Wedding bell blues

29 Mar

I have a rule.  And that rule is: I don’t go to weddings.

Call me hard-hearted.  Call me a party-pooper.  Whatever.  I don’t care.  Going through divorce will do that to you.  You have to understand, those of you who are fortunate enough to not have lived through it, when your spouse has decided that you’re just not worth it it’s painful to listen to two people exchanging vows and entering into holy matrimony.  And it’s even worse when you know that at least one of the two people up there isn’t taking it seriously.  That’s like volunteering to get all dressed up and take a gift to an oncoming train wreck.

Divorce makes you ask hard questions and reevaluate the principles in your life.  It made me value the institution of marriage and faithfulness more than I had before, if that was possible.  You wouldn’t believe how many shades of green I turn when I see a gray-haired couple holding hands.  Or when a couple who has the full knowledge of the imperfection of their mate still treats them with love and respect in public.  The last thing I’d ever want to see are two people I care about ending up like an episode of Days of Our Lives.

So you can just imagine how special a person would have to be to get me to break my own rule.  If “rules are meant to be broken”…it could only be for a couple who really gets what it’s all about.  This weekend I broke my rule.

It was beautiful.  Simple and brimming with bliss.  Love oozing out of everything there.  I had the joy myself of being overjoyed for them.  But love like that is what leaves me melancholy in spite of the couple’s bright future.  I can’t help but be selfish and sad.  Weddings make me remember what I no longer have, whose wife I no longer am. They make me remember the heartache, the terrible words, and all my unsightly flaws.  But most especially that I was unwanted and unloved.

It doesn’t change the pain or erase the past — not at all — but in those melancholy moments of regret and loss, somewhere deep inside the wells of tears I hold back I can faintly feel the warmth of a blanket of undeserved love wrap around my cold heart.  The pain of my melancholy moments provides me a clearer view of God’s patience and sacrifice of genuine love for me and a miniature portrait of Christ and His bride the Church.  I’m still a bride.  I can’t let the pain that is always with me consume me, because I am still Beloved.

Many years ago, this passage was a great comfort to me.  Even now I still need it:

No longer will they call you Deserted, or name your land Desolate.  But you will be called Hephzibah, and your land Beulah; for the LORD will take delight in you, and your land will be married.  (Isaiah 62:4)

The pain and waste do not define me.  My marital status and lack of children do not define me.  My Redeemer gives me a new name.  He wants me and calls me His.  He doesn’t demand my pain or imperfections be erased beforehand.  He is just there with me.  Sitting in the pew, all alone in a big group of happy people, quietly holding my hand and my grieving heart.

Maybe a wedding every now and then is a good thing for my faith.  Just don’t tell anyone I said so.  I have a rule.

(Cross-posted at Examiner.com on June 10, 2009.)

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One Response to “Wedding bell blues”

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. Four weddings & a funeral « In Which I Blog - October 29, 2010

    […] It’s just that my life is so much like a movie sometimes it’s scary.  You already know that I don’t do weddings, unless they’re pretty darn important.  Fortunately, most of my friends are already married, so […]

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