I’m good at weddings. I’ve worked the bridal business for a few years. I’ve been a personal attendant quite a few times (officially and unofficially). I’m an all-around gofer, seamstress, steamer, decorator, snack-maker, boutonnière pinner, dress-fluffer, tabs on the flower-girl keeper, ring-bearer entertainer, lip-gloss carrier, present deliverer, reception cleaner, and bridal sanity maintainer. When the people I love decide to join their lives with someone else, I like to show up and help make it happen. It brings me so much joy to watch a day unfold that has been so-long anticipated and longed for, cried over on couches, and fought out with God.
But I have to confess, that when the cake is all eaten, or the leftovers pawned out on hapless souls leaving the reception, the chairs are folded, and my feet ache from dancing, I crawl into my car and give in to shedding a few a tears.
You see the hardest thing about being single is not being single. It’s watching friends who were single move on to this place that you are not ready to follow. There’s a bit of grieving that happens in the process.
Some of my friends are good at making friendship important after marriage. Some of them kinda disappear. But either way, things shift. And they’re supposed to. It’s a good thing, but it’s hard. I have to re-remind myself of what I know is true, that I’m content, that I don’t really want my life to be different, that the lines God has drawn for me are good. And they are. In the midst of shedding my few tears, in the midst of my heart’s voiced honesty, I remember. I resolve to cling to that remembrance—and to gratitude.