When Hubs and I got engaged in February of 2002. We set a date for September of 2002– a short engagement, some might say, but we had already been shacking up for almost a year and we knew we didn’t need a big lavish wedding. In truth, I tried to convince Hubs to elope with me and spend the money on a living room set, instead. (I know. I am such a romantic.) But Hubs wanted the whole deal, the princess wedding, the family, and the reception. So, we set about making that happen.

We didn’t have much money, and neither of us had family sitting around with a cool $15,000 for a wedding. We had some help, which we were grateful for, but we mainly paid for it ourselves. This was fine– we were older (31 and 27), and we were used to fending for ourselves. In fact, the things we were most passionate about for our wedding were free– the music, the words, and the atmosphere itself.

Oh, how we bickered. At the time, Hubs was in two different choirs, and he wanted each of them to sing. He wanted to sing as well. We had 20 poems, quotes, and antecdotes between us that we wanted read aloud. And then there was the little matter of the actual vows themselves. Hubs has always been deeply religious– grandson of a baptist minister and all– but I’m not. Never was. My parents didn’t really make that a big deal growing up, and though we visited churches from time to time, it wasn’t really a part of my life.

When it came time to choose a prayer, I didn’t know many. Okay, I knew two. The Lord’s Prayer, and the Prayer of St. Francis. I knew the former from my scant church days, and the latter from a Sarah McLachlan song. We quickly agreed on the Prayer of St. Francis, after I played the song for Hubs. He had heard the prayer before, of course, but couldn’t necessarily place from where. It said perfectly what we wanted to say about how we wanted to live our married lives, and how we felt that people should interact in the world. Today, it is still one of my favorite parts of the service– it was sung by one of the choirs that Hubs belonged to, and even though it wasn’t quite Sarah McLachlan, it was pretty darn sweet.

The Prayer of St. Francis

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen

Good stuff, eh?

One day, not long after the final song had been decided on, but before the Wedding Program Debacle of 2002 (we almost cancelled the whole damn thing over that one,) we were looking through some of Hubs’ mom’s effects. (She died in October of 2001.) Nancy didn’t have anything particularly nice– Hubs’ parents were dirt poor, and Nancy never really cared much about diamonds and such. There were some handmade pieces from when they lived on a reservation in New Mexico, and a few pieces from her childhood. Some pins. Items that were relegated to Hubs in a ziploc bag when the family hastily sorted through her things.

Inside the bag was a gold band that fit me perfectly. It matched my shining new engagement ring like it had been made to go with it. It was not her wedding ring– she was laid to rest with that– but it was hers, nevertheless.

Today, it is my wedding ring.

Also in that bag was a prayer card that she carried in her wallet every day of her adult life.

And on that prayer card was the Prayer of St. Francis.

It was like she was speaking to us from the other side, really. Even though we could not have her with us physically on that day, or during that process (and from what I understand we probably would have killed each other at some point) she was there. There have been several times in my married life where I have felt her presence– even her push. I am grateful for it, and I try to act as though I do have a mother-in-law. I try to imagine, at times, whether she would be angry at the way I have treated her son. (And sometimes I imagine her smacking him on the head for the way he treats me at times!) I try to honor her through my marriage. Even though I barely knew her.

Our world is akimbo all around us– the external world with its uncertainty, and also the world inside our happy home. My religion has not grown– I am still as befuddled and confused as I ever was. But I would do well to remember the Prayer of St. Francis nonetheless.