Tuesday, January 16, 2018

Over the threshold.

A few nights ago, Mr. Nielson and I discussed our wedding day.
We talked about when we drove from our cozy wedding dinner up
 Provo Canyon, to our new (not new, but new to us) old home in
downtown Provo to spend our very first night as husband and wife.
Christian pulled into the driveway of our tiny little nest that we
 had fixed up together.  He turned off the engine and then looked at me.
We took a deep breath together- probably giggled a little too.
 Finally, Christian opened his door then, jumped out, and ran 
to my side, where he opened my door then, took my hand, and helped me out.
Our home sat among many other 100-year-old homes
 in the Pioneer neighborhood in Provo.
The cold December sun had set, and our neighbor's Christmas lights were turning on.
We lived in a neighborhood that was mixed with
 BYU students (like us), young families, sprinkled with old couples, and widows.
 It was charming in many ways; close to my mom, a bakery, and the mountains.  

I was still wearing my wedding dress, and Christian wore his black suit (sans tie).
The steps to our home were slippery from the recent snowstorm. 
Christian grabbed my hand, and we walked up to the front door together.
We stood at the door, and I watched as Christin's hands 
fumbled for the keys inside his suit pocket.
Finally, our large oak door opened the
 hallway, revealing paint cans and moving boxes.
Christian looked at me, picked me up, 
cradled me in his arms, and carried me across the threshold of our new home. 
I felt like my wedding day had been taken 
right out of the most romantic, traditional, classic fairytale.
Just as we wanted it.
And now I'll leave the story there...unless you've read my book,
then you know what happened next.  
I will admit I am worried about weddings these days.
They are over-complicated and scripted.
It seems there is more worry about the photos,
the make-up, the dress, the cake, and the party, then creating
and enjoying real-time memories of the day.
I hope my girls remember the importance of the day
will happen during the actual ceremony that binds
the beautiful union of husband and wife.
My wedding was beautiful and simple because it revolved around the
marriage ceremony in the temple.
My neighbor made my dress, and I sewed little purses for my nieces
out of the extra fabric I had from the pillows I made for our couch
that we had bought at a second-hand store.
A good friend and florist created my flowers, simple and colorful
with pine tree sprigs and a velvet bow.
I didn't have my nails done; I didn't even paint them.
 I wore simple pearls in my ears, and to honor and remember
my Nana, I carried her white beaded clutch with lipstick
and a hankie inside.
And we mainly invited family with a few close friends
to the ceremony and dinner afterward.
But most importantly, the way Christian looked at me that day made me feel like
I was the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on.
We didn't have a fancy send-off, and no one photographed 
our every move. 
I wouldn't change one second of that day. 
 Not one.

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