Written by: Mike Donehey
Written on: Monday, May 19, 2008


So…I’m married.
Yeah, married.
Roll that around on your tongue for a while, and see how it feels.
Crazy huh? I know, I know. It just feels foreign, right?
Like learning another language or something?
Well give it some time and you just might get used to it.
Kind of like wearing a ring.
Strange at first, but before you know it, it’s part of you.
Of course, wife…well that will still get some getting used to I suppose.
“This is my girlfrie…I mean, my fian….I mean, my wife. Yes. My wife.”

Holy moly.

Just two short weeks ago, I stood at the front of a church, surrounded by marble and wood, best friends and best wishes, souls, bodies, and spirits, and became one with another human being. It truly is a mystery beyond my comprehension, and is definitely a calling beyond my natural abilities. But though I may not understand it all just yet, I know that I will never forget that day for the rest of my life.

I mean, how could I ever forget? My beautiful bride, all snow and fire and radiance and ivory, walking toward me into covenant… the way she glowed, the way her body shone in the sunlight, the way her eyes caught fire from the truth in her heart and the sweet vows of promise that she spoke to me, these are the things that will never be lost from my mind. Some things you never forget. Some things you can’t forget. Some things are beyond memory and the ability to articulate. I suppose this is one of those things. “Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone.” Something like that right?

It happened on a Sunday. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, May 4th embraced us with perfect arms and brilliant skies. And yeah, we know that Sundays aren’t usually standard issue, but cut us some slack. When you only have two months to plan, you’re entitled to forgo formalities, and do what you can.

Well, not only did we do what we could, but God did what He does, namely… He showered on us massive amounts of grace. I’m talking, buckets, truck-loads, sky-fulls of beautiful, cleansing, jubilant grace. Yeah, jubilant.

I think that’s the only word I can use to sum it all up. The weather, the service, the spirit, in a word….jubilant. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a wedding where both fathers crowd-surfed, or where the groom was thrown ten feet in the air by his groomsmen, or where the sun itself came and attached itself to the bride, but I never had. But then, if you came to our wedding, you could have seen all three. And what you couldn’t see with your eyes, you would have felt in your chest. Like lemonade in the worst of June, hot chocolate in the frost of February, you could literally feel an increasing sense of warmth, of approval, and of joy with every new guest that arrived in Nashville. A celebration that what was happening was not orchestrated by mere human invention or story-book romance, but rather, was written by the very hand of God. It was overwhelming. Truly.

Parents cried, relatives danced, best men gave ridiculous speeches, I couldn’t have enjoyed myself more, and I wouldn’t have changed a thing. Celebrating the journey just as much as the end result, our friends, our families, and even our reception band sang and danced the night away. I remember during “We are Family,” I literally grabbed my mother in the midst of a bouncing mob and screamed, “this is the best night of my entire life!” It was crazy. Absolutely crazy. We literally had the time of our lives, and it was all we could do to soak in every last drop.

And we did. By God’s grace, we soaked it in and gave thanks for all that He had done. “giving thanks always and for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.” We gave thanks for his mercy. We gave thanks for his blessing. We gave thanks that our story is His story. A thing of beauty, of grace, of redemption. Proof that His ends justify his means.

Just take a look at Kelly. That should be all the proof you need. “Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”