Jason found the poem a good friend of mine wrote for our wedding...had to share it.
For Jason and Amanda's Wedding Day
When you are brushing your
teeth together, when your palms
are pressed against her sleeping limbs,
or when she is on the other side of the kitchen
painting the cabinets, remember:
This is not a woman who believes in accidents.
Every red balloon, every brush stroke, every
clipped smile from magazine was on purpose.
Her left hand is hard wired to the cosmos, her
right hand is courier to the earth. She drew the
outline of your being before she ever spoke your
name. She didn’t so much pick you as she
discovered you. Which makes you a hell of a man.
This is how I know that the two of you are
magic makers, craftsmen of the Life Stuff.
Your house is a landing pad
A front yard full of precious coincidences,
serendipity swings on your porch, the
faucets pour out only affirmations
Some days, you will go out into the loud, loud
world and come home broken.
Some days you will look at each other and
see nothing but rusty mouth and snapped
hinges. Remnants of a whole being.
That is why there is a workshop in your backyard.
On those days, you both go into that old building,
you flip on the light and spread all of your
materials out on the counter. You count the snappy
tongues, the rolled eyes. You sort the puffed chests
from the bruised hearts. You sand all the coward
edges down until you standing in a pile of the dust
you were made from. You get out the brave glue.
You get out the first glances, the emails,
you draw pictures of that ice storm that crashed
the two of you together. Whisper thank you
to each stumble and mistake that brought you
to these humble arms where you know that
everything is exactly as it should be.
You chose this community like we chose you
and we have plenty of duct tape, pipe cleaners
and gallons of understanding, we’ve got you.
Because this big, big Universe
doesn’t believe in accidents either,
it only believes in love and art that is built from it.