I’m realizing all at once how quickly pieces of life pass us by, even at the young and green age of twenty-two. How one day, the one day you’ve thought about for far more yesterdays than one twenty-four hour today, can float away as quickly as you dreamed it. And there you are, closing your eyes on the most beautiful day of your life, just as quickly as you woke to it.
At the end of Price’s and my reception, I found myself unable to stop crying. We walked through a sidewalk of the people we love most, sparklers and cheers and happy tears. I couldn’t even bring myself to say goodbye to my mom and dad - the souls who had given me the gift of this day, the greatest gift I’ll never be able to sufficiently thank them for. I couldn’t even look them in the eye. Price and I got into the limo, and as Cone-Bottoms slipped from view, twinkle lights and all, we both sat with our foreheads pressed together, crying and whispering how just overwhelmed we were with the beauty and the love we had just experienced.
While we flew to a week spent in blissful Newport, Rhode Island the next morning, I sat on my phone and slowly scrolled through every picture I could find from the day before. I realized how badly I wanted to burn every single moment into my memory for the rest of my life. Every smell (overwhelmingly gardenia, on purpose), every kind word, every hand hold, every prayer, every face, every flower, every single second I breathed. I can sit at work, caught up in thinking about our wedding day and honeymoon, and imagine fitting every single detail into a jar to keep at my bedside. If only I could stick my head in that jar every single night, relive the feeling it was to get married to Price Murphree, surrounded by so many beautiful souls, I don’t think I would ever be sad again.
However, God designed this earthly life to be fleeting. And I know that the only way I can preserve May 29, 2021 is through the written word and the priceless photos and videos we are so lucky to have.
So...here it is! Every little story, thought, design, and prayer that went into a wedding weekend that makes our families feel so tearful just at the thought of it.
My matron-of-honor was my cousin Meg. This was a decision made very, very early on in our lives, as we sat over glue sticks and old copies of Arkansas Bride, carefully curating wedding journals and agreeing that we would serve one another in that cherished bridesmaid position when the day came. Meg’s came three Julys ago on a steaming Saturday afternoon in Texas. As I stood in the tiny chapel she’d pasted into her journal all those years ago, I remember feeling as though I was watching life from the third person. Meg in a white dress. Our grandma in the front pews. A soft rendition of the bridal march sounding as she left. Those magazine pictures we’d poured over were our reality in that moment, and I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to happen to me.
Nearly three years later, and it was the Friday morning before the day I married Price Murphree, a soul I’d known for less than two years, but sure felt like I’d known since the day I was born. That morning, I felt the pressing need to get out of the house. The day before your wedding is entirely too emotional, too nostalgic, too meaningful to sit. So I went on a run. At first, I planned to run my typical Arkansas summer route: just one short mile-long route around Henderson’s campus. As I ran though, I found myself pounding the pavement to Ouachita’s campus. Of course, I couldn’t escape that nostalgia. I felt the need to be there, to run the route I had so often as a student, as Addy Goodman.
I ended up spending a little over an hour on the lawn of Cone-Bottoms picking up sticks instead of circling back home. The lights typically used for Tiger Homecoming weekend were strung in criss-cross, and my mind was racing at the thought that this time tomorrow, that very lawn - the lawn I pledged EEE on, the lawn I collapsed on dressed as a star after my first Tiger Tunes performance, the lawn we were supposed to graduate on - would be so magnificently transformed into a celebration of God’s gift to us. My marriage to Price.
It is so critical for me to say that our wedding was such a labor of love. Twenty-two years of fatherly adoration accumulated into one night of beauty and abundant generosity. As I ran, my dad was at the church, working. I felt like the only thing I could do to help was pick up sticks. How could I sit that day, surrounded by abundant kindness, and do nothing? The wedding was hard for me in that way: to accept the kind of generosity that expects nothing in return. I’m sure it looked odd, me crawling throughout the lawn early on a work day, piles of sticks accumulating as I went. A prospective family walked up the middle sidewalk for their campus tour, and I found myself blabbering about how I don’t work here, in fact I’m just getting married here tomorrow. After they disappeared inside, I thought about how that student might remember the first person she met on campus the day she visited: the girl who loved Ouachita so much, she celebrated her wedding on its heart. I hope she remembers that.
I spent the rest of the day running errands with Meg, visiting Grandma’s house, and one last stop at Mary and Martha’s Florist, where Dad’s sweet ladies and sickeningly talented florist friends were pushing out masterpiece after masterpiece. The store smelled of peony and gardenia, the usual scent of Trapp “Bob’s Flower Shoppe” buried under the semi-truck’s worth of flowers. It felt like Valentine’s Day, which just made it incredibly emotional for me. My Aunt Kathy felt the same; she cried at mere sight.
When Price and I were dating during the first few months of quarantine, we subconsciously obeyed a visitation schedule that alternated entire weekends spent at our individual homes. A weekend in Camden, visiting Mystic Creek and movie nights with Phinn the French bulldog. Then a weekend in Arkadelphia spent watching Tiger King in a homemade fort with Henry the golden retriever. And so on. I’ll be the first to say that those months were incredibly precious to me, as I got unexpected time at home with Mom, Dad, and Gabe, but also because Price and I got to share our families and homes with one another in a different way than if life was normally progressing (without a global pandemic).
One weekend, Price took me to the DeGray golf course, where he’d spent hundreds of hours in college. It was the official training ground for the Reddies, and I was excited to see him back in that comfort zone. It was that weekend that the thought of having a rehearsal dinner on the back patio first looked me in the eye. How beautiful would it be...white tablecloths, sunset on the range, and the nostalgia and familiarity for Price. A nod to his connection to my hometown.
And so on the evening of May 28, 2021, our friends and family gathered on the back patio of the DeGray Lake Golf Course after two hours spent in the First Baptist Church sanctuary, where I wore a veil my granny sewed me as a child and cried as we practiced walking down the aisle. The weather was everything we asked Jesus for: a 70 degree weekend scattered with sunny clouds, despite the original forecast reading 100 percent thunderstorms. It felt like a smile handed down to us from above. Price’s mom, Mrs. Grace, had put together the most stunning party that looked identical to the idea I have held in my head for years upon years: all the people I love most in this world, a fabulous white dress, lovely and tearful words, chocolate dessert, and the most precious man holding my hand.
I wore a dress I ordered off of Poshmark, a no-longer-available-in-stores-so-that-justifies-the-price dress that reminded me of Kate Spade. It lived in my apartment closet for over six months next to the white beaded purse my mom found for the weekend at an antique shop last year (she found a matching gold one for herself on Etsy), and I would often put them on after work and click on my Wedding playlist, staring at myself in the mirror and imagining the day I would wear this dress for real.
It came so fast.
When Meg was married, she told me the most precious part of the entire experience was the rehearsal dinner, as that was where her and her husband’s entire lives collided. Friends from childhood, college roommates, distant cousins, grandparents from both sides, youth group pastors. I saw that at ours; everyone was mixed together like they’d known each other their entire life.
My pastor Jimmy warned Price and me that the rehearsal dinner would possibly be the hardest, emotionally. The culmination of an entire engagement, an entire young life lived on your own, your childhood and friendships and families and laughs and tears and hugs and fights and prayers. He was so, so, so very right. I felt as though that night I saw my life flash before my eyes. There was my granny and papaw, looking like childhood VBS in Prattsville. Then walked in Grandma, looking just as classy as she looked in my parents’ wedding album. There was Jack and Nick, the most vivid reminders of so many seasons of my life: youth group, marching band, summer camp, first boyfriends and heartbreaks, college. All of my college roommates and best friends were smushed around one table, laughing and leaned in close. My aunts and uncles scattered throughout, Price and my parents tucked close at our table, Gabe chatting with Nova, my friendship permanently captured in middle school. Price and I were so known that night.
As cherished friend after cherished friend found their way to grip the mic, Price and my cheeks got more and more slippery, eyes red on the corners. Mr. Murphree started the night with a reminder of why we were here: a little interview that turned into a love story. Meg’s speech was so reminiscent of the words I spoke over her; there is something so special about sharing that very same moment with someone. Price’s childhood friends made us laugh. His cousin made us cry. My Neesh, bandmate turned friend, told stories of before we called ourselves that, when I was just a pure annoyance. College friends reminisced. Price’s sisters cried through a list of stories, thoughts, and wishes. And then my brother Gabe stood up...and my throat still feels tight just at the thought of it.
I fell asleep that night on my childhood bed, curled up in my white tulle dress.
In the morning, I woke up to find Mom and Henry tending to the garden she’d been so attentive and thoughtful to in preparation for this very day. Dad had already gone to the church, as his official “quitting” time rang at noon, and it had a hard stop, as corporate lingo would describe it. Henry was clothed with his “Dog of Honor” bandana, a surprise from Mom.
For breakfast, my bridesmaids spent the morning beside me, feasting on china over all of my favorite delicacies produced from Mom and Grandma’s kitchens: sausage balls, coffee cake, casseroles, and coffee. My mom had glasses of Welch’s sparkling grape juice on hand, a Goodman celebration staple, pulled out exclusively for Christmas, New Years, birthdays, Easter, and the occasional Thanksgiving. We sat and talked, each taking turns paying our respective rubbings to Henry. It felt so comforting to me, surrounded by people who have chosen to love me just because.
After everyone trickled out, I nestled myself in the upstairs bathroom sink with my makeup bag wedged on the edge and my knees pressed to the mirror. Everything was so heavily nostalgic: balanced on the edge of the sink was where I first learned how to do my makeup, where I got ready for senior picture day, both proms, for freshman college move-in day, for everything in between.
I had decided pretty early in our engagement that I would do my own hair and makeup. Partly because it gave me a reason to spend paycheck after paycheck at Ulta on eye brightening creams, new red lipsticks, soft sponges, thick concealer, boars bristle brushes, and honey-infused hair oils. All in the name of getting married! But mostly because I knew I’d feel most myself if I held the brushes. I started with Bobbi Brown foundation, because Kate Middleton wore Bobbi on her wedding day (and did you know she did her own hair and makeup, as well?) and finished with Chanel lip gloss, my capstone purchase for the face I wanted to have May 29.
I fixed mine and Mom’s hair the same way: curled and rolled to cool. Standing over Mom while she was perched on the toilet, carefully curling her hair and winding mesh rollers up to her scalp was one of those moments I know will live with me for my entire life. About an hour later, Mom came upstairs with her dress on, and I cried at how beautiful she was. That entire day, I found myself thinking of her wedding day. I realized so deeply how weddings are just as much about them...Mom and Dad.
The moment I wore my dress for the first time on Halloween 2020 at the prettiest bridal shop in Fayetteville (Tesori Bridal), I wasn’t surprised. I wasn’t surprised at how comfortable I felt in it, how beautiful I felt when I thought about Price seeing it for the very first time, how I didn’t want to try another dress on. It looked like every dress I’ve ever picked out, yet classier, simpler, more a reflection of myself and who I want to be. That dress made me feel like I was buttoning up for my very own royal wedding. It reminded me of Kate, of Jackie Kennedy, of my grandma Marsha and my mom. On my wedding day, I didn’t doubt a single decision. I felt like Addy. And that is all I could have asked for that entire day.
After a first look with Dad and Gabe, and a private photoshoot for Henry, my brother and best friend loaded me up into Mom’s scrubbed clean black Tahoe. For the weeks leading up to the wedding, I thought about this drive a lot. I thought about when Gabe was a freshman in high school, me a senior. All those mornings he blasted Beyonce’s “Countdown” or Becky G’s “Singing in the Shower.” Him waiting at the car after school, slick from football practice. One of my favorite memories was coming out one rainy March day to a promposal in my car...Gabe lingering just steps away. (When we got in the car after Gabe took our picture, he looked at me and said “I didn’t take your picture. I just zoomed in on your individual faces.” I had to call my prom date back. Gabe just laughed.)
And all of a sudden, there we were, Gabe holding my train as I got into the car to drive to my wedding.
I think moments like this are why it was so, so very special for me to get married in my childhood home at my childhood church, rather than at a venue. Every single part of my life is nostalgic to me, and so it was so fitting to have these precious moments in places I’ve lived my twenty-two years in. My bridesmaids first look was right outside of my church on the sidewalk we walked every Sunday afternoon on our way to lunch. The church itself...I can’t tell you the amount of times I’d sit in the front few pews with the youth and imagine rounding that corner to the stage with my husband. I dreamed of this day every time I stepped inside. To get married in the House of our Lord...it felt like everything that day stood for.
Even down to the pictures on Ouachita’s campus. My college friend Faith captioned her photo after the wedding “Adding celebrating Addy to the list of fun memories on Cone-Bottoms lawn!” That was the thought running through my head all day; how blessed I was to add memories with our wedding party, our family, our thoughtful friends at a place that already means the world to me. And even sweeter: First Baptist Church and Ouachita’s campus held deep meaning to the Murphrees, too.
One of my favorite details from the day was having my “bridesmen” there for every second. Outside of Gabe, Jack and Nick felt more like brothers than mere childhood friends. As I was putting together my bridesmaid proposal boxes, I couldn’t shake the thought that my bridal party wouldn’t be complete if those two weren’t a part of it. The boys I’d shared so much of my life with. I FaceTimed them one afternoon to ask them to be there, and here they were on May 29, dapper in their tuxes and bow ties. Forever a part of this day. I will always, always, always cherish their presence.
Back at the church, we were tucked into our respective holding rooms before the ceremony: the girls in the golden hour sun-filled prayer room and the boys in the basement youth room I lived in through high school. My mom attached my veil with the very same bobby-pins she used on her wedding day, as guests began filing past the guest book table at the front of the church. Butterflies swarmed into the pits of my stomach as I reapplied my Chanel lipgloss and Gucci perfume -- of course, I had to.
On May 29, the front of First Baptist Church was transformed into the Westminster Abbey reminiscent church of my every dream. The vision we had discussed for months was sitting right there: the perfect amount of sunlight for the guest book to be waiting as a majestic welcome, surrounded by delphinium along the stairwells at my request. A sophomore in college, I studied art in western Europe the first month of summer. While I was there, Meghan Markle and Prince Harry were married. The front of the chapel she arrived at was decorated with a solid arch of florals encasing the doors. I remember sending a picture to Dad, captioned one day…
When I thought about my wedding and how I wanted my guests to feel, I wanted the church to feel regal, to feel royal and magical, yet soft and welcoming all at once. Dad did just that.
My dad being the most talented pianist I know, and me trailing far, far behind him, yet just as musically inclined, the discussion of music throughout the entire night was a valuable one to the two of us. Thankfully, we had two beautifully gifted musicians in Susan Atkinson on the piano and Dr. Kay McAfee on the organ. Before the service, guests were greeted first by the beautiful words of our program, so thoughtfully designed by Shindig Paperie, second by the sound of the organ and piano’s back and forth magic, third by the sweet smell of Aromatique’s “Smell of Spring,” Dad’s hidden secret: a scent pouch tucked behind each pew marker, and lastly by the sheer shock of how Dad and his team transformed the sanctuary. I smile knowing how I would have enjoyed so greatly being a guest to my very own wedding. I wanted everyone to feel so overwhelmed with beauty for what was happening that night.
For the family processional, we chose Adele’s “Make You Feel My Love,” a song Price and I stumbled on during a road trip, surprising one another when we were both able to belt the lyrics. A song that felt so nostalgic for me, and for good reason, as I discovered throughout our engagement that it was the song used on a home video of my family. When I placed the now ancient DVD in its matching player, the song started with a shaky video of my mom at my first Christmas. “This is my baby girl!” I couldn’t stop crying. The video was nearly half an hour long. How had time passed so quickly? It crossed my mind that I myself never want to attend my baby’s wedding, for it would be too heart wrenching.
The bridal processional was something I had no thoughts on until I found myself at work one afternoon, bored. Of course, it was natural for me to look up Prince William and Kate Middleton’s wedding, as we were inching upon their tenth anniversary. The tenth anniversary of my pure obsession, rather than mere interest. The royal family was my youngest realization of how classy it was to be classy, to be timeless. That wedding inspired so much of my own, as silly as it sounds.
I walked down the aisle to the very song Kate Middleton walked down Westminster Abbey to: Hubert Parry’s “I Was Glad,” a prayer for peace and prosperity written for British coronations as an original ode to Jerusalem. The text of the song is made up of verses from Psalm 122, starting with verse one: I was glad when they said unto me : We will go into the house of the Lord.
As the beginning of Dr. McAfee’s masterpiece began and my bridesmen and bridesmaids made their way down the aisle, Dad and I started our hidden walk up the balcony stairs only to immediately go back down, avoiding the wall-length windows First Baptist boasts on the ground floor. I felt so near to God in those few minutes that felt like far longer. The setting sun’s warm gold leaked through the stained glass of the stairwell, and He was there with us, holding our hands as Dad gripped mine. I couldn’t even bear to look at Dad’s face. Thank you, Jesus, thank you.
Those moments behind the closed door, listening to the chords I’d played over and over in my car, when Kate’s boy’s choir hit their crescendo and my organ followed suit in our voiceless version, I felt happiness, thankfulness, joy so deeply it hurt. I couldn’t believe that moment was there; my face was covered with a veil, my dad was standing beside me, the sanctuary held all the hearts I’ve ever loved, and my dear was standing at the end. The doors flew open, Dad’s hand tightened, and I locked my eyes on my Price. I could live that over and over again. I pray everyone experiences it in their life.
The parts of Price’s and my wedding that bring me to tears two months later still, and always will, are because of the people involved. Jimmy, my youth pastor turned head pastor of the church, officiated the ceremony, giving a service that felt welcoming and familiar. My Jack read 1 Corinthians 3:12-17, a collection of verses that our marriage stands on. A few of my most beloved college friends sang the family processional and the selection during the family prayer immediately following our vows. For the prayer, we chose “Be Thou My Vision,” a hymn that reminds me of standing in Sunday morning church. What formative and kind years my childhood were to me. After Jimmy prayed over that private circle, Price’s sister Sarah Grace was left with a thick row of wet mascara under her eye; I used my red handkerchief from my great-great-grammy to wipe them clear before making our way back on stage. And my mom and Price’s escorted each other out of the church, clutching each other in a way that makes us feel so very welcomed, loved, and cherished in each other’s families.
I wished I could have spent more time just looking at everyone in that room, everyone who thought of us in that way and sacrificed their time to celebrate what God did in that room. Even at the reception, I felt like time was slipping like water through my fingers. It reminds me of my middle school swim coach getting onto me for leaving gaps between my fingers when I swam. “Addy, you’ll never pull forward with your pinky separated like that.” But at the reception, I couldn’t tighten my hands enough. We arrived only to meet a quickly approaching goodbye.
In hindsight, how beautiful it was for me to never want to leave.
Our first dance was Johnny Mathis’ “Misty,” a song I first heard in the front seat of my grandpa’s blue pick-up truck named Blue Bell. It reminds me of everything I feel when I’m with Price, all while sounding like the sweet memories of childhood. Dad and I danced to Cindy Morgan’s “How Could I Ask For More,” another soundtrack to a home video that unlocked hot tears at the first chord alone when Mom sent my way a few months before the wedding.
Our cake was from Mickey’s Cakes and Sweets in Little Rock, where my first birthday cake was made, covered in daisies. I knew Cone-Bottoms was going to look just like my very own secret garden, my very own Musee Rodin, so I wanted the cake to feature that in a different way. Buttercream flowers, the artist painted them on at delivery. For the cake cutting, my KelZek best friend and first boss Kelli gifted us with just fabulous and chic champagne classes, filled again with Welch’s sparkling grape juice. Price frantically whispered to me before taking a drink “I don’t drink!” to which I replied “Price, this is a Baptist campus.”
Our absolutely fabulous food was prepared by Stacy Freeman, a longtime family friend. She spent a Saturday night with us a few months before the wedding to discuss the menu, and I hadn’t seen my parents laugh that hard with a friend in a while. It felt so very comforting to have someone as lovely as Ms. Stacy and her team feed our guests. And I can’t tell you how happy Price and I were to find a basket full of chicken salad sandwiches, pork tenderloin, and cheese dips in the floor of the limo.
And the entire weekend was executed by Erin Calhoon, my very first EEE president and the very best wedding coordinator there ever was. Not a single thing went wrong. Not a single thing wasn’t how I dreamed of it. And it is so much due to her hard work and talent.
The night was magic. Really, truly magic. The Women of EEE sang our song over Price and me, including his mom and aunt, cousins, family friends, Erin the planner, and of course, my pledge sisters and best friends and bridesmaids. Our jazz band played songs I’ve dreamed of hearing at my reception since I first got my first silver iPod Nano, swirls of Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra, more Johnny Mathis. I felt like I was swept from loved one to loved one, hugging necks and fighting back tears at how loved I felt. When I saw the bucket of sparklers come out, I knew the end was approaching. I found myself crying in the shoulder of a college roommate and always friend. God was so kind to us, giving us so many people to feel loved by.
Between the wedding and the reception, our incredibly talented photographer (Connor) and videographer (Carleigh) led us down into the literal ravine on Ouachita’s campus (fitting, as Price and I are the product of two schools across the street from one another). A spot I had peered at hundreds of times over dinner in the cafeteria, ran over on early morning sprints across the bridge...all of a sudden it was this magical refuge. A secret garden. Cottonwood fluff and soft grass. My new husband. A setting sun.
While we were down there taking our first portraits as man and wife, I asked Connor and Carleigh if they’d ever been to a wedding with so much crying. Carleigh said no, and then went on to tell us she thinks the presence of overwhelming emotion that weekend was absolutely due to the love our families had for one another. She’d never seen anything quite like it.
A few days later on a phone call with Mrs. Grace as we wound through the seaside roads of Newport, Mrs. Grace described the sadness Sunday morning had brought. It was like popping this bubble of anticipation of something so beautiful. The weekend felt like a refuge from the everyday: two days to feel near to Him and His blessings to us, blessings we had been prayerful and expectant for our entire lives.
Price, I receive you as a gift from the hand of God to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward. I have chosen you above all others. I offer to you my heart, my hand, my respect, and my eternal love, as your wife and friend.
I, Adeline, give this ring to you, and by this act declare in the presence of those we love that I take you to be my beloved husband. And I'll be faithful to you till death shall part us.
I've said this plenty of times, but I've never been more honest than I am right now: this story is the most beautiful story I've ever told. And what is so beautiful about it is that the story of this day is the beginning of every beautiful story for the rest of my days.
Xoxo. A...Murphree
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