My partner Amber and I have been together for 17 years. Nine years ago, on International Women's Day, we were legally married by the state of Oregon. A year later we received a refund of our marriage license fee along with notice that our marriage was now NULL and VOID.
Fortunately, we had already held what we considered our "real wedding" in 2001. Children of divorce who came of age during the flowering of feminism, neither of us had grown up with romanticized notions of a walk down the aisle. We opted out of many of the traditional trappings. No one gave anyone away. Instead of an officiant we had two friends emcee. A dessert potluck replaced the wedding cake. Our sound track was rock & roll (we entered to the Beatles' Magical Mystery Tour).
In fact, we didn't even call it a wedding. We invited 100 friends and relations to a relationship celebration: "a celebration of our love for each other, how well we work as a team, and the larger community that enriches our lives." But "relationship celebration" doesn't exactly roll off the tongue; it was our straight friends who kept insisting, "come on, it's your Wedding."
Love & Commitment
At its heart, our ceremony - outdoors above the Columbia River Gorge, poised midway between two majestic volcanic peaks - couldn't have been more traditional. It was about us pledging our love and commitment in front of our people, asking for their blessings and sharing our joy. I had broached the possibility of a commitment ceremony with Amber fairly early in our courtship. I wasn't exactly asking her to marry me, but I did wonder how she felt about the idea of making a public commitment. Already in my mid-30s, my previous relationships had followed the pattern of attraction, spending all our time together, since we're spending all our time together we might as well move in together... with no real decision points around what we were committing to, no clear threshold of intention crossed or witnessed.
In her typical straightforward manner, Amber said, "I don't know. Maybe after five years." As she likes to tell it, five years and a day later, I circled back to call the question. By then we had survived a major relationship crisis, lived together in a 19-foot motor home for a year and a half, and travelled together towards my father's final days.
We decided to formalize and celebrate our commitment on our fifth anniversary, September 22, 2001. Eleven days before my family was due to fly out from Logan, Newark, and Dulles airports, the Twin Towers fell. Everyone urged us to proceed with our plans - we all needed to be together more than ever. Eleven days after the ceremony, my father died. I crossed that threshold wrapped in the sturdy blanket our community had constructed with us, woven of our willingness to be there for one another.
We were lucky that our families and friends blessed our union without hesitation. For many gay and lesbian couples, that approval remains withheld as long as legislatures and electorates deem us separate and unequal. And for others, even more than us, being denied access to the safety net protections provided by legally recognized marriages results in real hardships, especially for those with children, with jobs in the military or federal government, and in states without anti-discrimination laws.
Fortunately, we had already held what we considered our "real wedding" in 2001. Children of divorce who came of age during the flowering of feminism, neither of us had grown up with romanticized notions of a walk down the aisle. We opted out of many of the traditional trappings. No one gave anyone away. Instead of an officiant we had two friends emcee. A dessert potluck replaced the wedding cake. Our sound track was rock & roll (we entered to the Beatles' Magical Mystery Tour).
In fact, we didn't even call it a wedding. We invited 100 friends and relations to a relationship celebration: "a celebration of our love for each other, how well we work as a team, and the larger community that enriches our lives." But "relationship celebration" doesn't exactly roll off the tongue; it was our straight friends who kept insisting, "come on, it's your Wedding."
Love & Commitment
At its heart, our ceremony - outdoors above the Columbia River Gorge, poised midway between two majestic volcanic peaks - couldn't have been more traditional. It was about us pledging our love and commitment in front of our people, asking for their blessings and sharing our joy. I had broached the possibility of a commitment ceremony with Amber fairly early in our courtship. I wasn't exactly asking her to marry me, but I did wonder how she felt about the idea of making a public commitment. Already in my mid-30s, my previous relationships had followed the pattern of attraction, spending all our time together, since we're spending all our time together we might as well move in together... with no real decision points around what we were committing to, no clear threshold of intention crossed or witnessed.
In her typical straightforward manner, Amber said, "I don't know. Maybe after five years." As she likes to tell it, five years and a day later, I circled back to call the question. By then we had survived a major relationship crisis, lived together in a 19-foot motor home for a year and a half, and travelled together towards my father's final days.
We decided to formalize and celebrate our commitment on our fifth anniversary, September 22, 2001. Eleven days before my family was due to fly out from Logan, Newark, and Dulles airports, the Twin Towers fell. Everyone urged us to proceed with our plans - we all needed to be together more than ever. Eleven days after the ceremony, my father died. I crossed that threshold wrapped in the sturdy blanket our community had constructed with us, woven of our willingness to be there for one another.
We were lucky that our families and friends blessed our union without hesitation. For many gay and lesbian couples, that approval remains withheld as long as legislatures and electorates deem us separate and unequal. And for others, even more than us, being denied access to the safety net protections provided by legally recognized marriages results in real hardships, especially for those with children, with jobs in the military or federal government, and in states without anti-discrimination laws.
Summer of Love
Thankfully, since the legal version of our marriage was declared null and void, the world has changed fast. Majorities nationwide are now giving the thumbs up to loving, committed couples, even if we happen to be of the same sex. In the past few weeks Minnesota, Delaware, and Rhode Island have brought the number of states with the freedom to marry to 12 (it's a baker's dozen when you add the District of Columbia).
Now Basic Rights Oregon is launching Oregon United for Marriage, a broad coalition that will make Oregon the first state in the country to repeal a one-man-one-woman constitutional amendment. This weekend they kick off the Summer of Love. It's a grassroots movement preparing to gather the signatures that will put freedom to marry on the ballot. At its core, the movement is about sharing the stories of love and commitment - gay and straight - that will open hearts and change minds.
As a Celebrant and wedding officiant, it's a joy to work with couples to create personal, meaningful ceremonies that celebrate their commitment. I hope you'll join me in working for the day - sooner, not later - that I can use the words "by the power vested in me by the state of Oregon" at the weddings of all couples.
Thankfully, since the legal version of our marriage was declared null and void, the world has changed fast. Majorities nationwide are now giving the thumbs up to loving, committed couples, even if we happen to be of the same sex. In the past few weeks Minnesota, Delaware, and Rhode Island have brought the number of states with the freedom to marry to 12 (it's a baker's dozen when you add the District of Columbia).
Now Basic Rights Oregon is launching Oregon United for Marriage, a broad coalition that will make Oregon the first state in the country to repeal a one-man-one-woman constitutional amendment. This weekend they kick off the Summer of Love. It's a grassroots movement preparing to gather the signatures that will put freedom to marry on the ballot. At its core, the movement is about sharing the stories of love and commitment - gay and straight - that will open hearts and change minds.
As a Celebrant and wedding officiant, it's a joy to work with couples to create personal, meaningful ceremonies that celebrate their commitment. I hope you'll join me in working for the day - sooner, not later - that I can use the words "by the power vested in me by the state of Oregon" at the weddings of all couples.
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