I’ve been meaning to write this post for awhile, but now we are one month into marriage, it seems appropriate. This is a sewing post, I’m happy to say, though art reflects life, so there is a metaphor to explain first.

You know, I remember going to weddings as a twelve-year-old and my mother pointing out the programs, guest book, accoutrements, drawing my attention to the details so I could start getting ideas for my wedding. Seventeen years later, I didn’t have an elaborate plan for a dream wedding, but I had done plenty of work designing a dream man and a dream marriage.

First was the book, I Kissed Dating Goodbye. That hit Evangelical youth groups while I was a teen, newly rededicated to Christ, around the time I trashed all my faerie and renaissance festival paraphernalia, as well as my secular CDs. I took my powerful adolescent emotions and threw them head first into my religion. I wanted to be the most extreme Jesus person I knew. That meant embracing radical purity and archaic courtship practices. I was told by a crush that I was “a living testimony to the book” (though I never read it) – but that crush was not interested in courting me.

So I made a list instead! In fact, I made many “husband lists”. And I went to college, becoming involved in the most sold-out-for-Jesus campus ministry around. It was awesome! Surely I would find my mate! But then that one guy actually kissed me right after I said I only wanted to kiss my husband. I cried with the girls in my Bible study when we broke up. He really loved Jesus! I didn’t understand.

I changed my list. I heard more sermons on marriage and dating and purity. And I met someone else, someone who shared all my ideals, including the hyper-religious identity I’d adopted. Then this guy informed me that God told him I was his wife. My eager, hurting heart believed him, and I accepted his proposal, only to come to my senses three months before the wedding.

More hurt and confusion. This guy matched my criteria, but after that experience, I needed more items on my list! I could not risk repeating mistakes. I refused to gamble my heart again.

But I was needy, and I was smart. Over the next few years, more men came into my path. I adapted to become a version of what I thought they wanted. I made it seem like they pursued me, though all the while, I called the shots. Some followed Jesus, others did not. Some adhered to the rigorous rules I trusted, and when those relationships ended, my heart felt pulverized – all the worse because these men had no excuse for their bad behavior! And my list grew. And my expectations grew. After all, if God was taking this long to bring me my husband, he must be extraordinary! He must be as close to perfect as a man can get!

It looks ridiculous in print. I mean, how could I not have known I was manipulating men to get my needs met? Of course, at the time, I thought manipulation had to be sexual. I had impenetrable walls of self-righteous rule-following that supported my beliefs. I was blind to the state of my heart, completely unaware of how I used spirituality and emotion to spin scenarios so I got what I wanted – a temporary “love fix”.

But then something began to happen. I started to meet men who were everything I was looking for. I could check item after item off the list – strong relationship with God, educated, well-mannered, fond of dancing, cat-lover, financially secure, kind, passionate, single (a surprisingly rare combination, I found!) And as I got to know these men with joy and hope and expectation – because surely God wasn’t taunting me, surely He wasn’t dangling the proverbial carrot – something inevitably went wrong. Some kind of personality disconnect became apparent, some huge flaw manifested, and my hopes shattered in disgust.

Throughout this process, I did all I could to keep my heart open to God. But it was a complicated relationship because as an omniscient Creator, He ought to know how I felt, what I desired, and how I was sacrificing to follow Him. All my disappointment in men really came back to disappointment in God. I had come to believe that if I trusted God, I would never be lonely again. I would be spared from pain and heartache. And yet this is what I knew as normal, time after time. I didn’t know who to blame – was my faith too weak? Had my husband stepped outside of “God’s perfect will” and married someone else according to “God’s permissive will”? Or was God not really interested in fulfilling my heart’s cries after all? Maybe He was not as good as people told me. Maybe He was nice to others, but I was uniquely and helplessly flawed. He could take care of the weak, but I was strong. I could earn His best because I knew better.

And other such drivel.

So I turned my energies to cultivating faith in a fairy tale instead. I lost confidence in lists, and I threw myself into creating items for a hope chest. I took up patchwork quilting, enamored with the idea of blocks named after qualities I hoped to have in my future marriage one day. I worked on blocks like “Steps to the Altar” and “Young Gentleman’s Fancy” and “Tree of Life”, intending to make a glorious quilt depicting my domestic dreams.

I found those blocks recently as Husband and I unpacked our apartment. Truth be told, they were sort of sad. Colors I initially loved turned garish and awkward. More experience with quilting revealed my ignorance in using poor-quality fabrics. And construction was frightful! Maybe I could make them up into a wall hanging? I refused to put them into a quilt. I ought not to get rid of them, right? So much work, such a depiction of who I had been before I met my husband! (Not that meeting my husband suddenly changed me, but it is an easy place to put a marker on my timeline.)

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I tried to get inspired to work on something else, but I kept coming back to these blocks. Finally I made a decision.

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Destroyed! I took a critical eye to each block, harvested good pieces of fabric for my scrap bin, and trashed the rest. And these blocks were not the only ones. Each abandoned unfinished project got the same treatment. My scrap bin revived with new bits of favorite fabrics!

And I made cushion covers for our sofa’s toss pillows.

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Here is the metaphor: I have put a lot of effort and study into learning what makes the best marriage, but along the way, I’ve mixed a lot of poor quality fabric in the lot. I have to say, there seems to be a lot of wasted effort. My husband does not meet the criteria on my list. He is not what I was told to “hold out for”. He has ideas and opinions and ways of doing things that are unlike mine. He went through the same ministry school as me, but to my horror, he does not agree with every idea they teach. (Lord, that upset my apple cart!) There was a moment of panic, my mind reeling with the thought, “What have I gotten myself into?!?”

And then I’d look at those crazy pillows. Scraps and bits and chaos, wild and untamed, beautiful because of the mess. We sort, we piece, we pick apart, and we let go.

I let go.

I let go of my right to be defined as a hardcore God-chaser, rather than simply His daughter. I let go of my former last name. I let go of my expectation that it is Husband’s responsibility to intuit my needs. I let go of having the covers all to myself. I let go of my ideas of the roles of the wife and husband. I let go of my preference for doing things my way. I let go of control – in so many situations – and I piece trust instead.

It has been a month of sorting and choosing and saving and trashing. Moment by moment, gently or rushing all together. Not all sound teaching is universal. The best-intended rules can still hurt more than they help. And no rule – other than the Law of Love – actually draws reality and life into any relationship. (Seam ripper, scissors, scrap bin.) We have a long way to go. No marriage is without its baggage. But it is a worthwhile journey, and I am so happy to be on it. Laugh and cry and dance and learn and grow, together this time, and on down through the ages to come.

The other night, as it begins to turn cooler, Husband requested a larger blanket for the bed. (Y’all, I got a good one!) Is there anything sweeter to a quilter’s ears? Immediately I thought of my 100 City Sampler blocks. As I made calculations, however, I realized another row would be just right. Which meant:

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These are my favorite types of blocks. They are spontaneous and bold and free. They are the best of what I love, and they reflect what I want to bring to my marriage: life, effort, kindness, and freedom.

If this is the first month, I hardly dare imagine the rest of our lives! We have such a brilliant future ahead of us, and we are excited to launch into it – seam ripper at the ready! Here’s to the future! It is sure to be bright.

My friend Lois and I could not wait to get started on some British baking! She decided to make shortbread, called “Petticoat Tails” in the Be-Ro book, to take to her life group meeting. They were eaten so quickly she forgot photos! But she gave me feedback on mine. Following are my notes and recipe translation. I used my Taylor food scale, measured all ingredients as listed in metric, then carefully scooped into American measuring cups and spoons to come up with the quantities listed.

Petticoat Tails (Shortbread)
9 September 2014, p. 19 in Be-Ro Home Baked Recipes, 41st Edition
Listening to: The Fellowship of the Ring Extended DVD, design team commentary

Equipment

rolling pin
lightly floured board
cookie sheet
parchment paper
mixing bowl
cooling rack
wooden spoon
rubber spatula
table knife and fork

Ingredients
Generic / store brand

12 Tbs. unsalted butter, softened or cool
2 1/4 c. + 1 tsp. all-purpose flour
1/3 c. + 2 Tbs. granulated sugar

Preheat oven to 325°F. Plop butter into flour and rub with fingers until well-combined. Stir in sugar until smooth. Divide in two, then roll on board. Transfer to parchment-lined cookie sheet, score with table knife and prick with fork. Bake for about 20-27 minutes.

Notes on baking
Initially I began transferring them to the cooling rack at 21 minutes, but they were too soft and split apart! So I separated the pieces where I’d scored them and baked them an additional 6 minutes. This seemed to work fine!

Reviews

Baker (me!): 8 out of 10 – “Simple, straightforward, tasty, and great with a hot drink.”
Husband: 7 out of 10 – “Do we have any jam?”
Taster: 10 out of 10 – “They’re cookies! All cookies are 10 out of 10!”

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I sent photos to Lois. She replied,

They look good to me. Good size, pale in colour, but mine came out that colour too as they were fine so nothing to worry about there. Hope they tasted good. Mine all went last night before I even realised. I forgot to take photos tho! But they look yummy! Well done!

Husband thought a dollop of jam would improve their flavor. His jam of choice? Habanero chili made by our fantastic wedding caterer, Lucy Rizzo. (We think she ought to make it regularly and sell it at the Farmers Market.)

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To which Lois replied,

Heheh they’re meant to be sweet biscuits, but they are quite neutral in taste so if [husband] puts on chilli jam we’ll call that a [husband] quirk!

Are you a fan of shortbread? How do you like yours? Leave me a comment and let me know!

Happy baking!

Friends, if my stint in England taught me anything, it is that baking is a national sport. Folks in the UK get as excited about their cakes and pastries as we Southerners do the SEC and tailgating. Last year, I was introduced to their Super Bowl of baking, the Great British Bake Off, or GBBO for short. As the granddaughter of a world-traveling gourmet, I was determined to pick up local recipes. Thankfully, I met my sweet friend and baking aficionado Lois who drove home this doctrinal truth: the bible of British baking is the Be-Ro Book. She also, kindly, sent me home with a copy of the current Be-Ro Book itself, which would be much harder to procure Stateside.

Lois and I have kept up quite a bit, swapping sewing and baking stories, sharing our thoughts on Doctor Who and the new round of Bake Off. As we went back and forth, it hit me, altogether at once: why not bake the Be-Ro?

Why not take these time-proved British recipes, measure them out precisely, convert them accurately, and test them here in the US? Why not use generic brands and basic equipment so even budget-conscious folks can manage? And why don’t I share the process? In fact, why don’t Lois and I do it together? Get our husbands involved? Have guest taste-testers? Guest bakers?

And she was thrilled! We are so excited to do this together, despite the ocean in-between.

So we begin. We will go through the Be-Ro in no particular order, featuring recipes adapted from British into American equivalents. I will share what worked and what didn’t. I’ll get opinions from Lois, and she will contribute her bakes, too! And we will have lots of delicious fun along the way!

Care to join us? “On your marks, get set… Bake!”

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This is not a sewing post.

I want to talk straight about the last month. I want to process this magnificent life change that has taken my river, broken its dams, and having flooded the banks, begun to settle into a newly-created bed. Three and a half weeks ago, I married a man I’d known less than a year. In fact, our wedding date was on the first anniversary of the first time we set eyes on each other. We both attended a weekend workshop on God-given creativity, and I remember seeing him as I found a front row chair. The next day, he watched from the back as dancers pirouetted, and he heard God say, “You know you’re watching your wife dance.” I was the only young, single woman in the group, so he stepped out in faith, arranged to meet me through mutual friends, and after a wild ride of a year (wild even for a passionate pistol like myself), here we are. We married as virgins just weeks shy of our 30th birthdays.

The week before the wedding, we did not know where we would live. Between us, we had three part time jobs, none of which qualified us as renters. I was going on interviews, we were looking for housing, and I was managing anxiety moment by moment. And yet we were simultaneously full of faith, repeating, “God has a plan, we don’t have to know what it is.” We stood on a history of His faithfulness in our lives, even as we stretched to hold onto Him in the present.

Before we met, God called both of us to give up our lives and follow Him wherever He led. My husband left his home and livelihood in Northern California and moved to Nashville, Tennessee. As we met, I was in the final weeks of preparation to leave my home in Nashville, Tennessee, and move to Northern England. These big risks – following God, giving up security, material possessions, income, relationships – ultimately paid off, but they “shook everything that can be shaken”. My husband went through a year of the aptly named School of Supernatural Life, and I gave all I had into the newly-restored House of Prayer, Europe. Returning to the States after three months, rather than the promised year, I found myself reeling, confused, and very, very hurt.

We wrestled through with much prayer and good counselors. We had heartaches and breakthroughs, joys and failures. We were poor but provided-for, discouraged but tenacious, willing but at times unable to love, unable to even articulate what we were feeling or what we needed. But by the kindness and mercy of God, we returned to Him, and we returned to one another.

And so we came to the beginning of a new beginning. I went on another interview the Tuesday before our Saturday wedding. They called back within a few hours offering me a job! But the next day I was feverish, unable to pack (though we still had no home). Thursday, still sick, I moved from my friend’s house where I’d been staying, topping off a storage unit for the time being. Meanwhile, my husband secured us an apartment with my parents’ and his best man’s help and finished moving out of his friends’ home where he’d rented a room. The apartment would not be ready until we returned from our honeymoon, so he packed his things into the storage unit, too. Still, we were thankful and excited, happy for God’s faithfulness, saying, “He is never late, though He misses many opportunities to be early.”

A bridesmaid rode with me to pick up my wedding gown and head to the state park lodge where family and friends were already gathering. As I gingerly laid the gown in the back seat, I caught my cheek on the edge of the car door. It struck a vein and began to swell, and I could not control the tears. We turned back to where we’d gotten the gown, received an ice pack and first aid instructions. My bridesmaid then drove my car out to the park while I kept pressure on the bulging bruise. As we talked about our lives and our work with children, she mentioned a recent bout of hand, foot, and mouth disease. Later, finally settling into our suite, I found red sores in my throat. Sores appeared on my hands and feet the next day, and a quick googling confirmed the diagnosis. I cried.

Or rather, I mourned. All the preparation, all the excitement, all the waiting, and here it was, almost my wedding day, and I had a black eye forming and an infectious, painful virus with no treatment, just an imperative to keep away from people. Impossible! This wasn’t bridezilla drama. I loved my dress, didn’t care if everything was perfect. But this mattered! I wanted to be well, I wanted to be beautiful, and I wanted to freely hug and kiss friends and family, not to mention my husband! I had waited and fought the hard fight to have this day, to be a “pure and spotless bride”, only to be literally spotted with sickness that would quarantine me any other day, and to top it off, I looked like I’d been punched in the face!

But The Lord, my sweet Daddy God, spoke to me. He understood. After all the prayers and declarations and expecting Him to heal, I stood in the shower claiming Scripture and praying promises, forgiving and blessing, following every Godly principle I could – but still the sores and sickness remained. And God said, “Welcome to the prophetic.”

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but with God, I think one word is worth a thousand. I had four thousand to unpack in understanding, but my heart knew immediately what He meant, and it took the anxiety and disappointment and drained their power, putting them in perspective.

I looked through Scripture for the phrase “pure and spotless bride”. Shockingly, I could not find it. There are references to New Jerusalem coming down as a bride (Revelation 21:2), and the Spirit and the Bride saying “come” (Revelation 22:17), but that particular phrase, which I’ve heard for years in Christian circles, was nowhere.

What I then understood is this: first, Jesus knows what it is like to marry a diseased bride. His Bride, the Church, is covered in the symptoms of contagious illness. These may be hypocrisy, judgment, religiosity, ignorance, gossip, bigotry, racism, idolatry of a political party or idolatry of a healthy lifestyle. He understands the pain of disappointed hope. To know there in that moment, on the eve of my wedding, that I was perfectly understood by the One who made me and loves me more passionately than words can say was – and is – tremendous.

Second, while He is there for us in our pain and takes us on a journey of healing our attitudes and behavior, still God chooses us in the moment. There seems to be an expectation in the Church that Jesus is waiting for us to be “pure and spotless” before He returns, as if our sinlessness, or at least our earnest striving to become so, will finally prove to Him that we have enough faith to satisfy His criteria, allowing Him to hold up His side of the bargain. In other words, as long as I sin, I am not worth Jesus returning. If I am not pursuing radical holiness, Jesus is not pleased with me – or not as pleased as He could be. So while I do not believe it is the intent of those who preach such messages to burden listeners, my heart somehow understood it that way, and here I was, supposed to be representing the Church as a bride, utterly failing at spotlessness.

Later, as it turns out, I learned that I got sick from my interactions with children at my new job. Essentially, what God used to provide for me also made ill. There is a metaphor there, too, about God accomplishing His perfect plan through imperfect circumstances and imperfect people. There are no guarantees that following Him will not have side effects, and there is no promise that those effects will fit my sense of fairness – as if by choosing to follow Him, He owes me comfort and ease.

But coming to the point: I followed Him to the best of my ability – not only in giving up my life for Him, but also in choosing to follow Him in sexual purity, trusting Him to open doors for me and provide for all my needs. And I might even say that had I been less stressed, I would not have gotten sick. Had our apartment been in place sooner, or my job secured earlier, my wedding would not be on the verge of ruination (I mean, can you imagine no hugs and kisses at your wedding, for fear of infecting others?)

All this hit me in those simple words, “Welcome to the prophetic.” The truth is, He doesn’t choose us because He hopes one day we will be pure and spotless. No, He knows life is messy and ugly and we will experience negative effects we cannot control. But none of that negates His love. It is the same simple truth as salvation, yet it means so much more now we have history together.

And I realized I have committed myself for eternity to One of whom I still know so little. We have been together for eighteen years, and He surprises me with His tremendous love. How freeing to be understood, how freeing to have peace, no matter the storm, disappointment, or fear.

Not a person got sick from me, I’ll have you know, and I hugged and kissed freely. My bruise was pale enough to be covered by makeup for the wedding, too, though it darkened into accusing purple on the honeymoon.

The wedding night was a memorable adventure, and we spent our honeymoon mostly off the grid, watching the lake rise from almost incessant rain. I discovered poison ivy on the arches of my feet, presumably from taking pictures in the woods in my sparkly sandals. After dealing with hand, foot, and mouth, this old nemesis was annoying, but not powerful, so I wore socks to bed à la Flight of the Conchords. We came home to a whirlwind move-in, barely getting a mattress into the apartment before returning the truck. It took us three days to fully move, and then I started my new job.

Without belaboring the point, it was “not a good fit”. I could feel it in my guts, and my intelligence was continually insulted by the company’s practices, which contradicted all the training I was receiving. Poor husband listened to me rant and vent each evening. Still, I was shocked when, four days in, they let me go. As the tears cleared, husband suggested I follow back up with a school that called on the honeymoon. I started new hire paperwork with them last week, and husband just got promoted as well. To say the least, we are thankful. Credit where it’s due – this is His plan, we just don’t know what it is!

So we are settling in to make life happen. Name changes are processing, our apartment is free of cardboard boxes. We bought a desk for husband to work on writing and film, and God led me to a yard sale where I got a table for my sewing machine (more on that to come). We have close neighbors and are part of a loving community. We are excited about life and enjoying marriage. It’s all a story I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but it’s a story I love to tell, because it’s ours. Here’s to the future – we’re smiling at you!

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I am recovering from wedding sewing and finding my feet again, but I have one project I’d like to put a deadline on.

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My previous roommate is a unicorn aficionado and requested a cover for her Bible. I’d like to make her one as a thank-you for being so kind and understanding those months leading up to the wedding! She chose fabrics, and I took measurements. Now all I need to do is sew it up!

Linking up with A Lovely Year of Finishes!

We’ve reached the home stretch! Decorations are made, favors packaged, thank-you notes written (to date), and vendors confirmed. My two last sewing projects are complete and awaiting their purpose in the next few days!

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I used a comb my mother passed to me years ago – not particularly sentimental but sweetly vintage and perfect for this purpose. Initially I edged the tulle in a shimmery bead trim, but the effect was off-putting. Scrounging for what I had on hand, I found a spool of thin, baby blue satin ribbon, and thankfully I had enough for the entire veil! After machine stitching the ribbon and trimming the excess seam allowance, I loosely gathered the tulle and hand-sewed it to the comb. In person, the color is subtle, but it’s the ideal “something blue” I was lacking anyway!

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Speaking of color, I had a last-minute inspiration to make a flock of bright birdies! I started with the Spool Bird pattern as inspiration and freehanded a miniature version. These will be part of gift bags my mother and I are assembling for wedding guests staying at the lodge. The remainder will find homes among table decor and fabric flowers and eventually back to me (yay!) – they turned out so sweet that I just want to keep them!

Four more days til I change my last name! So excited – can hardly wait!

I’m seeing the light at the end of the tunnel! Maybe one more teeny bit of sewing remains for the wedding – and I’m right on schedule, only 14 days to go!

I was not expecting it would be so hard to find suspenders for the ring “bear”! Of course, the only option was to make them. Thankfully, I found a tutorial that was quite helpful! Then came time to decide the color. Little Man wanted blue, and his mama wanted red. So I made a pair of each, sourcing fabric from the Stitcher’s Garden, the legendary hoard of hundreds of bolts tucked into a strip mall in Franklin.

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If you look close you’ll notice those aren’t proper sliders. I remembered bow tie sliders being hard to source, so it ought to have been no surprise that their suspenders-sized cousins were equally elusive. However, I think they’ll do just fine!

As all our groomsmen are in suspenders, I thought to put a clip back on their boutonnieres.

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The other corsages and boutonnieres have pin backs. I had so much fun sorting them out! Two weeks to go and they will be pinned on our honored family and friends!

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I just love how they all came together! Bright and sweet and cheerful! And Momma, if you’re reading this, you can guess which might be yours!

Can’t wait to celebrate with everyone soon!

Well, I’m done! I’ve completed the last of my Tula Pink City Sampler blocks!

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It wasn’t until I was arranging these photo grids that I realized one of my blocks was assembled upside-down! Typically the imperfections don’t bother me (given a choice between “done” and “accurate”, I’ll choose “done”!) This one was enough for me to redo.

While I was at it, I redid another block. Striking as the original was, the orange was actually a thin shot cotton that I don’t expect would hold up over time.

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So glad to have these all done! I’ll figure out a layout later, but for now I’m enjoying my sense of accomplishment!

Linking up with A Lovely Year of Finishes!

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My favorite soon-to-be six-year-old with legs for days will walk the aisle in white eyelet and muslin. When I measured her, I showed her a basic pattern and asked what details she wanted. This is what we came up with (pockets not pictured). The skirt ought to just skim the floor, and I love that sweet border!

This is officially the last bit of “big sewing” for the wedding. I’m relieved and excited to focus on all the little frippery bits! And after that, like the carrot dangling just out of reach, is the joy that I’ll be able to return to my first love – quilting! – soon! T-minus 36 days and counting!

I’m woefully behind on my wedding sewing reports.

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For example, bow ties for the men and ring bearer were completed months ago.

I am giving myself grace to let things slide, though. Things more important than blogging have taken precedence. Case-in-point: the gown.

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No, I’m not going to reveal it until the wedding, but it’s finally complete! And let me tell you, it was worth every hour. I have only a few more handwork details to finish. Thankfully, I have plenty of time for that! (Forty days, to be precise!)

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Having completed my gown, I’m free to move onto much more forgiving projects – like my bridesmaid bouquets! I also have the silk and muslin scraps from my gown to put into my flowers. I am gleeful about these colors!

Still to do: flower girl’s dress and crown (measured her yesterday); bouquets; hanging “vines”; table decor. The list goes on. But I’m so excited as each piece is completed and the reality sinks in – y’all, I’m really getting married!

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