Vintage Bride

Vintage. Shabby chic. Refurbished antiques. It's a trend that's caught on like wild fire and doesn't appear to be going out any time soon. I noticed it a lot more this last year as I planned my wedding. You see it here and there in the every day world, but in the, as I've come to call it, wedding world, it's glaringly everywhere. It's so wide spread, anyone not following the trend feels outdated about not using outdated things.
It didn't really find it's way into my wedding because I felt seriously inadequate to do justice to the theme. Not everyone can decorate with things gathered from a garage sale and end up making it look like a magazine shoot. I had a feeling if I attempted the feat it would look more like, well, a garage sale. I like the look though. It adds a warm homemade feeling, something akin to that sensation you get when you hug your grandma after she's been baking and smells like cinnamon and snickerdoodles. It reflects a heritage while leaving room to add touches of "you." Connecting generations, if you will.
That being said, I find it a rather ironic trend, in the wedding world especially. Why? Because the supposed antiquated ideals have been peeled away from the vintage replications. To put it simply, marriage is being celebrated in a way that appears similar to how it might have fifty years ago, but lived without those fundamental values that make it last that long.
Vintage is popular until it comes to morals.
People have a tendency to express surprise when they find out the deeper details of the beginning of my marriage: You didn't live together or sleep together before you were married? No. He asked your dad if he could date you? Yes, the word court might have even been mentioned. You changed your last name to his and didn't even hyphenate? Yes. You didn't put a note somewhere acknowledging the injustice of gays not being able to marry? No. Your dad gave you away at the wedding, not just his blessing? Yes. Yes, we did, along with many other traditions that are suddenly non traditional.
Personally, I really like some of the ways weddings have changed over the years. We had a photobooth at our wedding and danced back down the aisle to a song from Grease. The bridesmaids' dresses were all different styles and we served our guests ice cream cupcakes. I love seeing how each couple makes their wedding unique to them and had fun doing so with ours. But there are some traditions that I refuse to let go of no matter how outdated they may seem. "Til death do us part," is one of those. Not the death of feelings or emotions, but a commitment to the unification of our lives until our bodies no longer house our spirits.
I'm not going to pretend to be an expert on marriage after two whole months of wedded bliss. I'll be the first to admit that I have a lot to learn; I might as well be on my honeymoon! (Which I don't intend to end, by the way.) Regardless though, I plan to build my marriage on values that many have declared outdated. Even though it didn't show in the decor, apparently I am a vintage bride.

Purple Skies And Blue Grass

Have you ever tried to color a picture with a four year old? Their little hands grip the crayons and they often want to work on the same section as you. Crayons end up clashing until you give up and move on to another part. Some of them try to stay inside the lines and end up spilling over less. Others don't seem to recognize that there are lines at all. The color choices are generally creative too; they'll make the skies purple and the grass blue. Matching isn't a concern, and realistic portrayals aren't something they're generally aware of. If you were attempting to color something meant for display or masterpiece quality, you have chosen the wrong partner. They just drag their crayons around the paper, scribbling blissfully and helping you fill the page with haphazard blotches of color.

Sometimes I feel like that's what life with God is like, only I'm the four year old. He puts us in this world and says, "Be creative! Color it in with Me." And we end up scribbling every where and going hopelessly out of the lines. But He doesn't mind. He smiles with real joy at the work we've done and says, "Good job! It's looking beautiful. What should we do over here?" He looks with the tender eyes of a Father that delights to create with us. He's not deterred by the mistakes we've made and even works them to fit in with the rest of the picture in the end. They don't throw Him off course.

As we continue to create with Him, we learn to follow His lead and remain inside the lines to produce a more detailed picture. I am amazed though, that regardless of how much I learn or don't learn, God still displays my life like a father putting his child's picture on the refrigerator, as if to say, "Look at what my daughter has done!" He doesn't see scribbles, He sees a heart desiring to make something with Him, partnering with Him despite shortcomings and willing to let Him make up the difference where lacking. He works everything together for our good. Those purple skies and blue grass? He'll even turn them into a sunset over the water, as if that's how the image was originally meant to appear.

The Question

Today, I would like to take a moment and recognize all of those people in the world like myself who struggled with, and strongly disliked, a certain simple question.

I could usually see it coming. Well-meaning strangers, who had already covered the weather and other current unimportant categories of small talk, would generally follow with the question. They didn’t mean to be rude. They were simply trying to avoid one of those awkward silences, but little did they know they were about to create one. There would be a short pause and perhaps a quick glance at their feet as they shifted weight and searched for something else to say. I would try, I really would, to insert a question of my own into the conversation at this point. I was usually too late. Their faces would light up as they found inspiration down near their shoes and they’d look up to ask, “So, where do you go to school?” Perhaps it wasn’t the question so much as the reaction to the answer I wanted to avoid. You see, I was one of those kids. Yes, I was homeschooled.

After I informed them of my location of education would come the look. Uncertainty mixed with confusion as their feet suddenly became interesting once again. Common responses to my apparently abnormal answer included but weren’t limited too:

“Well that’s…nice."

“Oh." 

“Do you do school in your pajamas?”

“Do you like it?”

“I knew somebody who was homeschooled once.”

I always wanted to reply to that last one with “Small world.” It’s really not that rare of a phenomenon. It’s not even a phenomenon. (I apologize if you weren’t homeschooled and that last word had too many syllables.)

Homeschooling isn’t that rare, so why did people react like I’d just informed them that I was involved in a weird, secret club? (Granted, unless you were homeschooled you probably don’t understand that Saxon is equivalent to cruel and unusual mathematical torture, but that’s beside the point.) According to current research, homeschooling has grown to about 2 million students in the U.S. Count the zeros folks: 2,000,000. So why do people still look confused when they meet people like me? The simple answer? We blend in. Like secret agents. (Well, not exactly like them.)

Sure, the shy homeschoolers in matching and slightly (or more than slightly) outdated outfits are easy to spot, but people sporting an excess of tattoos and purple hair and are unable to identify the U.S. on a map, are generally easily recognized as a product of public schools as well. (Why are we balking at the former and accepting the latter as normal anyway?) Neither stereotype fits well for the majority.

           

I was never sure if it was a compliment or not that people told me I didn't seem like a homeschooler. (I’ve successfully acquired social skills, yay me!) The reality is, most homeschoolers look and act pretty much like everyone else. We don’t all have super long hair, like to match our siblings, and spend every waking minute studying for the National Spelling Bee. Before you go rolling your eyes at those that do, take a moment to glance around your own local school at the wide range of individuals attending. People come in all varieties.

Before you are tempted to ask about socialization, just don't. If he or she is talking to you in a public place, let's save everyone trouble and recognize that they're being socialized as you speak. You can even pat yourself on the back as you realize that you have contributed to the very important process of an introduction to mainstream society. Way to help the world out, one homeschooler at a time. 

If you do happen to ask a homeschooler about where they attend school, keep smiling after they tell you and ask what their favorite subject is, or something similar, just like you would anyone else. It’s that easy. Personally, I no longer mind being "one of those kids" and will probably make my future children face the same question. Perhaps by then though the general population will realize how widespread homeschooling is. At the very least, they hopefully won't be asked as I once was, "Is that actually legal?" As legal as ignorance and cheaper too.