Wedding, August 4, 2013

A little over a month ago, I embarked on one of the most important journeys of my life: marriage.  Marriage is a complicated journey, involving both the masses of community of witnesses and the intimate privacy of my traveling companion.  It is a great life change, and to some extent, a change of identity.

After Stephen and I got engaged, I stopped writing Jillian’s Journeys for a while, and it has taken me over a month since the wedding to get around to writing about the wedding.  Why?  Because for the whole course of the engagement, my beloved Stephen and I were constantly in the public eye, with every detail of our lives that went public being viewed, commented on, and generally discussed.  

We were impressed by the love of our communities.  We received a multitude of gifts—which have made our little Maplewood apartment at Andrews University a veritable castle compared to the stipend we’re gratefully living on for now.  Three of our communities threw us showers: Yountville, where Stephen was dedicated when he was a baby and has attended continuously for twenty-five years; Alhambra, the first church I pastored at, which was incredibly difficult to leave for its warmth; and Pleasant Hill, where I was baptized, trained, and my family experienced some of its greatest joys and sorrows.  

We were overwhelmed by this display of love—not counting the cards, calls, and general ribbing from our inner circle of immediate friends and family.  Even my bachelorette party was tastefully over-the-top—a Disney adventure with my bridesmaids.  It was a whirlwind.

While Stephen is the known introvert of the two of us, I’m not as extroverted as I look.  I’ve been faking extrovert for a long time, and the public nature of our engagement really took its toll on me in the long haul.  We have both needed this last month of relative radio silence to defrag, adjust, and remember what our own voices sound like after the choruses of loving community have had their say.

Now that Stephen and I have had some time in peace and quiet and I have finally managed to vanish into the anonymous ranks of Andrews seminarians, I’m ready to write about it.

Saying goodbye to my Alhambra church members was hard, both for them and for me.  As I drove away from the church for the last time, it felt strange knowing that I would not be coming back the next Wednesday for staff meeting.  Even though the last two years with my parents were bonus years, it was still difficult for both them and I to know that this time my moving out was final.  I started to shut up my emotions to survive—my fever pestered me.

As everyone around me fussed and flitted for the last week before the wedding, I withdrew more and more.  I was so glad that the people who love me and know me best allowed me my own space for the last two nights before the wedding—a room to myself at NVARE.  At church the day before the wedding, Stephen and I looked at all the people who would be there the next day in that very room, and panicked a little.  We retreated with some of the wedding party to my room across the street.  That helped.

I had lunch with my extended family that day—the food my grandmother had procured was perfect, and my aunt Lisa had “thrown together” some centerpieces that would have taken me hours to make half as beautiful.  My aunt Cheryl took good care of everyone, acting as lodging for my parents and hosting the meal in her back yard.  I sat with my cousins from both sides of the family, enjoying their company.  

My fever was hot by the time the rehearsal dinner rolled around—100 degrees, but I took some ibuprofen and forced myself to suck it up.  I was so glad to see my friends the McMillans, and to catch up with my friend and mentor Pastor Ron Torkelson.  It was fun to watch him, Pastor Don (my Alhambra mentor), and Pastor Sam (Stephen’s childhood pastor and my former supervisor) talk.  

Physically, I barely made it through the rehearsal, and worried about the next day.  I had a hard time leaving while others were working so hard to get the fireside room ready for the reception.  However, Stephen and I were both under orders to get sleep, so we exchanged our gifts to each other before parting ways for the night—for the last time so far.

Despite the fact that my bridesmaids drugged me, I had a hard time sleeping that night, perhaps because I knew how important it was to sleep.  When morning came, I took some ibuprofen, and thanked God that I could put my makeup on in the sweet privacy of my room.  The first person I saw on my wedding day was Grandma Sandi, bringing me breakfast.  I ate it as my distant relative and friend, Natalie, came to assist me for the day.  It was so nice to have her there for me—someone I know and trust, but who is not distracted by being a member of the wedding party.

Mrs. Brinley did lovely things to my hair, and my bridesmaids properly “ooh-ed” and “ah-ed” when they saw me in my dress.  They all looked amazing in royal blue, their shoes glittering in the morning light.  They enthusiastically walked me over to the church, where Stephen and I finally got to see each other.

I cried like a baby to realize what was actually going on—that I was actually, finally marrying him after looking at him for over ten years.  I cried again when I saw the incredible flowers Lisa had arranged in the church.  We collected ourselves, and numbly endured the two hours of photographs, then had about forty-five minutes of peace and quiet before the ceremony.

As I listened to Tori, Lauren, and Wendy play, I was so grateful that I had picked calm music.  I needed that.  As they began to play “Gabriel’s Oboe,” I got my first look at the guests, and was stunned.  I am ashamed to say that I wasn’t staring at Stephen—one would expect that, but I got to look at him a lot during the photographs, and I have the rest of my life to look at him, and in the moment, I could not handle it emotionally.  As I looked from side to side at who was there, I almost lost it, knowing how far some had traveled, and how much I loved them. 

My brain just sort of sat in a stunned state until it was time to light the unity candle.  As my aunt Shirley sang, “At Last I See the Light,” I broke down, thinking about how many years it took to reach that moment with Stephen, and how many years we have ahead of us—what a treasure I was receiving that day.  He kissed my hand to reassure me.

As my dad played us out of the church, a thought popped into my head.  When the bridal party caught up with us, I embraced Cedric and Gilbert, rejoicing that in addition to a husband, I now have two brothers!  While they will never be Justin and they will never take the specific place he has in my heart, the world just feels right again to include brothers.

After another round of pictures, Stephen and I made it to the reception, where the speeches made us cry and everyone was so nice.  I was so glad that people stopped the receiving line to the cake my cousin Amy had made, and fed us every once in a while.  Stephen and I were very hungry indeed when we finally made our way out of there to where the car we would use on our honeymoon was parked by a field.

As we circled back to NVARE to pack up our things, I was glad that we got a more intimate good-bye with my parents, Caroline (my maid of honor), and Christian (Stephen’s best man.)  They were kind enough not to delay us long, as we were all very tired and a little numb from the excitement of the day.

It was only much later that night, as I lay in the dark and Stephen seemed to be asleep already, that I let myself feel the full happiness of the day, and it changed my life.  I’ve felt strong emotions before, but they’ve mostly been negative ones—fear, grief, and anger.  But this was a happiness so strong I couldn’t handle it.  It finally got me thinking, “I don’t have to expect bad things to happen to me all the time.  This one day was actually, surprisingly, almost perfect.”

And that’s where I leave you.  While some of you have asked about our honeymoon, I do believe that some experiences should remain privately treasured, as a sanctuary from public life.  I will always remember the eccentric town of Arcata and the little cottage where we stayed fondly, and carry with me the memories of the northern coast and tall, quiet Redwoods—as tall, quiet, and refreshingly peaceful as the man with whom I am so glad to live.

As a small footnote, I am happy to say that my fever shrinks with each passing week, now that I am not so heavily in the public eye and have fewer responsibilities.  It may be eradicated soon, even though after over a year, we still don’t know what caused it in the first place.  If I haven’t called/texted/emailed/written you since I got married, don’t take it personally—I still love you and am glad you’re in my life.   Now that I’ve finally recovered from the wedding, I will make it my business to start keeping up these letters again, as a Sabbath afternoon activity.  Don’t worry—they won’t all be this long.  Life in Michigan so far is delightfully slow and uneventful, and will not require so many words.

I love you all and thank you for all of your support throughout Stephen and I’s engagement.  If you have not gotten a thank-you note for a gift you sent, we’re still working on it.  There were many of you, and you were all very generous.  It takes a while to respond to such overwhelming generosity.  Thank you.