It was a hot June afternoon. The gnats dove in and around our faces promising to become a part of our very breath. The sun shone down while the small gathering of people closed in to congregate around us.
"Love is patient. Love is kind..." were the words being uttered by our friend, the plumber who was also a rabbi.
As I gazed into my soon-to-be husband's eyes, noticing the glistening of tears fringed on the edge of his lashes, I was caught up in the magnitude of the moment. Sure, we'd been together for nine and half years. It had become a joke to some of our friends and family who liked to predict just when we would get married.
That was the word in my head. And the description used in our invitation.
We quickly repeated our vows, my husband never looking away from me, never suspending his smile.
And it was that smile and the way he gazed at me that locked me into the moment. I don't remember the specific vows and I don't remember who was standing in particular places all around us.
I only remember who was standing before me.
And it was our moment. Finally.