September 20, 2021 - While I was Pastor of Fletcher Emmanuel Baptist Church in Lumberton, Texas, a young couple called asking me to perform their wedding. When they arrived at the Church that day, they were all arguing as they entered the sanctuary. I led the groom and best man to a waiting room when the door suddenly flew open and the groom’s mother entered in screaming and crying, “Son, please don’t marry that woman.” “She don’t love you and you don’t love her!” “Go back inside, Mama,” he pled. “It’ll be 0. k.” When I finished the ceremony, the couple sped away on a Harley motorcycle with her dress flying high in the air.
A few months later, I met the groom in the hallway of Beaumont’s St. Elizabeth Hospital. “I never paid you for our wedding,” he nervously stuttered. “There will be no charge,” I answered. “By the way, how’s your marriage going?” “Just great,” he laughed. I’m back home with my Mama and she’s back home with hers.” “My wife said it was either her or my motorcycle, so I kept the bike.”
That happened forty years ago and I’ve wondered who was right. The boy loved his bike more than he loved her, and she hated his bike more than she loved him.
So I guess Mama was.
