On marriage, with 11 days to go

It is 11 days until my wedding day. After 28 years, I will cease to be an Adamson, and become a Wraight. I never thought I was so attached to my name; it’s not particularly special or rare, and there’s so many of us dotted around that there’s no chance of it dying out anytime soon. And Wraight is so alien, so unavoidably northern. Just try saying it to a southerner, and they’ll automatically correct you. “Wright?” No, not Wright. Wraight, with an a. Along with my first name, Rachael, with an a, I’m bound to be spelling out the entire thing for the rest of my life.

The rest of your life is a long time. People will ask if you’re nervous, and yes, I am nervous about my wedding day. I’m nervous that people won’t be able to find the church, I’m nervous that the PA won’t work and we’ll have no sound, I’m nervous that the caterer will give everyone food poisoning. But am I nervous about committing to Paul for the rest of our mortal lives? Well, no. To be honest, I can’t wait. Commitment is scary, yes, but the payoffs are so huge! To build a life, to create lives, to grow together and continue on the journey that we started over 4 years ago. Why would I be nervous? I’m not someone who thinks that marriage doesn’t change things, it’s just a piece of paper, everything will stay the same. Because on that day, in front of my family, his family, all of our friends, my church, and God, we will commit publicly to fully love and cherish and support each other. To use a controversial word, to submit to each other and put one another above ourselves.

I can’t wait. I can’t wait to be settled, to be secure, to be a team. Does that mean that we aren’t already? Well, no, but on the 28th of May 2017 all of that will be combined in one holy, legal agreement and that’s it. Forever and ever, amen. Bring it on!

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