Day 123: Fields of Gold, Chapter 31

There are really no words to describe how I felt that day. There were too many. They were too varied. For some--there are no words.

So I did the only thing I could. I made a video montage.

I love these pictures.

I love the memories of this day.

I love that man that I married. I love that he looks exactly the same today as he did then--while I look...um...not exactly the same.

I hope you enjoy--I'll be back with my final chapter, and a prologue to answer some questions, tomorrow.

Day 122: Fields of Gold, Chapter 30

As I approached the entrance of the temple, I could see Dave standing and looking down at me. I was so glad he was there. Suddenly, everything felt more real to me.

I had quite the entourage with me, carrying my dress and all the accouterments of bridal paraphernalia. I walked up to Dave and he gave me a nervous hug. Someone snapped a picture. We both laughed. I hugged his mom, who lovingly put her arm around me as we walked in the doors.

Walking into a Latter-day Saint temple is a supremely peaceful experience. They are remarkably quiet places, and each one has their own personality. One of the things that Dave and I both loved about the Manti Temple, and why we had chosen to be married there, was because it feels very warm and welcoming, in a country kind of a way. No one is hurried or rushed. Everyone smiles a lot. They pulled me over to one side and took all my things, placing a small sticker on each item with the number "17" on them. There were 25 weddings in the Manti Temple that day, and we were number 17. (I later found out that in the Salt Lake Temple, there were 96 weddings that day.)

Dave and I were escorted down the wide hall and into a small office where we signed our certificate and answered a few questions, and then we went our separate ways to get ready.

In the Manti Temple there is a special room called the Bride's Room. It is not large, but has been lovingly decorated. There are four small vanities with mirrors and a delicate chandelier. Attached to this room is another small room with a wall entirely lined with mirrors. I entered the bride's room and my mom, sister, and an attendant from the temple helped me to put on my dress and fix my hair just so. There were two other brides in the bride's room--one just married, and one waiting to be married like me. We laughed and congratulated each other.

Once I was all dressed, I remember standing in front of all the mirrors. My mom was on one side and my sister on the other. I think it was the only time, in my life, when I would have completely believed that I was beautiful. Everything that I was feeling inside matched how I appeared outside. I have never been happier.

My attendant reappeared and I went with her to meet Dave. I remember the gentle rustling of my wedding dress as I came into the hall where he sat waiting. He looked nervous and young. I could tell that he was missing his father. He stood up and took my hand, and then dropped it after we'd only walked a few feet. He kept stepping on my dress, standing that close. We laughed a little, and it seemed to ridiculous, at that moment, to be wearing such a thing.

We entered the room where we would be married, called a sealing room, and spoke briefly with the man who would officiate. He gave us an encouraging smile, and then our guests began to enter. They were all perfectly quiet, and they filled the room and even lined the walls. Dave and I were seated on a small love seat, with his mom seated at Dave's left and my mom seated at my right.

The officiator welcomed everyone to our wedding, and then spoke for just a couple minutes. He gave us a few little pieces of advice, which I have always tried to remember: always be honest, use a soft voice, pray together, and respect each other. As he spoke, I kept my mind and eyes focused on him. Dave, meanwhile, was clutching my hand ever tighter--he wanted me to look at him. I knew if I looked at him, I would start to cry, and I didn't want to miss anything important.

I remember everything seemed to be in a haze--I wanted to hurry up and be married. I wanted every minute to last forever. I could see everyone smiling, but also how many were choking back tears because Dave's dad wasn't there. I looked up at Dave, and he looked down at me. We were both crying.

Soon, we arrived at the actual marriage. I listened carefully, trying to make sure that I didn't miss a moment of it. Almost in one breath it seemed, and we were husband and wife. It was then that I fully, intently looked into Dave's eyes. He kissed the bride. Our friends and family grinned and laughed.

Standing together, we exchanged rings. Dave had mine engraved, and it said simply, "You're home."

Day 121: Fields of Gold

While I'm writing--here is the last picture of Dave and I *before* we got married.... :)

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Sorry guys--we've got some wicked strep throat going on over here. I hope to get a post written today, but that all depends on a very delicate balance of penicillin, Nyquil, and sleep.

I'll be back.

Day 120: Fields of Gold, Chapter 29

There is no way to describe what it is like to open your eyes and realize that it's your wedding day.

That Saturday morning, I woke up to my mom's soft call. My dearest friend, Desaray, was laying next to me. She had stayed the night before, letting me talk. Letting me process. I will be forever grateful to her for the gift of her company that night.

I opened my eyes and could see the early morning sunlight coming through the curtains of my window. I looked at my ceiling fan, covered with tiny glow in the dark stars that I had bought when I was 13 years old. I could feel the weight of the threshold I was crossing--leaving my parent's home for the last time. As I rose and opened my door, I found a small business size card taped to the door. In Dave's handwriting was a tiny note "See you soon!" with a small bride and groom drawn under it. He'd given it to my mom the night before, and asked her to put it there.

I slipped on some flip flops and, in the tradition of Anne of Green Gables, went on my last walk through my childhood neighborhood. Desaray walked next to me, letting me remember out loud. I remember saying to her that I'd always wondered how I would feel on my wedding day, and if I would feel nervous or excited, and expressing surprise at what I felt: ready.

By the time we got home, it was time to kick into high gear. I showered and did my own makeup. Having learned my lesson, my sister Jen did my hair in a simple style--something I might've worn any day, with half of it pulled up and half curled under. She tied it back with a small white ribbon.

The phone rang. It was Dave, calling to say good morning. I grinned as I heard his voice, and commanded the butterflies in my stomach to find their formation. He promised to leave on time, and said that he'd meet me in Manti.

I slipped into a knee length black sheath dress with a black jacket, then hung the strand of pearls he had given me around my neck. We loaded my dress, slip, shoes, bouquet, and--finally--a picnic basket with a lunch for Dave and I into my grandparent's suburban. Time seemed to be going in slow motion, as I climbed into the car with my parents and younger brothers. We pulled away from the home that would never by my home again.

**

The drive down to Manti, Utah in June is a beautiful one. It weaves through the base of a narrow canyon surrounded by mountains then into a wide, open valley. You can see from one end of this valley to the other end, more than a 45 minute drive from one end to the other. In June, this expanse is a vibrant, living green. Not long after you enter the valley, you can begin to look for the Manti Temple, a tiny dot up on the hill far ahead of you. As you approach, it grows larger and it is truly breathtaking.

Completed in 1888, the Manti Temple looks like a castle on a hill. It is made of cream colored limestone that seems to glow from within. What makes it all the more striking is that it stands in the middle of this wide open space, overlooking mostly ranchland. As we drove, I watched it getting closer and closer. The closer it got, the more awe struck I became. We finally turned in the wide gates.

Looking up, I could see Dave. He was standing at the entrance of the temple, looking down, and waiting for me.

Day 119: Fields of Gold, Chapter 28

The day before our wedding arrived. There were hundreds of last minute things to take care of, and little moments to savor. I went along with my dad to pick up his tuxedo. I ran with my mom and my sister to the local craft store to buy tulle and rice that was safe for birds so that we could make our grand exit. My florist brought my bouquet, and even though it didn't look at all like what I'd asked for, it was still beautiful:

I ran to the jewelers to pick up Dave's engraved wedding ring, as well as the wedding gift I had chosen for him--a Swiss Army Watch.

The day flew by, and by afternoon my mom turned to me and said "What are you planning to wear?" My mind was a blank. "To what?" Her eyebrows raised a little "To your wedding dinner, Becca. Tonight. In an hour." "Oh. Ummmm..."

Honestly, the thought of what to wear that night hadn't even made it on to my radar. I was about to meet Dave's many, many, many relatives. Aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, nieces, nephews, not to mention his mom. And I hadn't given my outfit two thoughts.

Trying to appear calm and put together, I went to my room and started opening my packed boxes trying to find something that would work. A pink button up shirt that I'd worn for our engagement pictures. Fine. Pants? A skirt? We were having dutch oven--so, casual. But I was the bride. So--dressy? I chose a simple stretch khaki skirt and slip on flat shoes. I pulled my blonde hair back into a simple pony tail and put some lip gloss on. I felt ill prepared. I did not look like The Bride. I hardly looked like a Friend of The Bride. But it was time to go, so I would have to do.

My heart was pounding when we got to the church and I saw all the people that I didn't know, but would soon be related to. My own extended family, although wonderful, subscribe to the "we don't have to show up to show that we love you" philosophy. I was just thrilled to have my own immediate siblings, who took up all of one table, in a room filled with the warmest, nicest, happiest strangers I'd ever seen.

The evening was a blur--my future mother-in-law read a letter from my far away father-in-law who was, at the time, frantically trying to get some missionaries safely out of Liberia in the middle of a hostile government takeover. My dad gave a brilliant toast. Then my future sister-in-law, Nicole, and brother-in-law Mike got up to perform a song. Dave and I didn't have a song, in particular. There had just never been one that stood out. But there was one--a certain version of one--that I hoped would become our song. It spoke of all the things that I hoped for us. Eva Cassidy's version of "Fields of Gold." I had asked Nicole to sing it, without telling Dave what I'd asked for. It was a surprise.

Nicole stood up on the stage, looking as cool and calm as she always does, in a white shirt and blue skirt. Mike sat with his guitar. They began, and Dave reached over and took my hand.

All evening long, my heart had been beating wildly out of nervousness, but as Nicole's flawless voice spilled over me I felt calm. It seemed like our whole future was being laid out for us. I looked into Dave's eyes, and I saw it all there.

After a couple more songs (Dave sang our version of "Forever and Ever, Amen" for everyone), we hugged everyone and said that we would see them tomorrow.

As Dave and I walked out of the church building, I handed him the black Swiss Army box. He opened it, and smiled. I told him it was supposed to symbolize time and all eternity.

It would begin tomorrow.

Day 116: Fields of Gold, Chapter 27

Wedding week.

Growing up, I think that I envisioned that my wedding week would be filled with flowers and lace and beauty. I imagined standing in front of a mirror in my dress, basking in the anticipation of all that was yet to be. Ha! Little did I know how desperately I would want that week to be over. Never did I imagine stress. I couldn't have imagined tears, anxiety, and more tears. I never dreamed that, two days before my wedding, I would stare at the sparkling diamond engagement ring on my finger and wonder if the man of my dreams was just marrying me because somehow, some way, he had no idea what he was doing.


Ah, what a week.


It had come at last, and I remember sitting in church on my last Sunday as a single girl and wondering if I would really feel any different the next week. It felt odd and surreal, in lots of good ways. Dave and I were both more than done with the engagement phase of our relationship, and ready to begin our happily ever aftering. If only we could get through the next five days.

My future mother in law was flying in from Africa, and the party really couldn't begin until she arrived. In the meantime, I was all kinds of nervous. I had met her before, of course, and really liked both her and my future father in law, but I hadn't seen either of them since I'd gotten home from my mission. I hoped that she would still like me, now that I was going to be her daughter in law. I hoped I wouldn't say the wrong thing or spill anything on her nice carpet. I wondered, deep down, if I was what she had imagined for her tall, handsome son.

All of Dave's siblings were arriving, with their children, as well as my older siblings--from Colorado and Massachusetts. Everyone was going to be there, all together, for the first time in years. I couldn't believe it was all for me--for my wedding.

Two days before, I was in my bedroom packing up my childhood. There were piles of clothing to give away. Boxes of yearbooks and posters and pictures. I didn't know what to do with half of it. My oldest niece Grace, who was two at the time, appeared at the doorway with some tulle in her hands. She pulled me down into a kneeling position and proceeded to drape the tulle over my head like a veil. She tugged and arranged until it was just so, then--stepping back--clapped her little hands and said "Now my Becca married."

All the butterflies in my stomach seemed to find their formation at that moment. I was stressed. Dave was stressed. But everything was going to be alright. The next night would be our wedding dinner, and then on Saturday we would be married and everything would be perfect.

I just had to hold my breath until then.

Day 117: Fields of Gold, Chapter 26

One of the great blessings of my life is that I have a sister, and that sister is a beautician. Some of my early memories include her pulling my (always) too short hair into a tight french braid and putting flowers into it. She was, and is, a miracle worker.

It was time for me to have my bridal portraits taken, and I told her my vision--Gibson Girl. A loose upsweep do, a la Anne of Avonlea:

She caught my vision. The night before, she worked painstakingly to turn my drab, mousy brown hair into beautiful golden and honey strands. It took hours and hours and hours for her to carefully color and foil the strands so that they would look just right. By the time she was done, in the wee hours of the morning, I didn't even care what color it was. I just wanted to go to bed.

The next morning, however, I did care. It was blonde. Very, very, very blonde. I wasn't sure about it--I either loved it, or hated it, but couldn't quite tell which. She assured me that I loved it.

That afternoon, I poised myself in front of her as she used an army of bobby pins and hair product to pull my hair into a gibson girl updo. Mission accomplished, we piled me, my dress, the slip, and some flowers in the car and headed up to the park where we'd agreed to meet my photographer. On the way, we stopped so I could say hi to Dave.

He was waiting for me as I got out of the car and approached him. I could see it in his eyes, which were strained ever so slightly at the corners. I smiled at him as he gave me a hug and I said "You hate it." "No, no..." he stuttered "..Um... Are you going to leave it like that?" (When, I wondered, would I remember that he was incapable of lying about anything, and not to ask him things unless I really want to know the answer???) "Um. Yes." was my reply. "Well--have fun!" he cheered for me.

Feeling anything but a radiant bride, I shlumped back to the car and we drove to the park, There in the parking lot, I squeazed into my size 6 wedding gown. It *almost* fit. You could get it done up. You just couldn't breathe. Or look too closely at the seams. But it would have to do. My photographer took shots of me sitting, standing, with my veil and without. I grinned, twisted my head, and contorted my back trying to get into the perfect positions. I suddenly pitied models.

After the photoshoot, my parents and sister dropped me off at Dave's so we could go see a movie together. Driving to the theater, I began pulling bobby pin after bobby pin out of my hair and it slowly came loose, falling in little waves down to my shoulders.

Looking over at me and smiling he said, "Hey--I like the color." And I knew he really did.

He was so perfect for me.

Day 116: Two entries in one day! Fields of Gold, Chapter 25

There is another important test that engaged couples should go through, and it is called Ski for Free Day in Park City.

Dave grew up on the west coast, and had to drive several hours to get to the nearest ski resort, but it was something he grew up doing. He knew how to ski, and he liked it. I, on the other hand, grew up within a couple hours of many world-class ski resorts, and had never put one foot on a slope in the winter time. My only experience with skiing was in a backyard, 10 years old, my dad standing over me in utter frustration saying "Just stand UP!" as my skis and the boots attached to them began to go downhill without me. It was not the most positive father-daughter experience and, thankfully, my dad gave up after that.

But now I was an engaged woman and the thought of "hitting the slopes" with my fiance seemed romantic and appealing. So, we rented equipment, I put on my best cute "snow bunny" outfit, and we headed to Park City with my younger brother and his date.

It all started out alright. I mean, the boots fit, and my little snow hat with tassels was super cute. But that's about where the fun ended. To say that I am not athletic is like saying that water is wet--it is just a fact of nature and there is no changing it. I don't run, throw, or catch. I certainly don't make friends with an icy slope at any sort of speed.

We're on the bunny hill. Three year olds, with their bodies tucked down for maximum aerodynamics, are flying past me. I am trying to perfect "the pizza" formation of my skis. They keep going different directions, and the formation they like the best is called "x." I am going so slowly, the snow is probably going to melt before I get to the bottom of the hill. Dave is being patient--slowly going through the motions with me, giving me pointers. I fall and can't get back up. I slide over to the fence, and pull myself up. We try again. More patience. More pointers. I fall again. Dave is just down the hill from me. He's looking at me. I try to get up. The skis slide. I try again. The skis slide. "Just get UP!" I hear him say. I give him a look as I reach toward my boot. "Don't you DARE take off that ski." Click. I glare at him triumphantly, taking off my skis and standing up proudly. He gives me a look, and, without a word, skis down the hill while I reattach the boots to the skis from a vertical position.

The evening is long. It is cold. Dave is as patient as he could be under the circumstance of trying to teach the most uncoordinated, scaredy-cat woman on the planet how to ski. It's a good thing this date was free, or there might have been serious consequences. We decide to do one small run. We get on the ski lift. I realize, as it starts ascending, that I'm going to have to get OFF this thing with skis on my feet. I feel kind of nauseous. Dave is prepping me. He is assuring. He is trying to pretend to be confident that I'm not going to utterly wipe out.

He slides off easily and, mustering any and all confidence I had left after such a date, I remembered the wise "Fake it til you make it" mantra and propelled myself off the seat. To my astonishment,I skied smoothly down the slight slope, stopping perfectly in front of Dave. He was impressed. I was relieved. Now we just needed to get down the rest of the hill.

That night we decided two things: Dave would be the one to teach our future kids to ski, and my purpose at ski resorts is to wear a sweater, look charming, and drink hot chocolate in the lodge.

Day 116: Fields of Gold, Chapter 24

Being engaged is fun for approximately two weeks. You have people to tell. Everyone wants to see the ring. Which, by the way, if you happen to be wearing a thin gold band and not a diamond, people kind of raise their eyebrows at you and smile cautiously. They're trying to figure out if you're:

• Making a political statement about the unethical nature of diamonds.
• Poor and practical.
• Marrying a cheapskate and hating it.

The exception to that being people of a certain generation who were just happy to see frugality and restraint being practiced by anyone in my generation.

You should know that I adore weddings. Adore. I'm the kind of person who buys wedding magazines for fun, and loves to browse the latest trends on The Knot. I started planning my wedding when I was 9 years old, which--being 1989--I envisioned my colors being mauve and dusty blue and a sequin bedecked dress with ginormous puffed sleeves. I just knew that planning a wedding with the man of my dreams was going to result in the most beautiful, perfect wedding ever.

I decided to do everything differently than I'd done it for my first engagement. No periwinkle for me. No Salt Lake Temple. No wedding luncheon at the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. Nope. Everyone was doing periwinkle or lavender, so I chose a Martha Stewart Weddings trend of apricot orange and pear green. We chose the Manti Temple to get married in, since we had shared memories there and we both loved it. Our wedding luncheon would be the night before our wedding, rather than the day of, and the reception would be outdoors. It was going to be the perfect blend of casual and classy, trendy and traditional.

But something else was different than planning my first engagement. Not just that the photographer I'd always dreamed of hiring had moved to Dallas, or that I was having a hard time choosing centerpieces. The thing that had changed, was me. I no longer cared as much about bridesmaid outfits or the perfect bouquet. What I did care about was planning our marriage, even more than our wedding. I went to our university bookstore, marched upstairs, and bought a whole armful of books that were required for a marriage course. I got the his and hers workbooks to go with Saving Your Marriage Before It Starts, as well as brand new copies of First Comes Love, His Needs, Her Needs, and Love for a Lifetime.

Well armed, without really giving him a choice, I began to throw these books at Dave and tell him that we needed to get studying like our lives depended on it. Because they did. And, really, this is a great litmus test for an engagement--any man worth his salt will care enough about his fiance, if not about actually studying the books, to get his hands dirty and jump in. These books are not for the weak--they require revealing weaknesses, discussing expectations, and brutal honesty. We went through our workbooks separately and alone, working through the things that came up where we differed. This resulted in some painful dead-end conversations, as we called them, and there were things we skirted around (finances), but--as our engagement wore on, Dave and I were confirming that we looked at the world the same way. We not only got to know each other better, we got to wrestle with the every day-ness of marriage and began to establish the foundation for our marriage style. I am so grateful to say, now, that planning our marriage was more important to me than planning our wedding. I think I had my priorities in the right place.

Although, looking back, if I could've known that "apricot orange and pear green" were going to devolve into a very 1980's "peach and sage green" I might've spent just a little more time rethinking that decision.