Ten years of marriage.
On a cold and blustery day, under an oak tree, by a lake, in the spring, with candles and guitar music, I joined my life to his. All our most favorite people passed our rings from hand to hand, blessing our union, blessing us with their wisdom.
At the moment of sunset – 6:29 if I remember correctly – my dad and I walked arm in arm from the Summer House to the Hummingbird Garden. I sparkled in a silk dress homemade and hand-beaded by my mom. I stepped into a new world, a new me, married me.
In nine years we have experienced so much. The usual (laughter, tears, jobs, moving, babies, all that) and the not so usual (sudden heartbreak and radical forgiveness). We held hands and gave birth together. We have attended weddings and funerals. We have loved hard and yelled some and made two breathtakingly amazing children. We have lost two grandmothers, two cats. one dog, and two pregnancies. We have gained a home, a family, a convocation (or possibly cacophony) of laughter and curls and salt water and owls and oak trees and soil and warmth and trust and safety and mission.
I am so loved, so grateful, so married.