She took his arm, white dress trailing behind her.

The music started. The aisle stretched out in front of them like memory lane.

And suddenly, she wasn’t a bride any more. 

She was five years old, watching him nod and smile at the rude waiter instead of snapping back.

She was eight, hearing him compliment the coach who never played her.

She was twelve, seeing him call his co-worker to congratulate him when he got the promotion dad wanted so badly.

He never tore anyone down.

He taught her what honor and respect looked like.

She was thirteen, on her way to sneak out to a party when she overheard him crying on the back porch talking to his best friend talking about the pain from his past.

She was fifteen, and he was apologizing for yelling during an argument they had while she was reluctantly learning to drive.

He gave grace, humbled himself, and taught her how to forgive.

She was sixteen, and he was warming up her car and packing her lunch even though she was old enough to do it for herself. He smiled good morning at her while he wiped the sleep from his eyes from being up late working extra shifts to save for their dream home.

He was present and he was a servant, and he taught her how to pour out a life for others.

She was suddenly right there for all the nights that he wrapped his arm around her and talked with God like a close friend.

He showed her what it looked like to live submitted.

They reached the altar, and she was brought back to the moment.

He smiled through glassy eyes, then whispered, “You’re ready.”

She squeezed his hand one more time.

Then silently she thanked him for showing her what a real man looked like.