Celebrating 28

Celebrating 28 years with a bottle of French rosé.

My walk down the aisle twenty-eight years ago was as much a celebration of freedom from the constraints of my conservative upbringing in the Mennonite culture as it was the joyful anticipation of a life with the man that waited for me at the front of the church in his white tuxedo, Tom Seleck mustache and steel blue eyes.
As my dress billowed around me in a cloud of white and my train swished majestically behind me in Princess-Diana style, the happy thoughts floating around in my head could never have imagined the myriad of experiences my husband and I would share on the long journey stretching ahead of us, when we were at the blush of its beginning. My heart was filled with joy, and neither the sorrowful and disapproving look in my mother's eyes as she surveyed my "worldly dress" nor my father's solemn face with nary a trace of emotion could dim the happiness in my heart.

The wedding was all I ever hoped for and my dress the most beautiful thing I had ever worn.  It was a day to be treasured and remembered forever.  For the giving away of one's heart to another and pledging to stay together 'in sickness and health 'till death do us part' is a wonderfully sacred thing.

The years, all twenty-eight of them, brought many changes in our lives, along with the unconditional love and acceptance from my parents which, in the end, won out over the judgmental religious views they felt obligated to keep initially. Marriage has been a beautiful thing for my husband and me.  It has deepened our love, strengthened our commitment and solidified our belief that we can face anything together.

As I anticipate the marriage of my daughter next month, I know that she, too, will be filled with joyous expectation as she walks down that aisle to join her heart with the man she loves. And while my dress is too 1980's for her, she will look lovely in the dress of her choice. And I'm sure it will be the most beautiful dress she's ever worn.