Chapter 1

I swear this is my last wedding. All around me candles blaze, and the scent of roses overpowers the congregation. Men in black tie. Women in frothy hats. The vaulted ceiling of the church rises above me, its mahogany beams arching toward heaven. I drink in the scene, lingering over every detail, and my knees quiver. A deep breath does little to calm my nerves. There won't be any more after this.

Next to me, Dan stands tall and handsome. His tux fits perfectly;no sign of the slight paunch his usual T-shirts reveal. The organ swells as the pipes ring out the last notes of 'The Wedding March.' It's the lifetime commitment I've always wanted. A deep connection through all the 'slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.' No more loneliness. No isolation. I look up to keep the tears from flowing. No time to cry.

I open my officiant's book and begin.

"Dearly beloved...." These are magic words, an incantation of love that required months of intense preparation on the part of the bride and groom. Dress fittings, repeated trimming of the guest list, bridesmaid negotiations, nagging Dan to pick his groomsmen. And that little trifle known as the ceremony.

"Who brings this woman to be married to this man?" I ask.

Stacy's father beams, despite the stiffness of his stance. Beside him, Stacy glows beneath the thin cover of her veil.

"Her mother and I," her father replies, just as we rehearsed.

Fathers of the bride come in three types. The first one's angry about the cost of the pageantry. The second is relieved that his daughter is now another man's problem. The third is shattered to part with his little princess. Stacy's father is the third kind, lucky girl. Her dad lifts her veil back over her head, murmurs words of love in her ear, and places her hand in Dan's.

Now it's just the two of them in front of all these people. And me, of course. The minister.

"Dan, will you have Stacy to be your wife, to live with her in holy matrimony? If so, please say, 'I will.'

The Declaration of Intent always comes as a surprise to grooms. All of them look shocked, as if what they're doing at the front of the church in their penguin suits has come as a complete surprise. We're not to the real vows yet; just this spot check to make sure both parties are willing. It's the place where we used to ask if anyone objected to the marriage, but given what I know about Dan and Stacy's extended families, we decided to leave that part out. The ice sculptures at the reception would melt by the time we sorted out all the protests likely to be lodged.

"Ar...wll." Dan echoes me as if a boa constrictor has wrapped itself around his throat. Stacy beams as if he's shouted his vow from a rooftop. I ask her the same question, and she starts to cry. Since we're not even to the vows yet, I save the tissue tucked in my book. I only hope she doesn't forget herself and use the back of her hand to wipe her eyes. I can already see she's not wearing waterproof mascara, and I've had more than one raccoon bride in the past few years...

"Marriage is a gift from God, bestowed upon us for the mutual benefit of men and women...." The familiar words roll off my tongue, even as they pierce my heart. Will I ever be on the receiving end of the wedding vows? A thirty-year-old, single woman minister lives in dating Siberia. The last time I went out with a man, he turned out to have a serious criminal record.

Note to Self: Never let one of your congregants fix you up with her grandson who 'just needs the love of a good woman.' The wayward grandson would have been happy to pursue a long-term relationship with my credit rating. I saw his eyes lusting after my American Express when I opened my purse to pay for dinner, but I'm not that desperate. Yet.

"Dan and Stacy, join hands and, with your promises, commit yourselves as husband and wife."

Does any couple really know what they're saying when they parrot back the words I read from my book?

"For better, for worse; for richer, for poorer...."

How will a couple who couldn't agree whether to have lamb or fish at the reception navigate the complexities of married life? Sure, I see their joy today. But in five years, maybe ten, they'll be in some other minister's office wondering where it all went wrong. And what will that preacher tell them? That it all started with Lamb v. Fish?

"As a sign of their commitment, Dan and Stacy have chosen to exchange rings. The wedding ring is an enduring symbol of the promises they make this day."

The best man and maid of honor fumble for the rings, and I pray over those golden bands. I pray hard because my parents taught me how difficult it can be to keep vows made in a church. Somewhere between the custody battle, the divorce settlement, and my new half brothers, my parents' vows crumbled.

Now comes the tricky part of the service. The congregation holds its breath while the bride and groom light the unity candle. Even though I always check the wick before the service, I'm never confident this part will go well. At the first wedding I performed, the unity candle was a no-go. The couple divorced within a year, and when I saw the bride in the grocery store, she blamed it on the wick. I myself would have blamed it on the fact that the groom and maid of honor had yet to conclude their extracurricular relationship when the wedding took place. Fortunately, the candle behaves itself today as the bride's cousin warbles "Endless Love," so often sung at weddings in spite of the fact that it's an ode to a scorned teenager-turned-stalker who ends up burning down his girlfriend's house.

"Inasmuch as you have exchanged vows and rings this day, I proclaim you to be husband and wife. What God has joined together, let no one separate. Dan, you may kiss your bride."

The groom swoops in and proceeds to wash his new wife's tonsils. Funny, I'd pegged him for a peck-on-the-lips man, given that he ultimately lost Lamb v. Fish. For this brief moment, though, after weeks of having his wishes ignored and his preferences shunned, he takes charge.

The kiss starts to take on biblical proportions. People giggle, then squirm. Finally, the groom comes up for air, and I present the newlyweds to the congregation. The organ bursts forth, and they're off, trailed by assorted bridesmaids and groomsmen and two rambunctious flower girls. Privately I say another prayer, borne of thanks and worry, and then follow the wedding party down the aisle.

At the back of the church, the wedding coordinator gives me two thumbs up. Then she turns to hustle the bride and groom out to the Garden of Prayer for a quick photo op. Her assistant will gather the congregation outside the doors of the church for the staged departure. The bride and groom will dash for the limo while the guests release live butterflies from little triangular boxes. I look up at the fifteen-foot doors of the sanctuary and wonder how many of the butterflies will find their way inside to entertain worshipers during tomorrow morning's service.

I backtrack up the side aisle to the sacristy, where I stow my clerical robe and pull my purse out of its cubbyhole. That empty feeling in the pit of my stomach has become a regular visitor, and once again it makes itself known. Another wedding reception solo. But this is the last one. In six months I'll be free. I've learned the hard way that I don't belong in the ministry....

Read more about the Rev. Betsy Blessing this summer when HEAVENS TO BETSY hits the shelves on June 7!