Here Come the Brides! Let Us Eat Cake
The “Here Come the Brides!” series follows my adventures with Casey to the aisle. Here’s what’s happened so far:
Today’s post is about stop being mean and just let us eat a GD cake.
If you’ve been awake in the United States at all over the course of the last few weeks, you know Gays-and-Cakes is a major issue. It has become the sword upon which the faithful (to what, I’m not certain) fall, the paramount political issue, the neon sign screaming what we already know they believe: “You are less than.”
But damn. Casey and I just want to serve some amazing dessert at the most important party we’ll ever throw. We aren’t issues; we’re brides. We’re people.
And to be honest, it would really hurt my feelings if I came into your bakery, a bride giddy to pick out her wedding cake, and you said I didn’t deserve to have one. I can assure you I wouldn’t have a change of heart and ditch the person I’ve promised to spend my life with, so moved by your bold witness. I would just feel hurt, and I would think you were pretty mean. And to be honest, I would wonder if the god you were witnessing for was as mean as you.
When I went to the jeweler to have Casey’s engagement ring made, I was so excited—it was the first big step in this thrilling journey to the aisle. If the jeweler had turned me away because of who I am investing my life in, I would have been crushed. Not just because I couldn’t employ his incredible skills, which I so admire and appreciate, to create this special ring, but because it would have demeaned me as a person. I would have walked away embarrassed, sad, and terribly hurt. I’m so thankful he was delighted to use his gifting to serve me and took exceptional care with his craft. Casey went back to him to design my amazing engagement ring, and I’ve visited him several times since. To this day, we don’t know his particular theology; we only know that he is particularly kind.
But, unlike opposite-sex couples, Casey and I don’t have the luxury of expecting this sort of friendly service everywhere. So when we thought about which other vendors we’d use for our wedding, it was with a trepidation that I had never even conceived of when I was searching for the same services a lifetime ago in my opposite-sex engagement. Can you imagine feeling nervous to walk into a flower shop or a bakery—the loveliest and most comforting of places—because you know that there’s a good chance you will be treated rudely or even kicked out? Let me tell you, it tempers the excitement of your engagement; it sometimes even replaces it with fear.
But, in the same way I was struck with inspiration about who to ask to gay-Christian marry us, I immediately got a dream cake-baker in mind. Sarah was on indefinite hiatus from her baking business because it had become too successful for her to keep up with while keeping up with two small sons. But she and her husband, Zach, had been by my side through the roughest times of my crumbling previous marriage. They’d been there to help save it, and when it became clear that wasn’t the answer, they stayed there to help save me instead.
Their faith in God didn’t demand they hold their ideas of marriage sacrosanct; it allowed them to value my humanity above a human institution. And when I came out to them, they called it cause for celebration because they knew it meant I’d found my lost self. Who could be better to craft the crowning taste of celebration at the party for my new life with Casey? So I asked, and Sarah said yes, she would bake again, for us.
So we sat at their dining table one evening, sipping cocktails they’d created together. We snacked on good cheese and chocolates while they ooh’d and aah’d at our engagement photos—Sarah loved my oxford heels; Zach loved Casey’s wingtips. We celebrated what is, four friends gathered at a fabulous mid-century table, and we dreamed up what is to come, with a table of desserts to delight our wedding guests. And the centerpiece—their perfect gift to us—will be a cake, 11 Southern layers high, witness.