Jeff and I sat on the back of the borrowed convertible decorated with "Just Married" signs and pastel paper flowers. My mind whirled with beautiful thoughts of our wedding celebration-the string quartet, prayers and blessings pronounced on us, the fragrance of roses, and the taste of wedding cake. Jeff supported my back. I gazed over at him. I could feel the sparkles in my eyes. Jeff was my dream-prince in his tuxedo, and I was his princess. This was our wedding day—the main event I had dreamed of since I was a little girl. Air rustled musically through my veil and around my face. I looked up at the blue sky, the canopy of green trees above, and the lush field across the road from the church.
I believed, like so many romantic stories advocate, my prince charming would fulfill all my fairytale dreams. As we climbed into our own car and Jeff drove us into the sunset, I imagined we were entering our "happily ever after."
We spent the first night of our marriage in the Thomas Edison Inn in Port Huron, Michigan. When we were dating, we had often come to Port Huron with his family. We loved to watch the vessels float down the river and splash into the aqua blue waters of Lake Huron. Sometimes we saw huge ships, other times little tugboats.
In premarital counseling, Jeff and I took personality tests. Under pastoral counsel we talked about our differences. I joked about my being like a small tugboat, highly creative and maneuverable; while Jeff was like a large ship, logical and slow to change course.1