The Wedding...A Memoir!

Friday July 14th, 2006

It will be five weeks on Sunday since Jordan and I were married. We had such a beautiful day. I can’t say there were fireworks and violins and that I ‘floated’ down the aisle as our good friend Rachael did, but I can say that it was real, honest and spectacular.

The day began with as many sparkles in the air as any Christmas morning. Fortunately I had had a hearty seven hours of uninterrupted sleep and awoke refreshed. I owed this to a late night punching out a poorly devised wedding speech which rendered me semi comatose when I finally hit the pillow.
I knew it was to be ‘my special day’, according to wedding legend, but I’d always felt that sentiment to be selfish, since the lead up to such a day involves so many acts of generosity and service from both man and God. For this reason I remained relatively quiet and slipped under the radar as I entered the busy kitchen of relatives, grabbed some breakfast and tiptoed upstairs to Mum and Dad’s room. Breakfast on Mum and Dad’s bed is a tradition usually reserved for birthdays but it seemed to me the most fitting place to spend my last meal. I can’t remember what we talked about over my gloopy porridge but I remember feeling both joy and sadness at a family breakfast that would be our last as four Lamberts.
(Jordan and I had decided only the night before that I would become a Whittaker, a change I didn’t have long to get used to or even enough time to practice scrawling my new signature down the margins of writing pads. Still, I knew before Pastor Robin, who was informed of this change mid-ceremony, under the cover of boisterous singing from the congregation…).

I rummaged through Mum’s wardrobe that morning (I’m not sure why? Perhaps because I had packed my ‘nice’ honeymoon clothes, perhaps because it would be one of the last opportunities to steal some clothes) and threw on a funky combination, holding back from looking too beautiful (ha!) for church that morning, so that my metamorphosis would be more significant…
Jordan arrived shortly before church to say good morning and drive me to the Living Word. The congregation was particularly small that morning. We suspect this was because people considered our wedding to be ‘church’ for the day, and of that we were glad.
My old Maths teacher, Mr. Liebelt, had flown from South Australia for the wedding, so I sat beside him and looked at photos of his beautiful children until the service began. Once it had I shuffled across to be beside Mum, who was slightly overwhelmed by the day’s coming events. Jordan sat on my other side, holding my hand tightly.
It would be untrue to say that I heard the sermon, but I was all ears at communion time, when Jordan and I knelt beside each other and before God and confessed that Jesus died for our sins and that we were forgiven for our wrongdoings towards God and one another.
We waltzed out of communion at full speed, taking our belongings and, after a short prayer together, said goodbye. (At this point the size of the congregation dropped significantly as my family left to prepare the hall for our guests).
Anisia and I jumped into her brand new car and began the half hour trip to Lauren’s house in Tanah Merah, where I would be getting ready. We had a special time together in the car, listening to CDs, sharing and chatting.

Lauren was wonderful. When we arrived she had sandwiches on the tables and champagne on the way. I decided on a quick shower, since it only felt right that I be sparkly clean before hopping into my wedding dress, while Anisia got my hair ‘stuff’ ready. Once out of the shower it was full steam ahead as Anisia sculpted my hair into a work of art and Lauren poured the drinks and entertained. We had a fun, relaxing time together with Jack Johnson and Lior playing softly in the background.
At midday Sharon, the makeup artist, arrived and set to work, setting into motion a flurry of visitors. Tyson arrived soon after, taking photos of the beautiful flowers his wife Rachael had made. The door had barely closed when Glennis arrived in her beautifully decorated mini, complete with a veil and flower petals on the floor mats, ready to drive me to the ceremony. In what seemed like the same gust of wind that blew in Glennis and her mini, Mum, Dad and the Nannas arrived to sneak a peek of the action, take a few photos and ‘corsage up’.
I remember someone saying ‘time to put on the dress’ and me thinking it was too early and then, before I knew it, the wind had blown everyone out again, I had maneuvered my way down the front lawn and hopped in the car and Glennis and I were left alone in the quiet. We drove away with the hum of some Hillsong song in the CD player, headed for a wedding. My wedding.
Glennis asked how I was feeling, if there were nerves or excitement and all those questions that make you verbalise feelings you can hardly understand let alone pin in a few words. I tried as best I could to answer, telling her it felt like any other Sunday really, that I was going to church (you can understand my confusion when we passed cars of people waving and staring) and that, above all, everything just felt right. I knew that my history until that point had been pushing towards that particular climax.

As we slowed to a stop outside the church someone somewhere (I later learnt it to be Rachael, under Mum’s instruction) rang the bell…and I sobbed. It was as though that ringing marked this point like a dog ear in a favourite novel. Jordan and I had arrived. My mind flashed back to a play in grade 12, where we first met, to Christmas that year, which I had invited Jordan to spend with us, to chats in his car with my seat fully reclined and how he’d left it that way for a year in my absence, my memory….I thought of the ‘anonymous’ gifts he’d snuck into my letter box, of photocopying he’d done late at night for me and driven it over, of lying with him in a field on a picnic rug, staring up at the sky, of the hours of phone calls in Michigan, of the sunflowers he’d sent on a cold Fall morning, of how, for four years, I vehemently denied that there was or ever would be anything between us. But God was in charge and I had no choice, over four years he had softened my hard heart and made us fall in love. The bells echoed a line in a song that had grown dear to us, ‘and once again, here you stand, your day has come.’

After a few minutes of forcing smiles through my tears for photographers I stood at the door to the chapel, my parents at my side, waiting for the music to play.
Jordan and I had deliberately chosen a song of rejoicing to walk down the aisle to, ‘Sunny Days’, by our favourite band, Jars of Clay:

So if you’re waiting for love
It’s a promise I’ll keep.
If you don’t mind believing
That it changes everything
Time will never matter.
(This also ran with our theme of seasons and change….our season of friendship and the new addition of marriage.)

At that point where we were to walk down the aisle, I squeezed Mum and Dad’s arms tightly and we stepped forward. The wedding was in motion. The only face I searched for was Jordan’s. Our eyes met and I could tell he was crying, which started me, so I looked only once more before cementing my eyes on the carpet in front of me and chattering incessantly to Mum and Dad under my breath about how fun this was and how many beautiful people had shown up.
Apparently I walked a little too fast down the aisle and we all got there a little too early, but it didn’t matter. I was where I should be at last, at the front by the one I love. ‘You look so beautiful’, he whispered and took my hand.
What happened after that point is again, a flurry of activity and rejoicing and a couple of tears. I know what happened after that, because we spent hours devising and printing service orders, but I can only fully recall a short list of events and feelings...
At some point I stupidly moved the train of my dress myself (the things you do without bridesmaids! Still, the regret I feel for having not had bridesmaids is definitely outweighed by how powerful it was for me to have only Jordan, Robin and I up the front), we sang some songs and I thought about how well the band had done, I stood as close to Jordan as I could at times, I signed the registry in a signature ending with Lambert (!), I listened intently to Robin’s sermon and marveled at how well he’d tied everything together…but most of all I remember the vows and the rings.
The whole service had felt as though there were only three people and one God in the room, but this was even more evident at this point where, before God, Jordan and I promised ourselves to each other and placed our rings ‘as seals over our hearts’. At that point where Robin declared us husband and wife I was so overcome by the truth and beauty of the situation that tears burst from my eyes. We were married. At last. I will never be able to articulate the joy, comfort and gratitude in that moment.
As tears fell from my eyes, applause erupted from our congregation, pulling me from the three person void of the past twenty minutes and reminding me of the support of our friends and family. It seemed that they too had felt a hint of the enormity of the situation unfolding in front of them. We kissed, more applause, and then, once again, time played tricks and our recessional song had arrived, The Trees of the Field:

You shall go out with joy
And be led forth with peace
The mountains and the hills
Shall break forth before you
There’ll be shouts of joy
And all the trees of the field
Will clap will clap their hands…

The congregation sand and clapped with joy to the song as we hugged our parents and then raced down the aisle…married.
We didn’t greet our guests as they exited, which would have proved too time consuming (30 seconds at each, Tyson had explained, would mean two hours and five minutes of greeting, which would mean no sun for the photos, a late arrival at the reception etcetera etcetera), so we left the chapel, stopping by a large tree near the church for family photos.

Our photos, surprisingly, turned out to be far more enjoyable than I had envisaged. Whether this was because we were married or because of the champagne that just kept on coming, I’m not sure…a mixture of both, I suspect. As Tyson arranged us, Lauren and Craig scurried along beside us, fussing about the train of my dress, Jordan’s tie, finding me lip gloss and putting a blanket out for us to sit on. Anisia soon joined us followed by David and Glennis, who arrived in the yellow Mazda 6 that drove Jordan to the wedding.
David and Glennis took our private photo party to a new level with picnic snacks and drinks, including Glennis’ famous red cordial (which she just knows I have a weak spot for). After a few hours, careful sips of the red cordial with a bath towel on my lap, a convoy down the M1, trespassing on a private farm and clambering over a dilapidated, rusty barnyard, we arrived at that place where Jordan first saw me, the Trinity Primary School Hall.

As we entered the hall I felt so humbled. Adorning the room were beautiful lights brought from India and installed in the wee hours of the morning by Nishan, table cloths cut, sewn and hemmed by Anisia and Nanna, tables and chairs arranged by myself, Lauren and Jessie, a beautiful cake made by Nanna Scholz and decorated by our friend Linda, a ridiculously spacious hall generously loaned to us by Geoff Minge and the Primary School, a children’s play area set up by Anisia, food made by wonderful ladies of the church, friends and family, serving trays sought after by Mum (among other things), servers organized by Dad and Jordan’s Mum, Kay (among other things)….the list just went on and on…beautiful contributions – acts of service – that showed support and love from our many communities. I felt so embraced by the fruits of their labour. When we entered all 250 of our guests stood and applauded. I now think about how it should have been the other way.
The two questions that had niggled at my mind earlier that day had been 1) whether there would be enough food and 2) whether, like at our engagement party, Jordan and I would be pulled away from each other as we tried to approach everyone and thank them for sharing in our party.
Fortunately, and mainly thanks to Mum and Kay’s insistence on going above and beyond, there was more than enough food, with mini quiches still lingering in Mum’s fridge almost five weeks later.
Also, quite conveniently, Jordan and I stood towards the front of the reception the entire night, almost next to each other, as out guests greeted us. Perfect.
It’s not unusual for me to be dressed up on stage in front of others or before a camera, but standing among friends and family still wearing that ‘dress up’ is a different feeling, and though I’m wary to say it because of my distaste for selfish bridezillas*, I felt like a princess. Not the cheap plastic princesses who live in castles built in a likeness of Neuschwanstein, but an Audrey Hepburn, self respecting, classical princess. My dress was quite possibly a tenth of the price of the average dress, but the average dress isn’t usually worked on by a beautiful Nanna for two weeks straight, or even by hand for that matter. My shoes were hand painted by yours truly, supersoft with hardly any heel, not just because it was cheaper, but because I didn’t want to hear a single complaint from them all night, and I didn’t. My hair stayed in place all day (thanks to 120 bobby pins) and when people commented I was able to say ‘my sister did it’. My fiery bouquet added just the right amount of colour, thanks to a helpful and persistent friend, determined to make everything just right. The pearls around my neck came from my mothers wardrobe, the veil from my Nanna’s insistence (I respect the tradition, and it did look better in the end) and my glow, whilst partially thanks to Sharon the makeup artist, was thanks to my husband… who had just made me an immeasurably happy young lady.
At speech time our friends spoilt us with words of affirmation, my parents and Anisia made me cry for how much I would miss them, Cheyne’s words of encouragement spoke of his support for us and Rikki made it known that there is always family nearby in Adelaide.

As the line started to form for goodbyes, Lauren approached us. ‘The Limo’s here’, she declared. I felt sad because there had been no warning; we had to go…..but it was at once washed away when I realized I was going ‘home’ to the first night of forever with my husband. Our guests made an escape route in the shape of an arch and I held Jordan’s hand. ‘Don’t stop’, someone said, and we surged into the giant tunnel of love, headed for the door. Our parents met us there, bid us farewell and whisked us to the taxi. In another of those fast forward sequences, the boot was loaded, the doors were shut, the limo pulled out and we were left in silence, just the hum of the limo and Barry, the driver, telling us he’d get us to our hotel safely.
‘That’s it. It’s all over.’ One of us whispered. ‘We’re married.’ Said the other, and we snuggled closer together, the beginning of forever.


*Bridezillas…you’ve all come across them, those women who insist that in the year lead up to their wedding they battle the sun for the right for the world to revolve around them. Meanwhile, God sits in the wings, wondering whether Australia Post lost His snazzy sequin-filled invitation…Excuse my rambling, or don’t – it is my blog after all, not an academic journal – but this rave comes from a recent article I read on a girl who let her wedding ruin her relationship with her family because she wanted things her way - and she wanted their money to do it…shame on her.