It was a special blessing this past week. I am not a pastor (nor do I play one on tv), but 2 weeks ago my nephew eloped. To who? When? What do we know about her? The angst was carved into tiny slices and digested by all.
The family decision was made – they’re just going to have to get married again, this time with family present. The wedding will be in a week, and my brother, the renegade boy’s father, started gathering his research notes for his new book, “How to Plan a Wedding in Four Days for Under $20”. Wednesday, my brother called me casually and mentioned no church was available. They would get married in the local park.
“That sounds nice,” I said.
“We also can’t get a pastor on such short notice,” he said.
There was a nice long pause here. What was he trying to say?
After discussing it with my pastor and making sure I wasn’t breaking any laws or anything, I agree to perform the re-wedding ceremony. It dawned on me halfway through that at most weddings, the pastor tells everybody what to do, and everybody kept looking at me, wondering when I was going to get bossy. When I realized that was my job, I got bossy.
The wedding was beautiful and went off with …1…2… 3 hitches, I think. Maybe 4 if you count the elopement. Here’s a pic of the happy couple with the self-ordained pastor:
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