Yesterday we were privileged enough to be guests at a very small wedding. Set in a small church in Bow, the wedding was unfussy, unencumbered by the standard trappings of center pieces and floral arrangements, and closed with a good steak dinner in a local restaurant. The event managed the blissful balance between simplicity and sincerity, and both Mitch and I enjoyed it immensely.
The bride and groom? Mitch’s seventy-three-year-old grandmother, who looked gorgeous in a royal blue dress and low heels, and her beau, who wore a suit and boutineer of yellow roses.
Nobody walked down the aisle, nobody sang love songs or hymns. The minister read through 1 Corinthians 13 and made the usual small talk, but when it was time to exchange vows and rings, oh my – the moment was beautiful. Love like that at any age is something to behold, and though there were only a handful of us there to witness it (all of us family, including the groom’s ninety-four-year-old mother), I was struck by the solid beauty of any marriage begun with Christ at the center.