It’s been almost a week now and I’m still trying to process. We’ve had such a story, he and I. A tumultuous one filled with mountain top moments and deep despairing valleys. When the proposal finally came, for us it would mark a massive and miraculous triumph, bringing an end to a long and, at times, back-breaking battle. I wanted it to feel like a victory cry and I wanted us to metaphorically cry that cry together, to the world, at the top of our lungs. I thought we might feel what the hero of an epic story does after having finally conquered the perils clawing at his heels and his heart. I imagine that when the tale concludes, that hero would finally have time to reflect on what he had been through. He might feel torrents of relief, perhaps even latent anguish at the unexpected and impossible difficulty of the tasks and trials he had had to face, but ultimately joy and a sense of accomplishment. For 5 seconds, as I cried in his arms after saying yes, I began to feel some of that but then it was gone. The moment was lost. Or I shoved it away. I don’t know which. Or why.
Maybe he doesn’t need to express himself this way. I won’t fault him for that. But I think I might; I want to. I want to remember the whole journey so that I can taste the full sweetness of this moment. I want to build a monument to celebrate what God has done for us.
But maybe all of that, what I’ve just described, is what the wedding day is for. Or maybe nobody processes emotions like that. Life moves too quickly and there is no script and it’s okay.
Or maybe I’m thinking about this all wrong. Because this isn’t an ending, it’s a beginning. The trials aren’t over, we’re just on to the next chapter. Please forgive the cliches.