The Rehearsal

During the summer before we got married, we attended several weddings together. The people I'd graduated from high school with four years before had finished college, and they were pairing off like a flock of turtledoves, all over the city. During that summer we decided that:

... we didn't want to be confused about the order of service and accidentally try to leave before the thing was over.

... we didn't want the sound of the zoo train in the audio tape of the service.

... neither one of us would be singing to the other during the ceremony (not that that was ever a serious option for us - but still - it wasn't pretty).

... simple is elegant, and over the top is just over the top.

... detailed plans were a good idea.

So we planned. Man, oh man, did we plan. I went back to school in the fall, and during that semester, during the winter break, and all during the next semester, our plans were finalized -- repeatedly -- often. We designed my dress together. We talked about the ceremony itself. We talked about everything ... what choice was there for conversation? We were a continent away from each other, and we only wanted one thing, so that's the thing we talked about.

Eventually, we had a plan we wanted to keep. And this plan meant that on the day itself, the only tiny little bubble was the pretty cute fact that our little ring bearer kept trying to "fold his hands" for the prayer, and the slippery ring pillow kept popping out of his arms and onto the floor. Hafta admit - that's one eventuality that hadn't occurred to me. But it was cute, so who cared? We didn't think about it at the rehearsal either, but the kid was obviously thinking about something, wouldn't you say? The Day itself was pretty nearly perfect. We made all our silly little goofinesses on the rehearsal night. See this one? I know that look in his eye. He was bothering someone about something, but he's fairly subtle when he does this. It usually takes people a second to figure it out. And then it's mighty funny.This one bears looking at as well. (And aren't we who lived through it all quite glad that the bug-eye glasses finally went out of fashion? May they rest in peace!)The conversation between the groom and the two ministers was providing adequate cover, apparently. The best man was attempting to untie the groom's shoe, which, you'll note, both the flower girl and the bride have noticed. I wonder what the flower girl thought of the bride smacking the head of the best man - it's apparent that she did not approve of the shennanigans. And ... just where is my other shoe, anyway? Why am I only missing one of them?

See this girl? She spoke the first words I heard the next morning on my wedding day. She'd been sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor of my room, and she woke up saying, "I can't do this." I informed her that she would do this, and that was the end of that conversation! (Poor kid. She and her brother candle-lighter were the most nervous two people of that whole day! I must say, I had no sympathy for their plight.)

We did do some serious rehearsing in the middle of all of this. The pastor told us we were the first couple, in all the years of his pastoring, to hand him a detailed outline for the service when we got to the rehearsal. We planned, I tell you. We planned. He was genuinely pleased as Punch - usually the organizing and explaining fell to him, and I think it must've been like herding cats for him to get everyone to cooperate. But we handed him an outline. His naturally orderly heart was made happy with that. And my naturally planning heart had made copies of the outline for everyone else as well. All that planning wasn't going to be for nothing. If nothing else, the best man can study his notes while the soloist runs through his song.