Exactly one year ago today, Ty and I touched our feet back onto American soil ending what had truly been the adventure of a lifetime. We'd just spent one month in Costa Rica, and the five months before that in Europe, mostly in the Czech Republic. We weren't quite sure how those travels would affect us, we only knew that they had.
I didn't know that every time I saw a girl with bushy, curly blond hair I would think of how every time I met up with my friend Susan I would look for her hair in hopes of finding her. I didn't know that every time I had a free period, I would wish that I could ask my friend, Lasma, to get some coffee from the local vending machine and pass the hour with me. The fact that I would feel more out of place in a Walmart than I ever did in a small local market was another surprise. Or maybe the fact that I missed so much the conversation I shared with people of other nationalities, where smiles and hand gestures had to make up where lack of language rendered spoken communication ineffective. I didn't know that from time to time I would get a far-off look in my eyes, a wistful smile on my lips, and think back of all the mishaps, inside jokes, and beautiful countryside that I had enjoyed so much.
Other times, like now, I look at my life, and I know I've reached a crossroads; a path that once I go down it, there will be no turning around. A time will come to pass where I will no longer be able to go out on the town on a whim, or traipse across a continent with the guise of education. By entering certain doors, I have knowingly (and unknowingly) permanently closed other doors.
Each life change has come with expectations.
Exactly two years ago today, Ty and I touched our feet onto a grassy pasture north of Wallace, Kansas. He wore a black suit and a smile. I wore a white dress and a veil. Our friends and families sat in borrowed folding chairs as Mr. Rick Dewees joined us in the holy sacrament of marriage.
The day had been ours. On August 3rd, everyone had been preparing for what was sure to be another 100+ degree day. Our guests were dressed in light sun dresses and other summer formal wear. Instead, a light gray cloud drifted over the prairie occluding the hot summer sun. A light mist fell from the heavens cooling the air, and a light breeze blew. The ceremony was short, sweet, and heartfelt. One of my friends, Clint, took a few pictures of the wedding party while my aunts, uncles, parents, and brothers loaded up the chairs.
As we pulled out of the pasture, the only sign that people had touched the earth was the small patch of mowed grass. Before we cleared the gate, fat raindrops fell from the sky. I looked over at Ty, and I can't even remember what I felt. The day that we (okay, I) worked so hard to plan was halfway over.
Soon enough we had arrived at the Township Hall, an unassuming building in the midst of Sharon Springs. The town was quiet excluding the heavy thrumming of raindrops. We ran into the building while the mist flattened the hair Clint had worked so hard to shape into the perfect up-do. A man I knew to be our DJ approached me, and the ball got rolling.
Ty and I shared our first (clumsy) dance as man and wife.
My dad and I danced to "My Little Girl" by Tim McGraw.
And while Ty was dancing with his mother, my dad sat by me and cried. Tears rolled down his face just as thick and sure as they were falling outside. I can't remember exactly what he said, but I remember feeling... different. This man who taught me to be tough. Taught me to get back on the horse even if I was scared to death of falling again. Who could build fence, braid a rope, tend to a calf, stand up for himself, was crying.
I don't think I'll come close to understanding until--God willing--I have a child of my own that I have to give away, and maybe not even then. But, now, I think I'm closer to understanding than I was before.
Genesis 2:24 says, "...a man shall leave his father and his mother, and be joined to his wife; and they shall become one flesh."
Maybe, he was crying because he was saying goodbye.
And even though I didn't know it at the time, I was saying goodbye too. I was saying goodbye to who I had been for the last nineteen years. I was saying goodbye to the ability to be selfish. I was saying goodbye to privacy. I was saying goodbye to being courted by men. I was saying goodbye to being me.
Ty's and my wedding was just that, a wedding, and as my aunt, Cindy, says, "We believe in marriages in this family, not weddings." So even though August 3rd marks this great day where I said goodbye to myself, my old self, and said hello to the new me that was born of one flesh with my new husband, Ty, it isn't significant in the grand scheme of life. What is significant are the last two years... 730 days of Ty and me being married, learning together, growing (even if that meant growing pains), and learning each day what the sacrament of marriage is all about.
It has been different than I ever could have imagined it. Harder than the imaginings of a 19 year old girl. But, I hope in the years to come, Ty and I can learn, struggle, hope, and love even more than I ever could have imagined.
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