I have always loved memories. But as time passes (I like the way that sounds better than “the older I get”), sometimes the memories evoke such a flood of emotions that I cannot even express my feelings. Such a day is today, as my husband and I celebrate 52 years of marriage. I can hardly even write about the wealth of blessings and memories. But I want to “mark” the day.
So, I’ll just share some of our wedding pictures. (Note: the pictures are black and white—not because it was the “cool” choice like today, but because the price difference between b/w and color was an insurmountable obstacle. We did have a professional photographer, and my parents paid for the pictures: $50. That was the deal. I paid for the cake.).
The wedding took place at Pleasant Hill Baptist Church, where I met Russell when Daddy came there to be the pastor, on June 28, 1959.
My Grandad walked me down the aisle, as Daddy was the officiating minister.
Yeah, sweat (not just glistening). It was 92 degrees that evening, no a/c in the church.
The photographer suggested our “rings” photo be taken with our hands on Daddy’s Bible—as a last-second thought, I opened it to 1Corinthians 13, the Love Chapter.
Snapshot taken (color—yay!) while the photographer was taking the “rings” shot.
Our entire wedding party was our siblings, except for the ring bearer. The cousin who was supposed to be the ring bearer got sick at the last minute, so the son of a friend filled in. The bridal party was my sisters; the groom’s party was his brothers. The candlelighters were his sister and my brother. My mother made all the dresses, including my bridal gown and my going-away suit, in six weeks.
Snapshot - Reception in the basement of the church.