Young Love (#135)

November 29, 1969… 7:00 PM

a BIG cake.It wasn’t until Nate and I had moved into the wedding reception room that we got our first look at the cake. I wondered why those 6 heavy layers didn’t collapse on each other with all that weight. Maybe hidden pillars had been baked inside, allowing each layer to rest on a firm foundation. We didn’t dare walk too close.

Although Nate had never been in love with sugar, I was a total sweets-freak and couldn’t wait to sample it. When the time finally came, it wasn’t without strict guidelines by the caterer. She, in turn, had been instructed by the bakery lady, who had marked exactly where we were to cut.

As we carefully followed the marks, hand-over-hand on the knife, I had a flashback to a childhood beach game called “Cut the Cake.” Kids would make a sand-cake with a toy bucket, then take turns slicing away pieces. At one point the whole thing would collapse.



But this was no game, and I hoped a cake-collapse wasn’t in our immediate future. We used a very sharp knife, and the caterer tutored us through the process. But still, it was a relief when the cutting part was finally done.






Then it was time to taste! Nate didn’t savor his mouthful as much as I did, so after licking my fingers, I licked his, too. Delicious!



Cousin Patti approached then, wanting us to sign the guest book. She was following through on what we’d asked by getting everyone’s signature… even ours. But it made sense, since we, too, were wedding guests of the hosts: Mom and Dad.

Crown troublesNate asked how he should sign and suggested we use our new partnership to identify us. “How about Mr. and Mrs. Nathan Nyman?”

I loved knowing that the first use of my new Nyman-name would be in our wedding guestbook and agreed it was a great way to begin. Although the budding feminist  movement of the sixties would bristle at my not using my given name, I loved my new “Mrs.-Status” and was delighted to be partnered with this particular Mr. To me it was the perfect signature for the day.

Marriage CertificateWhile we were signing the guest book, Pastor Sweeting was getting signatures from the maid of honor and best man on a marriage certificate. Although it wasn’t as official as the marriage license we’d secured earlier at the Chicago City Clerk’s office, it did prove that Pastor Sweeting was the one who had tied the knot.

And then it was time for everyone to sit down again for our short program.

This is how the holy women of old made themselves beautiful. They put their trust in God and accepted the authority of their husbands.” (1 Peter 3:5-6)

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