oppress you.
And I mourned for that girl I was two years ago, who was so lonely and lost and confused. I released the pain of growing up and letting go. I said good-bye to all the other roads I might have taken, because I took THIS road, and it lead me here, to where I am, where I belong, at Philip's side, serving together in the ways we serve now.
There is something wonderful about mourning. It's cathartic, cleansing. Jesus said the mourners are actually blessed - happy. I agree.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)