It was a week before Christmas, twenty years ago today, that my daddy walked me down the aisle. He gave me to my handsome groom and sat down beside my mother to watch the wedding unfold. I wore a white velvet gown–a perfect dress for a winter wedding–my Aunt Karen had, hand-sewn a row of tiny sequins around the train to give it just a little bling. I didn’t want a bunch of fluff and lace–I preferred a simple, elegant gown. I carried a bouquet of burgundy, purple, and white dried flowers, ribbons of lace twined within. My groom was dressed in a black tux, a burgundy bountonniere festooned his lapel.
The sanctuary had been made ready to celebrate our Savior’s birth. Bright red poinsettias–too many to count– lined the altar. Evergreens, ribbons of red, wreaths hung on either side of the cross, lighted Christmas trees, and a Nativity just behind where we would say I do.
The bridesmaids–my little sister (maid of honor), the grooms sister, and a friend–dressed in burgundy and carrying bouquets miniatures of mine. The groomsmen dressed in black tuxes–my brother, grooms brother, and the grooms five-year old nephew (ring barer). It was a family affair.
We had a small quaint wedding–only family and a few friend–about forty guest total. The only mishap was when my shoe fell off–three different times–as I made my way back down the aisle with my new husband. My brand new brother-in-law finally just picked up my shoe and carried it as I limped out of the sanctuary.
Congratulations…rice…dinner… cake…presents…well wishes and good-byes as we set off as Mr. and Mrs.
Count blessings, Kasey