Those were the days the Lord had made; we rejoiced and were glad in them. Or at least we totally tried.
After Ricka and Snapp’s engagement in January 2026, I considered the noteworthy nature of planning two weddings within one year. Flicka and Snipp’s ceremony happened on June 28, 2025, and Ricka and Snapp’s would happen on June 6, 2026. So much joy, so many moving parts. And when the wedding pieces were fit into their spots and the event was a lovely part of our history, Flicka and Snipp’s baby girl—due on June 19, 2026—would be born.
I rewind my memories now to the months that came before June 6 of this year. Lists cluttered our dining room table; sleepless nights filled my side of the bed. Endless details and countless shopping trips spilled from my days. I overplanned, overworried, and yet sometimes still overlooked things.
“Show me the gaps, Lord,” I prayed in the night. “Show me what I’ve missed.”
Even while striving over the little things, I knew they were little things. A soon wedding shouts louder than an approaching marriage, though—at least for the mother-of-the-bride wedding planner.
In the hustle of the preparation days, a pattern emerged: small but persistent obstacles arose, then resolved just in time. Again and again and again.
*****
Over a month before the nuptials, I ordered disposable dinnerware (clear pink plates and cups with gold edges and matching gold flatware) from Amazon. The delivery was set for a few days later, but that night, the date switched to a nebulous window of time anywhere between June 7 and July 12.
I messaged the seller. The wedding was June 6, I explained, and her reply confirmed I had conveyed my panic well.
No necessity for distress! she wrote. Your dishes will arrive to you with time in excess for your special moments.
Where was the seller from anyway?
The first half of my order came within three days of placing it; the second half stalled out. I waited for two weeks before contacting Amazon again.
“Are you calling about your wedding dishes?” the employee on the phone said. He must’ve read my note to the seller. “You’ll get them in time, ma’am. No worries.”
And he was right; the final installment of dishes arrived two days before the wedding, but as for the no worries part? Well.
*****
Three weeks before the wedding, Husband and I shopped at Costco for condiments for the reception’s hot dog bar. As I loaded ketchup and mustard into the cart, I glimpsed what appeared to be a black spider in my left eye’s left field of vision. A flashing light followed.
“Oh, great,” I said. I described the ocular arachnid and strobe lights to my man. I rubbed my eye and kept shopping.
The sight persisted, though, and I sighed. “I should probably call the eye doctor.”
I spoke with the receptionist, asking for an appointment for the next morning, but she let me go so she could reach out to the optometrist at his home. Soon, she called me back.
“He’s saying to go to the ER right now.”
I agreed I might, and she hung up.
In the refrigerated section, we priced out the Kirkland Signature Beef Hot Dogs, and I Googled retinal detachment.
“I hope you’re not having a stroke,” Husband said.
“Wonderful. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Husband drove me to the ER that night. We savored seven hours of together time in an exam room while the staff bustled around me, running tests. The EKG was clear, and an MRI showed I had not suffered a stroke after all, nor was anything wrong with my brain. They scheduled an ophthalmologist appointment for the next afternoon, which also revealed I was fine. It was the first time I heard the word floater connected with me, though. I had always imagined floaters as light-colored specks swimming across one’s vision and not black insects at a disco, but now I know better.
*****
Six days before the wedding, I sent the digital files for the event signs to Walgreens’ photo services for printing. A store associate called me a few hours later.
“I’ve tried to print your largest sign ten times, but it’s not working. We don’t have the 24” x 36” poster board you ordered in stock, so you need to make the font smaller so I can print it on the 18” x 24” instead.”
“Wait. That doesn’t make any—”
“If you make the font smaller, I can print it.”
“Why would I need to do that on my end?”
“We don’t have the capability of doing it here. It won’t take you long, though,” he said. “You just have to start a new order and copy and paste the files with smaller fonts into it.”
I told him I’d call back later, and I thought about what he had said. At first, I worried I was losing it, but at the end, I knew I was okay, and I transferred my order to a different store to have my order printed. They weren’t bothered by the font size at all.
*****
Two days before the wedding, at 3:30 p.m., the golf cart rental place called. It was Bart, the owner.
“Are you gonna send us your proof of insurance?” he said. “We’re scheduled to deliver the two golf carts to the venue tomorrow morning, but we need it first.”
“I can email it now,” I said. “You just need a copy of our vehicle insurance card, right?”
“Uh, no. We need a certificate of liability with our name as the holder. You get that through your homeowners insurance.”
My stomach lurched. Not the homeowners insurance. And it was already so late. I pictured wedding guests with mobility issues walking the large property to restrooms or their parked vehicles without golf cart rides if I missed this. I said something to Bart about this requirement being new to me and how I had assumed proof of insurance meant proof of vehicle insurance. Bart didn’t seem to care how I had misunderstood his small print.
“I’ll get right on it,” I finally said, my will stripped away.
Our homeowners insurance people didn’t understand the request—never heard of anything like it, as a matter of fact. They took a stab at it, however, and added Bart’s business to our policy, which made it look a whole lot like the guy shared the house with us. They tossed out different iterations of paperwork in the hopes something would stick, but Bart said no to each piece. I ran through two more insurance representatives, both as confused as I was, until I found a lady in Licensing and Permits who said she’d take care of it.
“It’ll take up to twenty-four hours to get the document,” she said. “It has to be generated.”
“I don’t have twenty-four hours,” I said. “The golf carts are scheduled for delivery in fifteen hours.”
I think I heard her shrug. “Let’s just hope it’s faster then.”
At 8:00 a.m. the next morning, the certificate of liability sat in my online insurance account documents box, waiting for me. We were good to go.
*****
Also, two days before the wedding, Flicka texted the family group thread:
Hey, would you guys be praying? We’re on our way to the hospital because I was just at the doctor. Because of high blood pressure and weight gain due to swelling, they want to do labs to make sure I’m not dealing with preeclampsia. Pray that we would be in a position to give birth Sunday at the earliest. I have faith I will be able to make it through the wedding, but maybe it requires more prayer than I thought.
It did.
No preeclampsia for Flicka, but the high blood pressure continued. An induction and forty-four hours of labor followed. Flicka and Snipp’s healthy baby girl was born at 3:47 a.m. on June 6—Ricka and Snapp’s wedding day.
Husband and I drove to the hospital at 6:30 a.m. to hold our first grandbaby for forty-five minutes before leaving for the wedding site to meet the volunteers for the setup of the glorious event.
The most recent wedding photos are out now, artfully snapped to catch the whirling, laughing bride with her groom, their glowing movements documented from before the union until after their vows when the sun slipped under its covers for the night. Pictures were taken on the other side of town too of a new life in a hospital bassinet; Ricka’s matron of honor stayed with her baby and joined the wedding by Facetime instead.
*****
Twelve days have passed now, and I’m still reeling from the blessings. They leave scars too, especially when they come so fast you can’t think straight—and you can’t be together for life’s biggest moments. They shock, and they soothe. They wound, and they heal. And my heart, both heavy and weightless, stretches and moves with the newness.
These are the days the Lord has made; we rejoice and are glad in them.
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*Names in this blog have been changed to protect my family, neighbors, and friends in the neighborhood, and in a nod of appreciation to the beloved Swedish author Maj Lindman, I’ve renamed my three blondies Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka and their husbands (present and future), Snipp, Snapp, and Snurr.