My family has been attending St. Jerome Catholic Church on Sundays for about 20 years now. And there are 52 weeks (Sundays) in a year. Let's make it 50, for easy mathing. 50 Sundays x 20 years is 1,000 Sundays. Now, we go to other churches occasionally. And I went to church in Lafayette for three years while in college. But for every Sunday that I was at another church, I made up for it by being at St. Jerome for a myriad of other reasons: holy days of obligation, cleaning or decorating the church, attending CCD, teaching CCD, altar server training, etc., etc., etc. I think it's safe to say that I have walked up and down the aisle of St. Jerome at least 1,000 times in my life.
1,000 trips down that aisle. And not a single one of them compared to that phenomenal walk down that tiled aisle as I gripped my dad's arm and went step by step to meet my to-be husband.
I can tell you exactly what made that walk special. Of course, the immediate answer is that Michael was waiting at the end of it for me, with the biggest, toothiest smile I've ever seen on him, an image I won't be likely to forget. But what made that walk exceptionally special was the sheer amount of love that crowded the interior of the church. I walked through the double doors to the opening notes of the only song I said over and over that I would never walk down the aisle to, and it was like a physical blast of agape love met me. It was like walking out of the summer heat into an air conditioned store. I walked straight into a room full of love.
I would later describe the sensation like walking in a tunnel. On both sides, my friends and family pressed against the wooden pews, smiling at me, clicking cameras, blowing kisses, wiggling fingers in little waves, tilting heads, winking. Even as an altar server, I had never walked down that aisle with every single eye in the room turned to me. It was truly like being in a tunnel. A wonderful tunnel. Dare I say... the tunnel of love? (Forgive me. I couldn't pass up that opportunity.)
But really! How else can I describe it? Love all around me! From the sides, from the front, from above-- a presence that made the air thicker and the atmosphere heavier, in a good way. And when I got to the altar and hugged my dad and slipped my hand into Michael's, and everyone sat down, everything settled, and I no longer felt that unique weight. That's not to say that the love fled the room-- I had simply shifted my focus to the individual love coming to me from Michael.
I write about this because it is one of my strongest, most vivid memories from the wedding day and also because I never really got to address it.
On Sunday, Michael and I will celebrate our first anniversary, and I'm thrilled. A special day, just for the two of us, to celebrate how strong our bond has grown over this past year, to celebrate all that we've learned in the first year of marriage, about each other, about ourselves. A day where we acknowledge the commitment that we make each new morning when we choose to love each other and revel in the joy of that work.
I am so grateful for my partner. But as we approach that anniversary and I think back to the day when it all started, I realize how grateful I am for the people who surrounded us before, then, and now.
I wanted to thank everyone for their support and love. I really meant to. I don't know if I did, or if I did it well enough. The rehearsal dinner is little more than a blur to me at this point; I know we rushed out some hasty thank yous, and I know we handed out heartfelt gifts, but while the people in that room were the closest to us, I still feel overwhelmingly grateful for all of the people in our life. I am grateful to those who gave us an example of what a loving and respectful marriage should be like. I am grateful to those who laughed and joked with us along our journey, who kept me smiling when we were apart, who told me they'd been waiting for this day for years. I am grateful to those who went out of their way to be with us on that day. I am grateful to those who have shown me love in every sort of manner.
When I was a senior in high school, my religion teacher told our class that love is a choice, not a feeling. Needless to say, the room of high school girls erupted in fury, arguing the opposite, and I sat there, thinking. What did she mean? Love wasn't a choice! I didn't choose to feel the way I did about Michael. I just did. I loved him, plain and simple. It took me years to realize that my teacher was probably right. Now, I accept both. I see passive love as a feeling-- that butterflies-in-the-belly, goofy-smile, kiss-me-in-the-rain kind of feeling you kind of can't help. But I see active love as a choice-- through the arguments, through doing chores out of turn, to taking care of the other, to listening and understanding when you're wrong or right. It's a choice to wake up every day and love on a level about which I'm still learning. It's a choice to grab the other's hand and make it through the day, week, month, and most recently, year. I am so honored to have that choice.
And so what I really want to say with this blog post is that I'm deeply grateful for all those who have chosen to love me. I'm grateful to those who choose to love within their own lives. I'm grateful to those who choose to do good, to be kind in all situations, to extend helping hands instead of pushing others down, to teach and to try and to believe and yes, once again, to love. I am a big fan of love.
So, to everyone to whom I did not have the opportunity to say it after the wedding, thank you. To everyone who was not at the wedding but lives a life of love, thank you. I believe that we can change the world with this incredible power. I love you all.
