My love

Three years ago Tuesday, I married my best friend.

It was a rainy, misty day, the coldest July day in Colorado Springs history. The ceremony that was to be outside was moved inside, to the barn already decorated to host the reception. Tables were pushed aside for an aisle, the wreath wrapped with ribbon and tulle was re-hung, and a horse and carriage came to pick up my father and me from my parents' house down the dirt drive. I carried a bouquet of wildflowers. My cousins played harp, violin and viola. A couple hundred people we love saw us exchange our vows.

It wasn't what I expected. The ceremony could not take place in the wet grass under dripping pine trees, but the barn was warm(er), and full of joy. The mist outside gave our pictures a magical quality. The caterer we hired fell on hard times and did not have the money to serve what he had promised. Nobody will remember the food anyway. The best man dropped my ring on the dusty wooden second floor of the barn. We were all thankful there were no cracks for it to fall through, and laughed. Pastor Ross, who Nick and I respect now more than ever, served us communion and made jokes about "all Nick has to do is be like Jesus."

And I married my best friend.

Three years, one c-section, one homebirth, four (soon to be five) moves, and one seizure later, I love him more now than I ever thought I could. We have two beautiful children, a relationship of mutual trust and respect and tenderness, and a great future. I love you, Nick.