Tuesday, September 21, 2010

without spot or wrinkle or any such thing

I sat in the high-backed wooden chair, facing the vanity with its huge oval mirror. The pale pink walls behind the vanity complemented the pink orchids in every bridesmaid's hair. And the white paint of the frame of the mirror itself matched perfectly the miles of fabric that made my wedding dress. It was too beautiful to capture in a picture, though the photographer was trying. It was too beautiful to write down in words. It was too beautiful to be true.
"Now we will begin makeup," the maid of honor told me, opening up the case of eyeshadows, foundations, and endless shades of blush. She pulled a bright red lipstick out of her bag and opened it, carefully twisting the bottom until the color was visible. "Just... hold... still..." she said...
A smudge. A bright red smudge across the front of my wedding dress. The maid of honor gasped. "I am so sorry!" she exclaimed, searching for something to try to clean up the mess. We blotted the lipstick until it was almost invisible. "Oh, and we can pin one of these ruffles over half of it," she said. "Under the bright lights, it will be almost invisible."

...

Out came the champagne. "To the bride and groom, on this wonderful day. And to settle your nerves, on this hour of hours," one of the bridesmaids said, lifting her glass in a toast. "To the bride!" the other bridesmaids said, and they clinked their glasses together...
A stain. A crimson stain down the side of my wedding dress. The bridesmaid gasped. "I am so sorry!" she exclaimed, searching for something to try to clean up the mess. We could not blot the champagne as it spread out through the threads of the fabric. "Well, it's near the bottom," she said. "And you look so beautiful, no one will notice."

...

In the hallway outside the sanctuary, waiting anxiously for that well-known music. The bridal party began the procession, one by one, down the aisle as I stood a good 10 yards from the door, being sure not to be seen until the critical moment.
"Excuse me, coming through!" a voice said close behind me - too close. I whirled around to see who it was but it was too late - a small, dark-haired man, vision blocked by the stack of bowls heaping with soup for the reception, was pushing his cart too fast to stop...
Ruined. Absolutely ruined. The once white dress was covered with orangey broth, mushy carrots and a few whole-grain noodles. "Oh, I am so sorry!" the caterer exclaimed, but there was nothing he could do. Everyone would notice.
The music was beginning to play, but I could not face it. I wanted to sink to the floor, bury my head in my hands, and cry. My beautiful dress, once spotless and white, was damaged beyond repair, was stained, was ugly. And I could not fix it.
And then, just as I was about to burst into tears, I heard my father's voice from the door. "Honey?" he whispered. "Come on. He's waiting for you."
I looked up. "I can't, Dad," I sniffed. "Don't you see this? Can't you see what's happened? I can't go out there like this. I can't." But my father insisted that I get up from the floor. He slipped his arm through mine and led me to the door.
I will never forget what I saw when we entered the sanctuary.
It was the face of my beloved, lit up with love and pride. His eyes didn't glance once over the soaking, stained dress, or my limp, sopping curls. They seemed to see through all that. They were focused only on me - me! - a treasure and a prize, and the joy that came over his face was indescribable. It was too beautiful to capture in a picture, though the photographer was trying. It was too beautiful to write down in words.

It was too beautiful to be true.

Ephesians 5:25-27

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