“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
The music starts.
The aisle is scattered with petals as Ivy’s niece Kate makes her way down, our flower girl in all herdetermined glory. Instead of a graceful sprinkle, she tosses them in uneven clumps, drawing a chorus of “ooohs” and “ahhhs” from the guests. By the time she reaches her mom Sarah, one of Ivy’s bridesmaids, she’s practically running, grinning like she’s conquered the world.
Jack’s expression shifts—reverent, knowing, a little misty-eyed. He’s walked me through every heartbreak, every step of my faith, and now…he’s standing here to witness the answer to every one of those prayers.
“Please stand.”
Chairs scrape, fabric rustles, and the entire room rises, every head turning toward the end of the aisle.
And then I see her.
Her arm is looped through her father’s, her steps unhurried, deliberate. It’s like the whole world slows just to let me take her in. The light catches in her hair, her dress brushing softly against the floor, petals scattered unevenly beneath her shoes. And though I’ve seen her a thousand times, it feels like I’m seeing her for the very first time.
My chest tightens. Because she’s not just the girl walking toward me. She’s my future. She’s the keys to the new apartment we picked out together, waiting on the counter for us to unlock. She’s quiet mornings with no curfew, no boundaries to tiptoe around—just the freedom to be hers completely. She’s laughter filling empty rooms, arguments about where the couch should go, whispered prayers before bed. She’s every ache I’ve carried finally answered in flesh and bone and beauty.
I blink hard, trying to keep it together, but my eyes sting anyway.
Her gaze locks with mine, and the crowd, the music, even Jack’s voice fade into nothing. It’s just me and her. My heart pounding, hers steady as she draws closer.
When she finally reaches me, her father gives me her hand, and I grip it like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. Because, it is.
Jack opens his Bible, his deep voice steady as he begins.
“Today isn’t just a celebration,” he says. “It’s a covenant. Not built on perfection, but on grace. On two people who dared to believe that God’s best was worth the wait.”
He looks straight at me, and his voice softens.
“Gray, you once asked me how to lead someone in faith without trying to control them. And Ivy…” He glances at her, eyes twinkling. “You’ve answered that question better than I ever could. Today is proof of what surrender can do.”
Then he smiles, flipping to a passage from Ephesians.
“‘Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ…Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.”
He blesses our vows.
And then I say mine.
"Ivy Taylor…
I used to think love was about doing everything right. Saying the perfect thing. Being strong enough to hold someone else together.
But then you showed me it’s about showing up.
Even when it’s hard.
Especially when it’s hard.
You taught me that grace isn’t something I give, it’s something I live.
I didn’t know what God was doing the day I stood there in New Orleans…
But He knew.
Because He gave me you.
I promise to keep praying for you, pursuing you, and pointing you to Jesus every single day.
