My little sister was married about three weeks ago (isn't she lovely?). That takes all five Kindlespire sisters officially off the market.
As I was helping hang decorations and prepare the festivities for her big day I was struck with a thought that I wanted to share with her, but I wasn't sure if I could articulate it well at the time. The thought essentially was this: I hope this is not the best day of your life.
Now that I've had time to think about it, I want to address this post to her.
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Little girls dream about their wedding and imagine it will be the most beautiful and most meaningful day they've ever experienced. We often hear people talk about it as The Best Day of My Life. But I don't think that's right. Your wedding day should be just the beginning.
A wedding day is just a day. You don't need the huge party. You can still have a happy marriage without the gorgeous dress or the cake or flowers. To be happily married you don't have to eat even one eclair on your wedding day. We want to send you off into your new phase of life with all the love and support such a big step deserves. We want you to feel the importance of the promises you are making. We like to have big parties and eat good food and share moments like this with those we hold dear. But ultimately, I hope this is not going to be the best day of your life
My dad spoke for a few minutes at the wedding luncheon. He said the same thing at each of my sisters' weddings. And maybe at ours, too, I don't really remember. Essentially he said, "You feel joyful now, and we all feel joyful for you. But it only gets better from here, if you work hard to make that happen."
I hope your wedding day is not the best day of your life. It's exhausting and emotional and beautiful all at once. But this day, though amazing, should not be the most important. Everything is not downhill from here. Jason and I had a beautiful wedding day. But now, 14 years later, it is completely overshadowed by so many other days.
Days like:
When Ellie was born. I'll never forget when our tiny miracle was placed on my chest. My first thought was, "Holy smokes! She has my face."
The day we found out Ethan would be ours forever. And the day it was official.
This may sound weird, but the day our adoption failed. That day I could hardly speak. I cried for hours. And my sweet husband was there with me, throughout all of those hours. He held me and we cried. It's one of the moments I felt closest to him in our whole marriage. Devastating times will happen and they can bring you closer than ever.
The day Elijah's adoption was finalized. After such a long journey, we were overjoyed to finally have our baby.
Even small acts of love, in the middle of busy young-family life overshadow my wedding day now. The habit we have of talking for an hour or so each night before bed. Stolen kisses in the pantry and the fact that we're not fooling our kids at all. They know Jason and I "love to smooch". Long car rides full of dreaming and planning new adventures. Misunderstandings and hurt feelings washed away by a deeper commitment to communicate more clearly. Sacrifices large and small. Vacations both as a family and just the two of us. Encouragement in the midst of stress and doubt. Worshipping and learning and growing together. Those accumulated small moments add up to be much more significant than one single day ever could.
Over time you'll look back and find that this very important day has paled. You might not remember every single detail anymore. Your mind will be full of other days. Days that are sacred and beautiful, heartbreaking and joyful and that make up your life together. Those collected days will come to mean more to you than your wedding day.
And that's just how it should be.
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Today Jason and I are celebrating 14 years (!?) of marriage, and it just keeps getting better.