I’ve been happily married for six years, but sometimes I still dream about the perfect wedding.
It’s not that I didn’t like my wedding—I loved it. It was spring in northern Arkansas. We had an intimate ceremony in my church’s outdoor prayer chapel that was covered in blue and green stained glass windows. I had a custom-made wedding dress and personalized, bejeweled bouquets for me and my maid of honor. The reception was catered with fruit, finger sandwiches and handmade molded mints. All told it was lovely.
But it wasn’t what I’d always dreamed of.
I’d always imagined I’d get married in a large sanctuary with a vaulted ceiling. Large white flowers would secure large white ribbons to the pews. Five bridesmaids and groomsmen would proceed with equal spacing and perfect timing to a live piano. I would trail behind without separate fanfare on my dad’s arm. He would give me away, the preacher would say, “Kiss the bride!” and I would live happily ever after. Compared to my “dream” wedding, my actual wedding was rather bland.
Unless you know the inside story.
Upon my father’s suggestion, my husband and I eloped. My then-fiance had a career opportunity in Ohio and, since we were already engaged, it only made sense that we get married and go. We had three weeks and $300 to get rings, a dress, a cake, a preacher, a church, flowers and a caterer.
My dad and step-mom’s family and my husband’s grandfather were the only family we had in a two-hour radius from our hometown, so an “intimate ceremony” was our only option. The prayer chapel wasn’t being used that week, so my church let us use it for free.
My grandmother drove from Oklahoma to make me a wedding dress and create bouquets for me out of fake flowers. My step-mom and her mother made all the food, save for the sandwiches, which were a gift from the church’s volunteer chef. The best man’s girlfriend made our cake, and the preacher did the ceremony, both as gifts. The $300 bought us used wedding bands and a night at Best Western. A week later we moved to Ohio as man and wife.
Maybe it wasn’t my dream wedding, but it was MY wedding. If you ask me, it makes a much better story than anything I could have dreamed up on my own.