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Wednesday, August 1, 2012


Her voice on the phone was breathy, pitched higher than I remembered from the two Sunday mornings when I met them at the door. And this is my boy friend Tom she had said. His handshake was a bone-crusher, his grin goofy.

    The reason I'm calling, pastor, is we'd like to come and talk to your about our wedding.
Oh, I see.

    You know, I've always had my heart set on a church wedding. You know, in one like yours. Tom -- 
    he's my boy fr. . . my fiancé . . . says he'll go along with it if I really want it.

I see.

    So anyways, we could come this Sunday night. Around seven?

Well, I think that . . .

    It couldn't be until after the football game. Tom's a big, big Redskins fan. He says he has his heart 
   set on having "Hail to the Redskins" for the music when we walk down the aisle.
Yes, well . . .

    So. Sunday night at seven? For our talk?

Yes. I suppose so.  I . . . I think we'll have a number of things we'll need to talk about.

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