wedding planning
Josh and Riley bend over the island in the kitchen, a wedding planner splayed open in front of them. Riley’s hand bobs over the cover page, where she carefully writes their names, not formally, the way I would have, just Riley and Josh.
In truth, almost everything about this is different for them than it was for me.
The day after Kevin and I got engaged, I went to the bookstore and bought three fat bridal magazines with wedding rings and delicate roses and swaths of white silk—beautiful photography–on the covers. I folded back corners on things I liked, with fancy dreams about how everything would look and sound and taste. I had Plans before we had really planned anything.
I press the tines of a fork gently into cookie dough balls on a baking sheet. We had planned to make the cookies together, but I can hardly distract the two of them. Of all the activities on their list today, wedding planning had been the one they both anticipated with the most excitement. For the last few weeks, Josh has routinely asked Riley if she’s written anything down in “that wedding planning journal” yet.
“I’ve been telling him ‘no, because I haven’t had time,’” Riley said when relaying this to me, gushing and glancing away, as though some sort of uncomfortable shortcoming had been revealed in her apparent delinquency.
“Maybe you two can do that together,” I had suggested, and Riley had snatched up the idea at once.
The journal had been a joint Christmas gift from my brother and sister-in-law, and the keeping of it had inspired quite a discussion between them, with Riley pointing out that she writes in her planner all the time at home, and Josh gesturing toward the wedding planner and interjecting that he would too, if he only had a planner to write in.
“What do you think, Rilo? Could we keep it at my house?” Josh had asked gently. There seemed to be something about it, having that book full of their plans in his possession, that comforted him. I think in his mind, the journal represents not only a book of plans for a wedding, but a book of hope for a marriage.
Riley had studied his face briefly and then pressed the journal into his hands in agreement. But a week later, after Camille explained to Josh that usually things like that belong to the bride, Josh had, without reluctance, given the journal back to Riley.
The Spirit nudges me as I remember, pointing to the way God put His own book in the hands of His bride, and it is not just a book of plans for a wedding, but a book of hope for a marriage. Every good marriage points to the union between Christ and His people, and for that marriage, the plans were all made and executed by the groom, who also paid for everything.
Just this morning, as I spent time with the Lord in the final chapters of the book of Joshua, I rediscovered a verse where God urges His people not to be enslaved to idols but to hold fast to Him. That word translated hold fast or cling, is the same word used in Genesis 2 to describe marriage. A man shall leave his father and mother and cling to his wife, and the two shall be one. The meaning closely parallels the idea Christ conveyed in John 15, immediately following the institution of communion (which mimics the ancient Hebrew engagement ceremony), when He said, “If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit.” All along, the heart of God has eagerly planned for forever union with His people.
Riley taps a pen against her bottom lip as she reads the first journal prompt, “What is your overall vision for your wedding?”
She glances at me, tripped up a little by the phrase overall vision, stalling with a long, stretched, “ummmmm,” while she taps her lip more furiously, and I have to smile, because what had the Spirit said to me just now except that the overall vision for marriage must be the over-all vision of marriage? But, we—Josh, his Rilo, and me–are planning for the wedding.
I turn my back, sliding a cookie sheet into the oven behind us, and try to rephrase in a way she can understand. “When you think about your whole wedding, what comes into your mind?”
“All my family and friends there,” she says without hesitation, immediately bending down to write.
I dip a spoon into my batter bowl, mulling this, that of all the things that could come to her mind, the vision she sees when she thinks about her wedding is not of herself, nor of colors and dresses and flowers, not a venue or a style or anything anyone would find on a Pinterest board, but the surrounding presence of the people she loves, the people who love her.
The Bible says that a great cloud of witnesses now watches over our persistent procession toward our groom.
“I like that,” I say, then turn to Josh, who watches Riley intently, his chin resting in one palm. “Josh, what comes to mind for you?”
“I have a big family,” Josh says, lifting his eyes to me and grinning. “They’ll all want to be there.”
“And well they should,” I say, returning the smile.
Riley writes this too, carefully, mumbling some of the words thoughtfully as she writes. “Josh Bell Jones…big family…all…there.” Then finishing, she says, “ookay,” and flips to the next page.
I shape cookies with my fingers, carefully spacing them out on the cookie sheet, thinking again, with some joy, that Josh and Riley’s wedding will be unlike any I’ve ever attended.
Wedding plans fill the latter chapters of the book of Revelation, as Christ describes the final celebration of His union with His people. “Look!” Calls the voice from the throne. “God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God.”
“What is your vision for the ceremony?” Riley reads, tapping her pen cap again against her lip.
“What’s your vision for the ceremony, Rilo?” Josh says softly, nudging her gently with his elbow. I love this, the way he always seems more interested in what she wants than in his own thoughts.
“Well,” Riley says slowly, “I’m not really sure.” I feel her looking at me, even though I am back to pressing tines into dough, inclined toward my own task.
“Why don’t I just tell you some things I’ve seen, and then you think about what you like?” I say, without looking up. I tell them about ceremonies with singing and readings, about handwritten vows and the traditional “repeat-after-me” kind, about unity candles and sand sculptures. I tell them that the important thing about ceremonies is what they mean now and what, as we remember, they will mean later. I tell them some people like long ceremonies, and that some people like to keep it short and sweet. When I fall silent, Riley picks up her pen.
“I think short…and sweet,” she says significantly, starting to write. She murmurs under her breath, like she’s exhaling the words, and I wonder if I’ve just chosen a figure of speech that she has, as she’s naturally inclined to do, interpreted literally. I remember a time when I told her she had a chip on her shoulder and she actually peered down, looking for the chip, explaining to me that she intended to eat it.
“Josh?” I say, turning to switch out the cookie pans.
“Oh, I’ll go with Rilo,” he says, again with a broad grin. “If she wants short and sweet, that sounds good to me.”
Riley puts down the pen, and thinking about our schedule, I ask them if they’d like to take a break from the planning and save the rest for another day.
“No. I don’t want a break,” Josh says, looking down at the journal. “What’s next, Rilo?”
They don’t even have a specific date yet, just a goal trunking up from the roots of other goals, but intentionality expresses itself in thoughtful plans that lead to deliberate steps, and this marriage is the place toward which they’ve always been walking. It makes me remember that God had his own wedding plans in place before the creation of the world.
Riley flips the page. “Um, let’s see. We’re on, ‘What is your vision for the reception?’” She pauses just a beat, pen poised. “Um, I think Chick-fil-a…chicken…sandwiches.” She is already writing. “…waffle fries—”
“—Well, if you’re doing Chick-fil-a, I’m thinking some McDonald’s too,” Josh says, leaning into her. “You know, at McDonald’s they have those fish sandwiches.”
“…and fish…sandwiches…from…McDonald’s…for…Josh…Bell…Jones.” Riley finishes. “Oh!” She raises the pen in the air. “And Coca-Cola.”
