Jason and Brina were married Saturday behind a Slidell plantation house that backs up to Bayou Liberty with all the swamps and cypress and thick undergrowth–and probably a few alligators and other critters–one would expect in South Louisiana. It was a gorgeous setting for a June wedding.

The ceremony took place in front of the swimming pool. At the rehearsal I cautioned the groomsmen and bridesmaids to be careful. “We don’t want anyone appearing on America’s Favorite Videos by falling into the pool in your wedding clothes.” A few minutes before the wedding, when I sought out the bride and her maids to make sure they’re clear on the proceedings, Brina smiled, “You don’t think Jason is going to throw me into the pool, do you?” I said, “Surely not.” Not Jason. Her sister Dina said, “If he tries, I’ll stop him.” Oh yeah.

I’ve done a few weddings in outdoor settings over the years–including one at a plantation house a few miles upriver from New Orleans that was held on February 2, 2002 at 2:02 pm–but never without remembering something I heard on the radio. A soft rock station was playing America’s favorites and the host invited listeners to phone in stories about their requests. A woman called. “We were getting married in a public park. It was a beautiful setting, and even though people were jogging and sunbathing near us, we had that little corner of the park to ourselves. Suddenly, at a quiet moment in the ceremony some kid walks through the park carrying a boom box on his shoulder. It’s blaring out the David Cassidy song, ‘I Think I Love You! (So what am I so afraid of?)'” The caller said, “Everyone broke up. It was so perfect. Ever since, that has been our song.”

For our readers who live outside this area–and most do; friends all over the 50 states and beyond log in from time to time–you might be interested in knowing we still have plenty of descendants of the original Accadians (Cajuns), the thousands of French who moved to the bayou country in the mid-1700s from eastern Canada. (They were immortalized in Longfellow’s “Evangeline.”) Just look at the last names of your neighbors. Faciane and Bourliea, for instance. Jason Faciane, our groom, and Brina Bourliea, our bride. Faciane is pronounced something like “fash-shone” and Bourliea comes out to “Bore-yea.”

Brina’s father John passed the time before the wedding by telling me of growing up in Franklin, Louisiana, and learning to fish the bayous with his father. He can trace their family back to the original Accadians. I was tempted to tell him about my own roots in the coal-mining region of America’s Appalachia and learning to swim in a strip pit, then growing up on the Alabama farm, following the mule and picking cotton. Those who know me will be surprised that I squelched that impulse and kept quiet. Today was his day. The gentleman was footing the bill for the wedding of his third and last daughter. He said, “I still get teary-eyed over my daughter getting married.”

We felt the absence of Jason’s mother, Becky. She went to Heaven four years ago, much much too early. This son was the joy of her heart and she would have been radiant with joy over the events of this day, particularly in his choice of a bride. Interestingly, Jason and Brina were childhood sweethearts. Fifteen years ago August 1, Brina kept the bridal registry when Jason’s aunt Julie married Neil McKeever at the First Baptist Church of Kenner and Becky was the matron of honor. Later, Jason and Brina grew apart and then came back together only in the last year or two. I told the assembly, “The butterflies in the flowers are in memory of Becky.” She loved butterflies and collected them.

“I have some bad news for you,” I said to the bride and groom after Dad had kissed his daughter and handed her off to Jason. “You do not have what it takes to be successfully married. You are not patient enough, strong enough, wise enough. You’re going to be needing a lot of help. Fortunately, the Lord who made you and redeemed you on the cross has made Himself available to you. He wants this to be a successful marriage.” I paused a moment and added, “You’ve been reading your Bible together. Continue doing that. And praying together. Sit together in church and worship together. If you do this, in time you will find yourself growing stronger and becoming a far better person than you ever were before.”

As they exchanged rings, I said, “What makes you married today is not anything I say. And it’s not signing your name to some papers. What makes you married is the commitment you are making: for better, for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, til death do you part.” Dietrich Bonhoeffer told his niece in a wedding ceremony, “Love will not sustain your marriage. But marriage (meaning the commitment of marriage) will sustain your love.”

I thought about telling them–but didn’t–of the couple who sat in my living room in the 1970s when writing your own wedding vows was all the rage. The bride-to-be had said, “We don’t want to say ’til death do us part.'” When I asked why not, she said, “Because people say that and then turn around and break it and get divorced. We want to be honest.” I said, “What do you want to say?” She said, “So long as love shall last.” I said, “That will be about Tuesday.”

She said, “What are you saying?” I said, “That there will be plenty of days when you don’t feel love for each other. But you don’t leave just because you’re not feeling love or you’re angry. Your marriage has to be based on something far deeper and stronger. There has to be a commitment to stick it out and make it work.” She said, “What do you suggest?” I said, “Til death do us part.”

It’s the grown-up thing to do.

My three grandchildren, Jason’s cousins, were all over the place, sometimes checking out the bayou and roaming the grounds with new friends who are now relatives by marriage. Their family spent the last week on the beaches at Gulf Shores, Alabama, and they have the tans to prove it. Grant was sporting a sharks-tooth necklace he had bought, the perfect wedding accessory, if you ask me.

Abby and Erin, now 10 years old, were wearing heels for the first time and looked grown-up. But the image was quickly dispelled when, after giving Grandpa his hugs of greetings, they each opened wide and showed where they’ve lost a tooth in the last week. Fifteen minutes after the wedding, Abby was handing the heels to her mom and going barefoot. Just exactly the way little girls should be doing when there is a spacious yard to explore.

There will be plenty of time to grow up in the future. Let’s not rush it.

“Where are you going on your honeymoon?” I asked at the rehearsal. Jason and Brina laughed. “We’re going to New Orleans for a couple of nights. Then, a few days later, we’re taking a cruise–with 30 of our friends.” Someone had told them about a cruise to Cozumel at a great price. “So, we joined the group. Now the joke is that we are taking all these friends on our honeymoon.”

Which is not a bad idea, actually. Nothing de-stresses a married couple like a big group of friends to laugh and relax with. (Note to newlyweds reading this: if you don’t have such a group of friends, go get some. The young couples’ Sunday school class at a good church is a great place to start.)

Jason is an electrician and Brina is a saxophonist and teaches music in public schools. I thought of making a little joke about him providing the spark for this wedding and the two of them making beautiful music together, but decided to act like a grown-up myself.

It’s never too late to grow up.