Our Two Weddings

Many years ago, on a wet Friday afternoon, I waited with several other white-dressed brides in the foyer of a registry office, for the moment when a few words and a legal document would change my name and life forever.

At 3 o’clock, I entered the Blue Room with my sister bridesmaids and took my place by the side of my groom. Andy and I looked at each other and smiled. This was it: our wedding day. After repeating the required words, a round of applause echoed around the crowded small room. We were now husband and wife.

Andy and I were happy. We had each other; we thought we had everything. But in the quiet moments, I wondered if something was missing in our lives. My heart was full, but my soul was restless.

Our daughter Felicity was born. And less than a year and a half after her birth, Duncan joined our family. And those restless feelings increased. What were we missing?

One day, the word baptism appeared in my mind. I tried to ignore it, banish it, but it wouldn’t leave me alone. It nagged and nagged at me until I finally said to Andy, “If we were to have our children baptised, what church would you choose?” Without hesitating, he said, “The Catholic Church.”

I was suspicious of the Church. Surely it rules people’s lives? It’s out to control everyone. It makes life difficult and not much fun. Did I really want to tie our children to such an institution? Eventually, I decided that it wouldn’t hurt to do some research. Maybe if I found out the facts and had my fears confirmed, the word baptism would leave me alone.

After making a phone call, I ended up at our local parish presbytery. The front door swung open, and I was welcomed in by a gently smiling Irish-accented priest. He waved me down the narrow hall towards his study, shuffling slowly after me.

I immediately made it clear that I was only there to ask a few questions about baptism. The Church wouldn’t necessarily get my kids. The priest’s gentle smile remained in place as he selected an orange bound book from his shelf. Perhaps I’d like to read it? If I had any questions, he’d be happy to answer them.

Before I knew it, I was skipping back to my car, clutching the book, grinning. I’d spoken to a priest, and I’d survived. How daring. And now I had what I needed: a book about the Catholic faith.

That evening, I read the orange book, from cover to cover, and Love spoke to my heart. God showed me what was missing from our life.

I returned to the priest: when could he baptise our children? Soon.

After the baptism, I had a second question: when could I become a Catholic too?

And then I realised that if I was entering the Church, we’d need to arrange our Church wedding.

One Saturday morning, a few months later, I put on my favourite green floral dress. I was ready, and so was my love. We drove to the church with our two young children for the early Mass.

Before the Liturgy of the Eucharist, the priest invited us to come forward. A few miraculous words later, and the door to the Church flew open. With my heart beating fast, I passed through it.

Then I married my Catholic-born husband for the second time. We were joined, not only by love but by Love as well. The regular Saturday morning parishioners were delighted to find themselves unexpectedly at our wedding. Everyone smiled and clapped loudly. They showered us with congratulations. A woman with tears in her eyes hugged me tightly.

When we got home from the church, Andy sizzled bacon and eggs in a pan, while I heated oversized muffins in the oven. We brewed coffee and poured orange juice. Then we carried our breakfast feast out into the garden where we soaked up the glorious autumn sunshine and the joy of the day.

While we ate, I thought about how God had whispered a single word into my ear, baptism, and how unimaginable things had then happened.

Two lives became forever one when one wedding became two, and  we were now beginning our life anew.

Photo by Wedding Photography on Unsplash