Seven years ago yesterday, my wedding dress didn’t fit.
The ceremony was scheduled for 10 o’clock in the morning, and when I tried to zip into my classic, simple sleeveless gown around 9, it fell right off.
I’d had my period the day of my final fitting and lost another two pounds in between then and the big day.
My in-laws also got lost.
Ken and I got married in my small hometown of Rindge, New Hampshire and my soon-to-be mother and father in-law were following a GPS (programmed with the wrong address) from their hotel (two towns over) to the ceremony and reception site.
My mother in-law barely had enough time to get her hair done.
But, my aunt sewed me into my dress on site, and my sister in-law had her Mom’s hair done-and-done in no time.
None of this mattered.
Even half-naked in the women’s room, 20-minutes before I was to meet Ken in the middle of the aisle, pinching the insides of my dress to make it work, I KNEW I was where I was intended to be.
Everything felt good. On path and on purpose. My body, my mind, and my soul were all in union, and the peace, and love and joy flowed with ease and abundance – regardless.
I didn’t know what would happen.
I didn’t know that we’d both come down with H1N1 two days latter and spend our honeymoon being still on the beach – or hunched over separate toilets. I didn’t know we’d lose our first pregnancy, or that our son would spend the first 61 days of his life in intensive care. I didn’t know how hard those conversations would be years later, on our couch, trying to figure out why the hell we felt so separate and exhausted.
I just knew that I was where I was intended to be. And that knowing was enough to safely walk into the murky unknown.
Somehow, in my marriage and in our family of three, what I’ve never known has never been worth more than what I do know.
And remembering that brings me back to the knowing.
I DO know what I want. Which way to go. Where I want to be. I just need to keep finding the courage to listen. Really listen. And let love lead.