My Sanctuary Moment.

In light of finishing my twenty-eighth year of life, I want to share one of my sanctuary moments [a term from Ann Voskamp used to describe a moment in which you seek “the fullest life that births out of the darkest emptiness” — sanctuary moment] from this year with you.

Four days before I married Jeff my mom took me to pick up my wedding dress from the seamstress. I tried it on and didn’t like it. I didn’t feel like I was “supposed” to feel when I put on my wedding dress. I didn’t feel pretty or fabulous. I didn’t feel excited for a couple hundred of people to see me in it [the perfect dress]. But we had a busy day of pre-wedding tasks, so my mom graciously listened to me and hugged me and then we went on with our day.

By the time Jeff and I reconvened later that evening [after a day of running errands] we were both exhausted and carrying heavy hearts. It was clear that we needed to step away from the details and just enjoy each other [the whole reason for all these details anyway]. We decided to drive down to the river and go for a walk. A storm was rolling in, but per our usual, we opted to risk getting wet.

We strolled across the big Purple People Bridge and we found ourselves sitting on a metal swing bench overlooking the Ohio River. We started asking questions that we had asked ourselves and each other a million times before:

What if I’m not good enough for you?
What if you learn something new about me and you do not like it?
What happens when I fail you? [because I will.]
What if my weaknesses are too much for you?
Are we ready for this [marriage]?
Will we ever be ready for this?

As we freely asked these questions,
we sat together with our inadequacies.
We sat together with the discomfort of knowing that we will never satisfy all the needs of our partner in marriage.
We sat together with the regret from past decisions and
the agony from past experiences.
We sat together with the fear of the future and
the statistics of failed marriages.
We sat together with the grief of future sacrifices.
We sat together overlooking the murky Ohio River.
And we sat together in this dark emptiness.

And then the storm emerged.  We watched lightning strike across the river. The light pierced through the dark sky. We heard the thunder crack [and the fireworks boom from the Cincinnati Reds game]. The sounds rumbled deeply and sent a chill down my back. The lightning persisted as it penetrated through the darkness and flashed on the surface of the water. The murky water shimmered. And the storm was beautiful, majestic even. We paused, silently noticing the fullness of this moment and how alive we were.

And then we laughed at the irony of sitting on a metal bench during a lightning storm. And we laughed that our retreat [our refuge, our sanctuary] from detail-planning came from a turbulent storm. We laughed until our bellies ached.

And then we confirmed that
indeed we will fail each other and
indeed we are bringing baggage into each other’s lives.

We also confirmed that there is no one else whom we would like to do life with or whose baggage we want to help carry.  We agreed that if we wait for the day we are perfectly ready for marriage or the day I feel perfect in a long white dress, we would always be waiting.

Ahh, sweet sanctuary, here you are!
A burst of light across the dark river.
A much-needed moment of peace amidst the whirlwind in the sky //thunder. lightning. rain.
and the whirlwind in the details //seating arrangements. flower placements. guest book.

Ahh, sweet sanctuary —
A haven for rest.
A place to sit with the hard questions.
Calmness in the awkward, liminal space.
Safety in knowing that my future husband and I are both wildly scared and excited for this next adventure.
Peace in imperfection.

And I give thanks for this sanctuary moment. I give thanks to my God for the seemingly infinitesimal thing // the shimmer of light [life] on the murky water.

And then we ran together.  We ran back across the big Purple People Bridge, to the shelter of our car.  We were ready for a different kind of refuge.

[And in case you are wondering about my dress — it ended up being the perfect one for twirling in a garden with the people whom I love most.]