Null and Void?

These past few weeks I've wrestled with the problem of having to "shop" for a church in which to get marriedfor our wedding. I was raised Catholic, and he grew up in the Lutheran faith, but neither of us practice anymore. Kyle wasn't crazy about having to go through the Catholic hoops and I just couldn't get excited about a Lutheran ceremony. We were a mini-reformation in the making. I have to say that I was leaning toward going through the Catholic hoops for the sake of tradition when I realized that the Saturday evening mass would conflict with my vision of an evening wedding. Having the wedding at a secular site was the best solution.

All was well and good until I called my maid of honor to tell her we had the wedding site settled. We chose to have our wedding and reception at the same place. I explained that it was just easier and we loved the space. Besides, I told her, I couldn't have a Catholic wedding because...and she interrupted and said, "because you'd have to get an annulment." An annulment! I completely forgot! Here I thought the biggest conflict was the Saturday worship schedule. We had a good laugh, but later I thought more about this concept. If you are divorced, and you wish to get remarried in the Catholic faith, you must petition for an annulment and a tribunal decides whether or not the previous marriage was deemed valid or if it can be nullified. The Bible says that if a man marries a divorced woman, he is commiting adultery because, once married, always married. So, no annulment, no Catholic marriage.

I'm not writing to rant against the church. I'm no expert on the subject and I have far too many other wedding details to consider without crafting an argument against this archaic and patriarchal practice. It's just that the whole thing prompts me to reflect on what it has meant to be a divorcee. As much as I would like to "nullify" certain events from my past, my marriage is certainly not one of them. Yes, it was not the right decision after all, but my ex-husband was a good and kind person with whom I shared nearly ten years. To erase this relationship would be to forget days spent on the ski slopes or cross-country skiing around a silent, snow-covered lake, countless road trips, camping, and going to concerts in the height of the grunge era. I would have to forget winter nights pouring over seed catalogs together and drawing our summer garden plans, and then summer months of picking basil and turning it into pungent pesto and sharing late dinners on the porch with friends. And most important, I would have to forget the moment when I stood at my kitchen sink and realized I had to leave him in order to be the woman I wanted to be. My marriage did not work for many personal reasons, but throughout the separation and divorce, I learned much about myself, my values, and what I wanted my life to be. Deciding to divorce him was, at once, the most painful and brave thing I've ever done. Now, ten years later, I appreciate these lessons even more. So I say, thanks but no thanks Father, I'll keep my past intact.