June 6 was going to be a special day for my husband, Dan, and me—our forty-fifth wedding anniversary. Not only that, it was also the day our son, David, would marry his fiancée, Kris. They’d picked a gorgeous spot to say their vows—a terrace near the falls at Minnehaha Park in Minneapolis.
The whole week leading up to the wedding the sun shone brightly. But the morning of June 6 I looked out my window and saw rain coming down, hard. It’ll stop soon, I thought. Just a shower. Right. At 4:00 P.M., it was still pouring. The ceremony was set for 6:00 P.M.
Dan, David, Kris and I grabbed our umbrellas, walked the park grounds and desperately scouted out a dry spot for them to exchange vows. A dreary pavilion and a tiny arbor were all we found.
“God, we sure could use a little sunshine down here,” I said. “I’m not asking for much. An hour would do, between five-thirty and six-thirty.”
David and Kris, huddled under an umbrella, laughed. “That’s a pretty specific prayer,” he said.
“Those are the best kind!” I replied.
At 5:30 P.M. the sky brightened. The rain stopped. We hurried to the terrace by the falls.
David and Kris exchanged vows with the sunlit waterfall casting a beautiful glow behind them. I squeezed Dan’s hand when the judge pronounced them husband and wife.
The ceremony ended and we got in the car to head to the reception. As soon as I closed the door the torrential rain started again. I looked at the dashboard clock. Six-thirty. I couldn’t help laughing. “I did ask for just an hour,” I said to Dan.
For our family, June 6 turned out to be the perfect day for weddings—and wedding showers.
