Engaged To Be Engaged (Patreon)

7.1.22 / 7/3.22 - Engaged To Be Engaged

And we pray that Lauren’s future husband is doing well, and growing in his love for Jesus…

My friends growing up all held well-organized plans for their marriage ceremony. White dresses, flowers of pink or yellow or red. Who would be invited, what sort of man their husband would be. I listened with curious confusion, sat with legs crossed and arms folded. I held no plans. I did not see a man at the end of the aisle, I did not build up a chapel in my mind to utter my vows within, I bore no love for dresses. When asked, I deflected. I pushed the conversation away.

In truth, marriage to a man terrified me.

Oft, prayers left the lips of my relatives, asking for safety and protection to befall my future husband. In the evenings, as we all gathered together and bowed our heads around my brother’s bed, we whispered our wants, our wishes, our thanks. One by one, and mine took an increasing turn towards marriage.

My hand, one day, would hold a knot that tied me to a man forevermore. My hand, one day, would not be my own. The thought tormented me.

A man asked me out in college. I denied him, and he told me he would wait for me to be ready one day. I attended class with him, found myself confused by our new status. He liked me in a way I did not like him. He saw me within a gaze I did not understand. I recoiled. Our friendly chats dwindled to nothing.

I never told my parents. I never expressed how many boys showed interest, worried they might wish to pressure me to say yes to one of them. Why not see? Why not go out and have a good time? What’s the harm?

Marriage stood atop a foundation of heteronormativity, and I could not abide.

It also proclaimed allegiance to a religion I no longer found myself unified with.

I attended a few marriages growing up. A pastor or priest dressed in robes stood stark before the altar, a cross burning an image of godliness on the wall behind him. Talks of heaven, of salvation, of blood and death reigned supreme from the lips of these men. Discover your wife’s body. Bear the new generation. Bow your head always to the creator above you.

As Christianity inflicted more wounds upon my flesh, I found, too, that the idea of marriage grew to be a sore spot in my side. It seemed to me impossible to tie yourself to another without doing it before the eyes of god.

I told Janet I would never marry.

She never pushed the idea, though she mentioned it briefly from time to time. At first, it bothered me whenever she did. Maybe one day, I would allow, but I don’t think it’s for me. Wearing a ring, submitting to man, to god? I found myself less keen on it the more I deconstructed my faith.

But then I met Her.

I feared discussing marriage with Her. I worried my views on it might make Her fade from my life, step back from a woman conflicted around the concept of a wedding. Would I find myself devastated if She fled my grasp?

Janet and I kept meeting, bi-weekly, for an hour. We continued to talk, continued to deconstruct my views, build up a life that I felt proud of. Build up safety, boundaries, strength. I continued to date the beautiful woman I started to fall for.

And as a whisper, dancing within my thoughts of Her, the word wife waltzed within my daydreams.

It startled me at first, to find the word come so easily to mind, to find it full of longing and hope. I did not wish to marry. I did not find myself keen on the idea, did not have any visions of what the wedding might even look like. Surely I might be in love, but that did not mean marriage.

I sat on this term, observed how it fluttered the heart whenever I almost introduced Her as my wife instead of my girlfriend. Words caught in my throat, my tongue frozen and poised to spill the secret of how I began to see Her.

Images of our life together began as outlines of vague possibilities before building into concrete dreams and desires for the future. Trees stood vigil around a cottage we built together. It smelled of pine and oak, and a stream--perhaps a river--flowed somewhere between the roots nearby. A porch extended from the front door to rest on during warm summer mornings, and a small rock path led out towards the garden boxes, bursting with fruits and vegetables. We live our life here together, side by side, hand in hand. We cook and we bake. We stay up late laughing about jokes we will repeat to one another for months. We curl up in bed and kiss each other goodnight.

We are married.

I tore religion away from the act of witnessing life together. I pulled it out by its roots and shook the clinging aphids of theology off before tending to the concept of marriage in healthier soil. I stopped trying to halt the word wife in my mind. I accepted the way I loved Her. I accepted I wanted to marry Her. And I accepted that could happen without the triggering touch of church doctrine.

She is curled up against my chest when She whispers, Can I tell you a secret? The night has stretched towards the morning hours, the darkness outside looming, and silent, and listening. Suspended high above the clouds, the moon leans in to hear.

The window is open. Sweat clings to my flesh as I smile and nod. Of course you can.

Words do not come for an age. I kiss the top of Her head, run my nails gently down Her spine. There is no rush at the midnight hour. There is no rush with Her. I would sit in comfortable waiting until ferns reclaimed my flesh, and even then, I would long to hear the secret She wanted to share.

I’ve been calling you wife in my head for about a month now.

Little joy exceeds that which comes upon hearing you are not alone. Laughter bursts from my chest, and in delight, I pull away to spill my humor at the distant stars. I have got you beat, my love, bursts my exclamation. I have been doing that for two!

I believe the sun threatened to wake before we finished our conversation. We spoke for what seemed to be hours on marriage, on future plans, on where we were with each other. I told Her how I didn’t want marriage. How therapy changed that, how She changed that. One day, I hope to see us in a little cottage we built together. One day, perhaps, I would like to be wed to Her. Without religion. Without fear. I would like, very much, to promise our lives to a future we create together.