Non-Religious Wedding Vows (2 Minutes)

The vows

Kenna, for three years I have walked out to the car at ten to four in the morning, and for three years there has been a note under the windshield wiper. You write them before bed, half asleep. A few of them are sweet. Most say things like "the cat ate a rubber band, keep an eye on him" or "you're out of the good socks." My favorite just said "drive slow, the deer are out."

I keep every one of them in a shoebox under the bed. You didn't know that until right now.

People meet you at parties and decide you're the loud one. You are. But the version of you I get is the one who stays up an extra twenty minutes so that the first thing I read in the dark is your handwriting.

So here's what I can promise you.

I'll stop leaving flour on the bathroom sink. I will learn the difference between your two gray sweaters, the one you lend out and the one you absolutely don't. I'm going to start answering your notes, on the back, so you have something to read when you get up at a normal hour. When your mom calls on Sunday, I'll get on the phone for five minutes, a real five minutes.

When things get hard, and they will, we'll talk it out at the kitchen table and not by text. I promise you that one.

And I'll come home. Every day by noon, smelling like rye bread, wanting to hear about your morning.

So today I'm leaving you a note out loud. Drive slow. The deer are out. I'm yours.

Why it works: The notes under the wiper do all the heavy lifting, so the vows never need to reach for anything grand or spiritual. The shoebox reveal is a small surprise that gets a reaction from the room. The ending reads her own note back to her out loud, which is the first time Afton has answered one in front of anybody.