There are very few things in this world that are perfect. But many people strive for perfection. I don’t . Nobody is perfect and anyone who tells you they are is lying to themselves and trying to make you believe the lie.
Many of you may not agree with me on this, but God is perfect. He is perfection. Sorry to say my friends, but you are not perfect and nothing we ever do will be perfect. Let me tell you a story:
My husband and I have known each other for seventeen years. He is my buddy. When we began to plan our wedding, I just knew I wanted to do as little as possible. An away wedding was my answer and it was perfect. But alas, his grandparents couldn’t travel so we decided to get married here in his family church.
Cut to wedding day: I was the first person to have my make-up done by the make-up artist. She said it was unusual that the bride was first. My response, “Those chicks are running around like their heads are cut off and I’m just chilling, waiting for the day to be over so I can take a nice, long nap. Not too much make-up.” Things are perfect.
Cut to the church: My bridesmaids have gone in to the church before me as the singer sings India Ari’s ‘I am Ready for Love.’ I’m in the huge SUV we rented, waiting for the wedding planner (my husband’s aunt) to give me the cue to get out of said vehicle. “Umm, mom, my foot is caught on this puffy dress.” My mother grabs part of the huge dress and auntie tells her she’s got it.
“Umm, auntie, my foot is still caught.” It’s okay, she says. You’re just nervous, she tells me. “Umm, nope, not nervous. Just caught.”
“Just step down!”
So, I step down. And then I begin to fall. Into the gutter. In my puffy, white, beautiful wedding dress. On my hands and knees. In the gutter.
“Jesus Christ,” I yell, “I said I was caught!”
I can hear people all around gasp, “The bride has fallen! The bride has fallen!”
I jump up quickly like I just did a freakin’ magic trick and by the grace of God, there is not one stain on me. Remember, I fell into the gutter in downtown Baltimore.
Grace of God here people.
But cool. I get up, get poofed out again and take my mother’s hand. She’s the one who walked me down the isle. As soon as we step foot into the church, the singer sings the last note and we walk down the church isle in complete silence.
I’m cool with this. I just fell in my WEDDING DRESS! Nothing can be worse than that!
Cut to alter: the unity candles won’t stand up and my niece almost passes out.
Cut to the walk from the church: my niece threatens to spit on my dress because it’s a Greek tradition. I threaten to punch in the face as hard as I possibly could. She argues she wants us to have a long, happy marriage and that she needs to spit on my dress. I tell her she’s cruising for a bruising.
Cut to the reception: the DJ manages to mispronounce our names. My name is Roslyn. My husband’s name is Albert. Seriously?
Cut to sometime during the reception: my three month old god-daughter throws up my dress. MY WEDDING DRESS.
Cut to the end of the wedding: my husband and I go home and sleep like we’ve been drugged.
Why did I tell you this? I don’t know. Thought you should know.