Day 7: Praying Together

Prayer for Engaged Couples 

Father, in my heart love has come 

alive for a person you made, and 

who you too know and love.  I 

want to thank you for this gift.  It 

fills me with profound joy.  It 

makes me like you, who are love 

itself, and brings me to understand 

the value of the life you have given 

me.  Help me not to squander the 

riches you have stored in my heart.  

Teach me that love is a gift that 

must not be suffocated by 

selfishness; that love is pure and 

strong and must not be soiled or 

corrupted; that love is fruitful and 

should, beginning even now, open 

up a new life for myself and the 

person who has chosen me.   

Loving Father, I pray for this 

person who is here beside me, and 

who has placed in me complete 

trust for the future.  I pray for this 

person who will walk along the 

path of life with me; help us to be 

worthy of one another and to be an 

encouragement and example to one 

another.  Help us to prepare for 

marriage, for its grandeur and for 

its responsibilities, so that the love 

which fills us body and spirit may 

rule our lives forevermore.  Amen 

  

  

  

  

  

Love is Action

He tells me how much he loves me all the time.  But on days like these, I feel it more than ever.  Fever, sinus infection, pink eye in both my eyes, and he gets up early on a Saturday morning and brings me to urgent care.  He sits in the waiting room and puts up with the rants of strange men and terrible shows on TV and a long wait.  Then he brings me home and gets my prescription filled.  He makes trips to the store upon a whim of poor, sick me.  And he constantly asks what he can do.  As gross and unattractive and sick as I am, he loves me with his whole heart.  And even in my pain, I feel so blessed.

Day 5: Lone But Not Alone

Huddled under the covers, shaking with fear, pleading with God to fill the hole inside me and somehow lighten this dark burden.  For so long, that was how I existed.  Trapped inside my body, trapped in a world I didn't understand.  Now I still don't understand it, but I know I'm not supposed to.  I've surrendered the need to understand to someone far bigger than I am.  He'll take care of it for me.

My loneliness crippled me.  Wounds from the past immobilized me.  I wanted so badly to go out into the world, and yet found I was incapable of taking even one step beyond what my work day required of me, beyond what was necessary to pay the bills and feed the dog and keep a stocked refrigerator.  So much about the world was terrifying.  So much about the emptiness inside me terrified.

Then one day I took a trip to a place far in the country, one blinking streetlight, mellow cows, and tree lined paths.  It was a departure from my comfortable routine.  It was stepping out of the safe boundaries I had laid for myself.  Attend a three day silent retreat over a hundred miles from my home with perfect strangers?  It sounded crazy.  But I decided on almost a whim to give it a chance.  That decision changed my life.

For three days, I listened to God, got still and silent enough that I could really hear his voice.  Nothing interfering, no distractions, no demands.  I listened to the priest talk about Jesus, his birth, his life, his death, and how he is part of our lives every day.  I wrote a journal of my thoughts for the first time in years.  And I prayed.  Prayed and prayed and prayed as I walked through fields, rocked back and forth on the porch as dusk fell, stood beside live oaks stretching their own arms in praise, and peered down at the first blossoms of spring.

I came home changed.  I was still single.  I was one lone girl, but I wasn't alone.  I had known all along that I had family and friends who loved me, but when you spend night after night eating dinner alone, going to bed in an empty apartment, and struggling through each day without encountering one person who truly loves you---sure, there are well-intentioned, kind people at work, but none who love you profoundly for your true self---you wind up feeling so wretchedly alone that it's almost indescribable.  I grew up with catechism and Mass and a love for God.  But I don't think I really sensed his presence with me until I went on retreat.  After that, I knew God was with me even when I felt the most alone.

I started waking up happy.  For no reason at all, I was full of joy.  I realized that had never happened before.  I had always had to have a reason for happiness.  Now I felt a deep and abiding wholeness.  God was with me every day.  Jesus was walking beside me.

I kept praying that God would send me the man with whom I was meant to spend my life, that He would bless me with a loving husband and children.  But I also began to feel a peace about who I was. Just me and God, no frills attached.  My singleness stopped being a burden, was no longer a condition to list on a medical chart like asthma or high blood pressure.  It wasn't a curse.  God knew what He was doing with me.  And I would release myself to Him, let His love take shape in my heart and trust that He knew what He was doing.

Day 4: Hail Mary

During my struggle with my singleness, I spent a great deal of time reading books and articles on dating.  I bought books that promised to help you find "the one," books that advised you on the rules of first dates, books that promised to unveil the inner workings of the male psyche.  Then one day I woke up and realized the one person to whom I should turn for advice.  The person who should have been the most obvious confidante and consoler from the beginning.  Mary, the greatest wife and mother.

I began talking to Mary about my hopes and dreams and fears.  I know she heard me because my attitude toward my solitary state began to change.  Remembering that she was my mother, I felt much less alone.  Recalling the daunting nature of the task the angel put before her, I knew she could understand my fears.  Focusing on her relationship with Joseph and the anticipation she must have had before Jesus' birth, I knew she recognized the hope I carried in my heart.

In my journey to become a wife and mother, what better person to intercede on my behalf than Mary, wife of Joseph and mother of Jesus?

While on a three day silent retreat, I talked to Mary at great length every day.  I prayed the rosary, said the Angelus, and sometimes just conversed with her the way I would a dear friend.  Every morning, I would walk the path to see her, bring her a camellia, and visit with her.  And each evening, as twilight fell and the stars just started to peek through the velvet veil of sky, I would sit before her, find comfort in her presence, and return to my bed with the peace that came from her love and understanding.

Nothing and no one in all the time that I was single brought me more love, comfort, and peace than Mary.  And I am certain that as I make my way through life as a wife and, if so blessed, as a mother, Mary will always be beside me, will always know my heart.

The Angelus

The Angel of the Lord declared to Mary:
And she conceived of the Holy Spirit. 

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of
our death. Amen. 

Behold the handmaid of the Lord: Be it done unto me according to Thy word. 

Hail Mary . . . 

And the Word was made Flesh: And dwelt among us. 

Hail Mary . . . 

Pray for us, O Holy Mother of God, that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.

Let us pray: 

Pour forth, we beseech Thee, O Lord, Thy grace into our hearts; that we, to whom the incarnation of Christ, Thy Son, was made known by the message of an angel, may by His Passion and Cross be brought to the glory of His Resurrection, through the same Christ Our Lord.

Amen. 

Day 3: All Because Two People Fell in Love

I stood at the altar in a lavender dress, clutching a bouquet and watching my best friends.  I had been there to witness them meet, fall in love, and now marry.  I joked that if I hadn't been a bridesmaid I wouldn't have known which side to sit on, as I considered both the bride and groom two of the dearest friends in the world.

I had stood in weddings before, and I had observed more ceremonies than could be counted.  But I had never seen one like this.  Not where the love of the bride and groom was so palpable, where their eyes spoke forever and it seemed to be just the two of them up there at the front of the church.  In a room full of people---a church so packed that the upstairs gallery was full---their presence was all that mattered, they alone filled the space.  I knew their love to be true, the truest I had ever known, and I stood awestruck, tears in my eyes, incapable of looking away.

I knew I didn't have what they had.  Not by a long shot.

I spent the night dancing away with my boyfriend, a man I tolerated but didn't seem to like all that much.  I heard the jokes and the laughter, the "you're next," and "soon we'll be dancing at your wedding."  And it struck me hard then---this was true.  If I kept on this path, it would happen.  I would stand up there in front of everyone and cheapen what I had just witnessed by vows that could only be half truths.

It was as if he had just appeared in my life, and I hadn't wanted to experience the inconvenience of getting him out of it.  After a history of falling for bad guys, I promised myself I would keep a good guy around, no matter what.  No matter if I really loved him.  No matter if I cringed when he kissed me.  I was tired of being the girl who attended weddings alone.  I was weary of the grandparents' laments of my singleness.  When I began dating him, suddenly everyone was happy for me, seemed more comfortable with who I was---my status in life---and my value in others' eyes appeared heightened.  Not because I was any different.  Just because I was in a relationship.

I woke up the next morning, feet sore from the high heeled dancing, groggy from the mimosas I'd imbibed, but certain of what I had to do.  Two days later I broke up with him.  Though I felt bad hurting him, the moment it was done, I felt a flood of relief enveloping me.  I was happier than I had been in months.

Watching my best friends wedding ceremony, I took my own vows along with them.  I promised myself that it would have to be love.  Real love.  If it wasn't love, I wouldn't be with a man.  And if that meant I never found a man, that was the way it was going to have to be.  I ached to think that would also mean no children, trembled at the thought of a life all alone, winced at the pity of others---but I stuck to it.  God didn't want me living a lie.  He had better plans for me than that.

Years passed.  My mother would listen as I critiqued my latest date.  And if he was a good man, or even halfway okay, she would inevitably remind me that there might not be many more chances.  Why don't you like him?  He's a perfectly good man.  What is the matter with you?  A few times I tried to make myself feel something I couldn't.  But forcing myself never worked.  I always returned to the promise I had made myself, that I had made to God as well.

I watched as other girls married because it was the required next step in their relationship.  Because they were afraid to be alone.  Because they wanted children.  Because often a life with someone is easier than one alone.  (I said easier, not better.)  But I held fast to my decision.

And then, one month from my thirtieth birthday, he arrived.  He was better than anything I could have imagined or hoped for.  I had never hoped for so much.  Suddenly the waiting all made sense.  What some might have seen as my gamble, others the power of my convictions, paid off.  There was somebody for me out there.  I found him.  And I loved him.

Funny thing is, he was present for that wedding, too.  He was also a member of the wedding party.  He witnessed that undeniable love just as I did.  I like to think being present in that moment---together even though we were unaware of it---we took our first steps toward the great love we now share.

Day 2 :The Milk Crate

The first time we met we had already met.  We were at the same parties in college and never spoke.  We stood together in our best friends' weddings and took no notice of each other.  We attended grown-up birthday parties with married couples and babies and said nothing more than hello.  And then one night, seemingly like any other, our eyes were opened for the first time.  And it was as if the universe unleashed an immediate and mighty force.  Gravity was suspended and we were no longer drawn back down to the earth but to each other.

That evening I sensed something was coming.  I didn't know what, and I didn't trust my instincts because I'd been wrong about these things in the past.  I just had a strange premonition.  It was like when Tony sings "Something's Coming" in West Side Story.  Only without the subsequent knife fights.  I even stopped at Walgreens and purchased some kind of hair straightener-blow dryer combo.  My ineptitude at styling my hair knows no bounds, and cognizant of my shortcomings in cosmetology, I almost never exert the effort to turn these curls and waves into something orderly.  But for sme reason that evening I wanted to try.  I knew he was coming, but that wasn't unusual.  We shared best friends---a dear married couple we had been close to since college.  But oddly enough, I sensed something would be different with him this evening.

Recalling the years in which I had not only avoided men but almost run screaming from them, I realized I was leaving myself open to whatever might come.  I allowed for the possibility of a door opening up if God was so willing.  I had no reason to believe there was potential for any of this.  I had seen him numerous times over the years and neither of us had been interested in each other or even given each other a second glance.

The night of the National Championship game the city of New Orleans sparked like an electrical charge.  Even people wholly unconnected to the game were tightly wound, on edge, expectant.  We of course had quite a significant vested interest in the game.  We are LSU alums, continue to be rabid Tiger fans, and shared some of our best memories together in the midst of a sea of purple and gold bodies in Tiger Stadium.  We watched the game at one of the biggest and most well known sports bars in the area and IT.WAS.PACKED.  Arriving over an hour before kickoff, there were no chairs available.  My best friend, sister, and I made a trip back to my car where we collected a milk crate and ice chest I just happened to have in the trunk.  These would be our oh-so-glamorous seats for the evening.

We like to say it all began with a milk crate.

From the moment we sat down and I saw his face---that deep grin, his whole body radiating enthusiasm---I wanted to say something to him.  In the old days, I would never have said anything to him unless he spoke to me first.  And if I had been daring enough to speak to him, I would have waited so long that my nervousness would have soaked through my skin, my hands cold, and my voice stammering.  And whatever I might have said would have been lost in my own anxiety.

But not this time.  It was so casual I don't even remember what it was.  Yet it was enough.

My sister spotted the connection immediately.  She told me she thought this was someone I could be interested in.  I told her I'm sure if that was the case, our friends would have mentioned it to us by now.

But something strange happened that evening.  As our beloved Tigers grew worse and worse, somehow he grew closer and closer.  Eventually, inexplicably, he arrived on the milk crate.  And though we are two of the craziest LSU fans you'll ever find, suddenly the game mattered far less than the person sitting beside us.  A loss that would ordinarily have devastated us was taken in stride, indeed, hardly blinked at.  For the first time in years and the only time with this kind of pressing need, I wanted so badly for him to put his arms around me and kiss me.

The game ended.  With his car only feet away from the bar's entrance and in the opposite direction of ours, he insisted upon carrying the empty milk crate, a container I could have carried with ease, back to the car for me.  He would later tell me he just wanted a few more moments with me.

We both knew that night.  Instinctively.  It was as clear to us as the starts out that January night.

Later he would suggest that we should get together some time when there was less football related tragedy.  And then, unprompted and without a touch of fear, I gave him my phone number.  I NEVER give guys my number.  In fact, I'd spent a good part of the last 10 years trying to prevent men from obtaining valid means of contacting me.  But this was different, and I knew it.

He waited five days to call.  I had almost written him off.  He was scared of what I would say.  I never knew a guy to feel that way about me, and I had certainly never met a man so forthright that he would confess that to me.  I could be honest with him.  He was honest with me.  We could admit to each other that sometimes were were both ecstatic and afraid simultaneously.  It was the beginning of being able to share it all with him.

This account is basically of little value to anyone but me.  The details I cherish will be mundane to most people.  But there are certain elements of all this that go back to the "I do" mentality.  From the beginning, I sensed possibility.  That doesn't mean there are boundless opportunities around every corner.  But it doesn't mean there are NONE, either.  Be aware that this world holds good things, and they can happen to you at any moment.

I opened myself up, never an easy task, but one that is necessary if an emotional connection is to be made.  Saying "I do" to vulnerability doesn't have to mean leaving yourself defenseless, but it does mean you are willing to feel some insecurity and discomfort, stepping out of your comfort zone can be crucial to "I do."  Speaking first can mean the difference between an open door or a closed one.

Finding joy in the midst of loss---a humiliating loss at that---and coming together in a shared experience.  Taking a chance and ultimately overcoming fear.  Saying "I do" to letting a person into your life instead of letting fear control it.

Turns out our dear friends brought us together for a reason.  We had been blissfully unaware of their machinations.  We thought it had all been us.  Really it had the markings of God's hands all over it, inspiring them to bring us together, opening our hearts and minds.  They could never have dreamt at the time that just two and a half months later, he would ask me to be his wife.

For other 31 day series, go to The Nester.

Day 1: The Journey to I Do

On November 10, 2012, I will say "I do" to a man whom I love more than I ever thought possible.  "I do" to sickness and health.  To be true in good times and bad.  To love and honor him all the days of my life.  It's a mighty promise, and even as I contemplate those words with an unshakeable confidence and certainty, I am also in awe of the magnitude, the epic scope of such a  vow.  The course of my whole life.  The greatest thing I could ever offer another human being.

Thousands of people do it every day.  They say "I do" at their weddings and then spend the rest of the marriages with it absent.  I do.  So active, so present, far more adamant than "I will."  They say it once, forgetting that their "I do" began long before they stood together at the altar.  And in losing the memory of the first "I do," the origin of all their love, they neglect to carry it with them.

You don't just say "I do" once.  It doesn't just happen on the day of your wedding.  Whether or not you were aware of it, you were saying "I do" even before you met each other.  And you should wake up saying it to yourself and each other every day for the rest of your lives.

It's hard to exactly pinpoint when my life became more about "I do" than anything else.  "I do" is a simple, straightforward phrase.  It is active not passive.  It is present tense.  For a while, especially in the very deepest times of my struggles, life for me was "I want" on most days, "I can't" on the hardest ones, "I did" when I felt I'd already done enough to earn it, "I was" when both the failures of the past overcame me, and "I am" on those days when all I wanted to do was lie in bed and be enveloped by the grace of sleep.  On the best of days---the most hopeful ones---I mustered an "I will."

It took me quite a long time to arrive at "I do."  But when I got there, suddenly I had a choice.  It had been there all along; I just was blind to it in my perpetual over-complification of things.  "I do" contained power.  It involved activity, motion, determination, and the here and now.  Certainly my friends and family helped me on the path to an "I do" way of life.  But the biggest contributing factor on the way to "I do" was a faith that had intensified until it became the most important element of my life.  My life was my faith.

God had always been part of my life.  But things changed when I realized that God did not need me to perform for him, life wasn't an achievement test, and the things I'd been trying to force and the demands I was making of myself, the people around me, and God needed to be released.  Trust.  Love.  Suddenly those abstract concepts took on real meaning, and the fear that had crippled me for most of my life began to ebb.

For the next 31 days, I will chronicle my journey to I do.  Every day in the month of OCtober, I will write until we arrive in November, the month I will finally be a bride.  I will remember it all.  My struggles and doubts---"where is he?  I guess this is supposed to happen for everyone but me"---the joy of falling in love, and the amazing preparation for not just my wedding but the even better, bigger part of all this---a marriage that will last a life time.

The miracle of "I do" is that it wasn't me doing anything at all.  It was God bringing together two people He had intended to unite all along.  And through His love, we found our own.

Please stop on over at The Nester to see the other wonderful writers and their 31 day journeys.