Tag Archives: memories

He beat her to the altar

Somehow, years ago, my sister Erica and my cousin Steve engaged in an epic race to the altar.

At the time, neither one was in a relationship. A race seemed like the right thing to do. Bets were made, gauntlets were thrown down, and firm handshakes were given left and right.

The very dinner over which the race was declared (summer 2008)

I am here to declare: he won. As fate would have it, their weddings are only 28 days apart—it was a close one, folks. But as it stands, with the “I do’s” that were repeated on Saturday June 26th, Steve triumphed. I just wish I could remember who owes who what. Was there money involved? And more importantly, is that money somehow owed to me? Based on a glaring hole in the historical record, we may never know.

After a careful and scientific research of their childhoods, I can say that he was bound to win. Just look at him:

Steve smiles triumphantly in the middle. Erica, to the right, has a clear sense of her future demise.

Erica, to the left, may think she's ahead--but here comes Steve. His style can only be called "barreling forward".

Let’s do a short interview with each contestant:

………………………………………………….

 

ERICA

“How do you feel about your loss of the unforgettable ‘race to the altar’?”

Erica: Since I won the race to the earth by 5 weeks, that trumps the race to the altar . . . but if Steve feels like he’s won, I’ll let him believe that. The fact is that entering the world is a way bigger deal than getting married because you can’t actually get married unless you exist.

“How would you encourage other ‘race to the altar’ contestants who have lost to cope with their failure?”

Erica: Failure, failure. . . what is failure . . . I wouldn’t count this race as “failure” per se. What would happen if you blended orange juice and a banana?

“Let’s stay on topic—you just lost a bet—how do you not see that as failure?”

Erica: Domination is done by Team Us, team Dave and Erica—and Steve and Steph have alliterated names, which is lame. I would call that losing. So in the end, Steve and Steph get kind of a consolation prize by getting married today. I pity them.

“Erica, those sound like fighting words.”

Erica: They are fighting words.

Dad: Stephanie’s Dad is a wrestling coach. . .

Erica: Well I’m not going to wrestle her dad. I’d like to point out that Dave is also an army ranger, and rangers lead the way. That’s their motto.

My husband: Don’t you think historians lead the way though?

“So give us a little preview of the drama to come—do you have any plans that include scheming, conning, sabotage, or dueling?”

Erica: Oh, well, our children are part of that plan—we’re going to have ninja ranger rock-throwing babies. Our gang of children will beat Steve and Steph’s offspring into oblivion. And not just physically—also intellectually. They will beat them in wealth, beauty, smarts, and strength. Their names will be: Ranger #1, Ranger #2, Ranger #3 and so forth. Steve and Steph, be afraid. It’s all part of the master plan.

Erica puts up her dukes

……………………………………………………

STEVE

“How do you feel about your recent Race to the Altar victory?”

Steve: Haha! Completely not the first thing on my mind . . . but it does add to the excitement. You know, now that you mention it, it feels good.

“How do you plan on interacting with Erica as the loser in this contest?”

Steve: Rub it in a little. I mean, I’ll be gracious–but I’ll always have the upper hand.

“What advice would you give to young things out there who are also contemplating engaging in such a Race?”

Steve: Mmmmmmm. . . win. And enjoy it, that’s the big thing. It happens once. Winning adds, but losing wouldn’t take away.

“Erica has said some Fighting Words about her gang of kids beating up your gang of kids; your response.”

Steve: Bring it. Bring it. Do you know what my kids are going to be named? Hunter, Gunner, Shooter, and Ace.

“Thanks Erica and Steve for fielding my questions. It’s all about good journalism on topics that are of general interest to the American public.”

………………………………………………

Well everyone, stay tuned for the ongoing drama—something tells me we haven’t seen the last of these ambitious racers! We’ll do follow up interviews in 10 years, once both couples have had the time to produce their own private gang of ruffian children. Who will win? Who will lose? And the burning question on all our minds–whose children will be the first to make it to Mars in a home-made space shuttle and colonize what some know as “The Red Planet”? We’ll be back after a brief decade.

In the meantime, enjoy these shots of Steve and Steph’s wedding:


Erica and Steve put aside their differences

Our wedding and the Whore of Babylon

You may not have known this, but it’s Embarrassing Story Monday today! Aren’t you excited? On the menu today: a classic tale of love, embarrassment, revenge, and a dueling death.  Minus the revenge and dueling death parts.

Overall, our wedding—almost 5 years ago!—went smoothly. It was cheap, which was a plus since we had no money at the time, and a ton of people came together to help out and make it happen—bless your hearts fruit-chopping, church-cleaning members of Eagle Creek!

My husband and I didn’t care enough about the details to really supervise anything— we were just interested in the soon-to-be-had marital freedoms. Of the bedroom persuasion. Just kidding! Or not. Hey, it had been a long courtship, OK? And hormones were raging. Raging, I tell you.

The 70's effect, via many Photoshop maneuvers.

Here we are, looking quite calm—but raging inside.

Anyway, to this day I’m surprised it all actually happened. I don’t remember organizing half the things that went down. I was 22 (21 during most of the planning) and just couldn’t bring myself to care about flowers, or colors, or logistics, or my hairdressing arrangements (hence the “plastered hair” look), or really anything except tying the actual knot. This lack of focus on my part led to an interesting situation during the ceremony.

We had 4 Scripture readings, 1 for each of my current roommates.  For your edification and to set the record straight for posterity, here is the reading from Hosea that was supposed to happen. It’s not your typical wedding reading, but to this day those last couple verses give me the chills (Hosea 2:14-23):

Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she will sing as in the days of her youth, as in the day she came up out of Egypt.

“In that day,” declares the LORD, “you will call me ‘my husband’; you will no longer call me ‘my master. ‘ I will remove the names of the Baals from her lips; no longer will their names be invoked. In that day I will make a covenant for them with the beasts of the field and the birds of the air and the creatures that move along the ground. Bow and sword and battle I will abolish from the land, so that all may lie down in safety.

I will betroth you to me forever; I will betroth you in righteousness and justice, in love and compassion. I will betroth you in faithfulness, and you will acknowledge the LORD.

“In that day I will respond,” declares the LORD—”I will respond to the skies, and they will respond to the earth; and the earth will respond to the grain, the new wine and oil, and they will respond to Jezreel.

I will plant her for myself in the land; I will show my love to the one I called ‘Not my loved one. ‘ I will say to those called ‘Not my people,’ ‘You are my people’; and they will say, ‘You are my God.’

We thought it was beautiful because it shows that marriage is a reflection of God’s relationship with his people—God wants to be a “husband” instead of a “master”, and gives them a place of peace and safety where they are reconciled to him perfectly, and where they sing for joy. Aaaaah.

Alackaday, there was a hefty miscommunication about the stopping point in the above passage—and yes, I take full responsibility since my mind was occupied by “other things”. My roommate—bless her heart—sailed right past the end of chapter 2, diving headlong and with no regrets into the following:

The LORD said to me, “Go, show your love to your wife again, though she is loved by another and is an adulteress. Love her as the LORD loves the Israelites, though they turn to other gods and love the sacred raisin cakes.” So I bought her for fifteen shekels of silver and about a homer and a lethek of barley. Then I told her, “You are to live with me many days; you must not be a prostitute or be intimate with any man, and I will live with you.” For the Israelites will live many days without king or prince, without sacrifice or sacred stones, without ephod or idol. Afterward the Israelites will return and seek the LORD their God and David their king. They will come trembling to the LORD and to his blessings in the last days.

My extended family cackled in the pews. My raucous male cousins cackled in the pews.

My brain started overheating. The flush that comes when a woman is called “prostitute” to her face spread across me like the Red Sea. I briefly considered wrenching the microphone from my uncle (our pastor) and sobbing “I swear I’m not a prostitute! I’ve remained pure for my wedding day despite the raging hormones! Anyway, how can I be an adulteress if I’m not even married, guys! Come on, I don’t even like the sacred raisin cakes!” Plus, I wanted to ask if anyone in attendance knew what a homer or lethek of barley was, and where one could obtain such a thing in modern times.

I like to remember the ordeal as the “whore of Babylon incident”. And so does my extended family.

I’ve finally gotten to the point where I can laugh uproariously crack a smile at this memory. Aren’t you glad I’m making progress? I have a special drawer just for my therapy bills.

On a side note, those raisin cakes must have been something all right.

Happy Monday, one and all!