Till Death or Tractor Pull: A Wedding Story

In a possible future, a few counties over...

They said it was going to be a simple country wedding.

What they meant was that it was going to be held in the bride’s cousin’s backyard, just past the trampoline graveyard and slightly to the left of a half-disassembled bass boat. The setting sun glinted off a concrete fire pit that still smelled faintly of singed marshmallows and melted Tupperware. A borrowed archway from Party Barn leaned slightly to one side, stabilized by duct tape, prayers, and a bucket full of gravel. Standing proudly nearby, chewing with the defiant dignity of royalty, was a literal goat in a tuxedo vest someone thought would “add whimsy.” His name was now Cousin Skeeter. He would later eat half a bouquet and the maid of honor’s phone. The unity candle had once been a bottle of Mountain Dew Voltage, which someone had carefully dumped out (and Cousin Skeeter drank, as it turned out), then refilled with vanilla-scented wax from a gas station clearance bin. The ring bearer was a wiry seven-year-old named Gunner, bribed with a fidget spinner and half a Slim Jim to “walk like a gentleman.” He mostly complied, pausing once to floss mid-aisle while making explosion noises with his mouth.

Presiding over the holy union was Brother Zeke—part preacher, part unofficial family historian, and part insurance liability. The happy couple were Travis Wayne Dubler Jr. and Savannah “Sass” McClure—both proud graduates of the same online high school and current co-managers at a 24-hour gas station that sells fireworks, taxidermy, propane, locally crocheted religious-themed doilies, and Slim Jims in every known flavor. Their love story began when Travis Wayne accidentally locked himself inside the walk-in bait fridge during a graveyard shift. Sass, hearing the muffled cries of “Help! It smells like minnows in here!”, broke the latch with a tire iron. It was meant to be. A surveillance camera documented the whole thing, and now it's part of the training video for new hires.

Now, as to how they got Brother Zeke, that’s still debated. He was technically the founder of their denomination—though as Sass’s cousin Darla kept saying during the planning process, “He’s the founding pastor of the Dominos… the Demogorgon… the demo–whatever, you know, the religious group we’re in with the casseroles and the foot-washin’.” Interestingly, the Bible doesn’t say you need a preacher for a wedding; Isaac just took Rebekah into the tent to seal the deal, etc. Zeke had become something of a hermit in his retirement, living in an undisclosed location with exactly one functioning phone. He’s good at screening calls, so people have mostly learned to call only when someone from the church dies or when someone needs something settled by a man who can cite Habakkuk without blinking.

No one expected him to say yes. Especially not after the last wedding he had been roped into, where the flower girl tripped on a feral cat and the bride's ex-boyfriend unknowingly tried to reenact selections from the book of Hosea with live commentary.

However, Sass showed up at his door with a homemade lemon pie and a handwritten letter that said, “We need you, and we promise no interpretive dance this time,”  and looked at the old man with the kind of wide-eyed sincerity only found in people too in love or too sleep-deprived to know better. Zeke just stared at her for a long moment, sighed, and said: 

“Fine. But if the ring bearer’s drunk again, I’m leavin’ with the gift table.”

The ceremony began when someone fired up a Bluetooth speaker duct-taped to a fishing pole. Alan Jackson’s “Livin’ on Love” came blaring out. The wedding party marched down the gravel driveway in a procession of mismatched boots, jean shorts, camo, and what appeared to be a prom dress from 2006 that had been hastily dyed by earnest amateurs.

Brother Zeke stood under the makeshift arch—made of PVC pipe, two strings of Christmas lights (half working), hope, and some Dollar General curtains so sheer they looked like they’d lose a tug-of-war with Cousin Skeeter—watching it all with the weary patience of a man who’s baptized a piglet by accident. Hey, it was dark. Now, Brother Zeke had been doing weddings occasionally for 40 years and funerals for 42 (“People die faster than they commit,” like he says), and he wasn't about to start sugarcoating for a crowd holding Solo cups and vape pens.

The ceremony started late, as the groom’s aunt had to run back to her trailer for the “good flip-flops.” When it did begin, Zeke stood tall in his wrinkled polyester slacks and hand-me-down clergy vestments from a church that no longer existed, and cleared his throat with the gravity of a man about to read from both Scripture and the Waffle House menu, which is to say, with a noise like an old truck trying to start uphill in February.

Zeke raised his arms and began.

“Beloved... y’all. We are gathered here today in the presence of God, various second cousins, and at least one goat, to join together Travis Wayne Dubler Jr. and Savannah Rae McClure in holy matrimony—which is, despite what you’ve seen on TV, still sacred. That means this ain’t just about love, property, or legal paperwork—it’s about commitment, forgiveness, and figuring out how to share a bathroom without declaring war. What began as an agreement between a man and a girl’s father, an exchange of material provision for certainty as to whether his kids were his own, has become a way to teach the world about Christ.”

He glanced at the best man, who was already sipping from a flask.

“We are gathered here today… because these two believe in love, fried food, and statistically improbable optimism. Marriage is a covenant, not a trial subscription. If you break it, it ain’t like un-sharing Netflix. You don’t just start over filling up your queue again; you work it out.”

The bride beamed. The groom blinked like he was trying to remember where he put the rings.

Zeke looked them both in the eye.

“Now, before we go any further, I gotta ask y’all plainly: Are you both entering into this marriage freely, without coercion, shotgun influence, or pressure from MawMaw?”

They nodded.

“Good. Then by the authority vested in me by God and the great State of Obesity, we may proceed.”

Zeke continued.

“Now listen here. Jesus did His first miracle at a wedding, that’s true. He turned water into wine. I had a woman come up to me earlier and say, ‘Brother Zeke, they have no more wine.’ And I said, ‘Then go to the store. What do you expect me to do? The miracles were to prove Jesus is the Messiah. It’s like asking a mall Santa to go up your chimney.’” Y’all can relax; Jan went on a beer run.

There were a few nervous laughs and one distant “Amen” from someone already halfway into the reception cooler.

“This marriage is about grace, not performance. You’re going to mess up. You're going to forget birthdays, step on each other’s dreams, and leave drawers drying on a towel rack like a woman possessed. But, if Jesus has already forgiven the whole mess of you, then you don’t get to keep score on each other. We’re not here to play spiritual ping pong. Now, before we commence and let y’all loose on the chicken nuggets and questionable potato salad, I gotta do something important. See, normally, I’d walk a couple through marriage counseling ahead of time. We’d talk about things like finances, communication, how not to weaponize the thermostat, and how to forgive somebody who eats the last waffle and lies about it. People usually say something to the effect of, ‘We don’t need counseling. We watched a bunch of Dr. Phil and read some memes about love.’ So since y’all skipped the counseling, I’m just gonna do it now quickly and biblically. Everybody sit tight.”

He opened his Bible to Ephesians 5, adjusted his reading glasses, and launched in.

Ephesians 5:21 – “Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ.”

“Let’s start here, ‘cause this gets missed more than the toilet bowl. Before we talk about wives or husbands, Paul says: submit to one another. That means mutual humility. You don’t get to boss each other around like you’re the Lord of Louisville, Kentucky. You each lay down your ego outta reverence for Jesus. That means picking up socks you didn’t drop. That means saying ‘I’m sorry’ before the dog does.”

Ephesians 5:22-24 – “Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord…”

“Now, I know this part makes some folks twitchy. Don’t forget—it says ‘as unto the Lord.’ As long as it doesn’t involve sinning, following him is following Him. If he’s acting like an idiot, it’s okay to lovingly say, ‘Sweetheart, that’s not how Christ loved the Church. That’s how you flood the lawnmower again.’ Submission here doesn’t mean silence, it means spiritual respect for the role. That’s hard to do sometimes, so at least try to treat him like someone that God is growing, too. 

Ephesians 5:25 – “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave Himself up for her…”

“Now fellas, don’t you dare ‘Amen’ that last part if you ain’t ready for this one. Paul tells husbands to love like Jesus; that means sacrificially. He didn’t come to be served; He came to serve. Jesus didn’t sit on the couch and holler, ‘Bring me a sandwich!’ He washed feet; He carried a cross. That’s your template. Love your wife like Jesus loves His people. Sometimes, it’s going to feel like she’s stealing your bone marrow to waste on things you think are pointless.

Ephesians 5:26-27 – “...to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word…”

“Now, don’t get this twisted. Husbands, you ain’t your wife’s Holy Spirit. Your job ain’t so much to fix her or to scold her as it is to love her so well, so patiently, so kindly, that she feels safe enough to grow more into who Jesus already says she is.”

He looked at Savannah and said gently:

“And darlin’, same goes for you. Help him grow. Encourage him when he prays, not just when he remembers to put the toilet seat down.”

Ephesians 5:32 – “This is a profound mystery—but I am talking about Christ and the church.”

“This right here’s the main point. Marriage is a picture, a parable, a God-painted billboard of how Jesus loves His people. Your faithfulness to each other shows the world what covenant love looks like. It’s not perfection, not fairytale romance, not matching towels and candlelight every night. It’s forgiveness. It’s loyalty. It’s the daily choice to stay, to love, to start over, etc. That’s the mystery. You’re telling a Jesus story with your marriage, whether you mean to or not.”

Zeke shut his Bible, sipped from his soda, and squinted out over the lawn.

“So here’s your homework: Be Jesus to each other. Be quick to forgive, quick to laugh, and really slow to throw a casserole dish. And when the goat of life escapes and knocks over the snack table—figuratively or literally—remember that you made a promise, and Jesus is keeping y’all even when you can’t keep yourselves.”

He nodded, satisfied.

“That’s your counseling. Oh, and remember to make time to eat at the reception before somebody gets all the mac and cheese. That’d be me; I’ll probably do that.”

Zeke turned to the crowd, most of whom were seated on folding chairs, coolers, or tailgates.

“Do y’all, the families and friends, promise to do your best to support this couple with your prayers, your kindness, and the occasional hot meal that doesn’t include something expired?”

The crowd replied with a scattered but enthusiastic: “We do!”

“That’ll do. Just remember: casseroles are temporary, but food poisoning is always remembered.”

Zeke opened his weathered Bible to 1 Corinthians 13.

“Love is patient. Love is kind. Love does not keep a detailed Excel spreadsheet of every dumb thing your spouse ever did. Also, love is not dependent on hairlines, waistlines, or whether someone remembered to take the trash out again.”

He looked out over the crowd.

“I know the traditional vows say ‘for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health,’ but let me go ahead and translate that into real talk: It’s probably always worse than you think it will be, you’ll probably always be poorer than you hoped, and sooner or later one of you’s gonna be coughing into a bucket while the other one says, ‘You should’ve gone to urgent care three days ago.’ People are depreciating assets. Y’all ain’t never gonna look better than you did the day before the bachelorette party.”

Zeke motioned for the couple to face each other. They held hands, visibly sweating.

“The happy couple worked really hard on these vows together, so I’m going to honor their efforts. Travis Wayne, repeat after me: I take you, Savannah Rae, to be my lawfully wedded wife, ride or die, to fix the lawnmower with, and to eat gas station pizza beside, from this day forward, until death do us part.”

Travis repeated, with minor errors. Savannah Rae’s version included “and share my Hulu password” while her lit cigarette wagged as she spoke.

Zeke held up the rings (what appeared to be a gold-plated set bought as a 2-for-1 deal).

“May these rings be more than symbols—may they be the one thing y’all don’t lose in the junk drawer.”

They exchanged rings. Travis nearly dropped his, but Gunner the ring bearer caught it midair and dabbed.

Zeke nodded solemnly.

“By the power vested in me by God, an online license, and the county clerk, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride—preferably without knocking over the snack table.”

After the kiss, the airhorn, and the one brave groomsman who attempted a celebratory backflip and landed in a cooler of baked beans, the reception kicked off with enthusiastic confusion. The food was mostly fried and beige. One of the guests remarked, “That’s not potato salad. That’s a misdemeanor with mayo.” Under a sagging pop-up canopy labeled “Yard Sale This Saturday,” guests milled about folding tables stacked with lovingly homemade dishes and also whatever was on clearance at the Piggly Wiggly. There were deviled eggs, undeviled eggs, crockpots whose contents were unknown, and an item labeled “Bologna Casserole (Don’t Judge).”

A paper plate on the bride’s side read “Bless this Mess” in Sharpie. A child somewhere yelled, “Skeeter’s eating the bouquet again!” and no one stopped him. The goat was part of the family now.

Zeke stood before a folding table of chicken nuggets, tater tots, and a deeply questionable crockpot of chili cheese something, and raised his hands for the blessing.

“Father, we thank You for this bountiful feast of sodium and deep-fried commitment. May it nourish our bodies to the extent You choose, and may it not return unto us in haste. Blessed are You, Lord God, King of the Universe, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for our sins. You bring food from the ground, and You bring us from the ground, both at Creation and at the Resurrection. Thank You for the many blessings in our lives. And Lord, bless this new couple—bless their budget, their plumbing, their late-night arguments about the ceiling fan, and their ability to forgive as You forgave us, even if someone forgets to buy milk for three days in a row.”

There was a chorus of amens and one “preach, preacher!” from a shirtless uncle eating off a paper plate on top of a lawn mower. 

By the time the Bluetooth speaker started skipping mid-journey through a '90s country playlist, someone had lit all the sparklers at once in broad daylight, the goat had escaped, and the groom's mom had started line dancing in a way that deeply alarmed several children.

Brother Zeke sat down in a lawn chair next to the mother of the bride, sipping Diet Dr. Thunder and watching the whole thing with the serenity of a man who’d seen six deacons fight over a folding chair once and lived to tell it.

“You know,” he said, “if Jesus could take fishermen, tax collectors, and zealots and make a church out of 'em, He can probably make a marriage outta these two kids with no savings and a dream. May they keep praying, keep laughing, and not run outta chicken too early.”

Somewhere in the distance, Skeeter bleated approvingly and peed on a cousin’s shoe.

After the ceremony and about halfway through the nugget buffet, Brother Zeke wandered back up to the mic because, as he said:

“Somebody just asked me if it’s still a sin to look at the guy from Walker, Texas Ranger with his shirt off, so I guess we need to clear a few things up.”

He dusted off his pants, sipped his coffee, and opened his Bible to Matthew 5.

“Now I know what some of y’all were taught. Jesus said if you even look at somebody with desire, you’ve already committed adultery in your heart and God’s gonna smite you with guilt and probably shingles. But, let’s read it like grown-ups with a concordance and a brain.”

He read from Matthew 5:28:

‘But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman to lust after her has already committed adultery with her in his heart.’

Then Zeke gave the crowd one of those slow, disappointed blinks you’d give to a dog that just ate your couch.

“Now the Greek here filling in for the Hebrew ain’t about appreciating God’s craftsmanship. It’s a reference to Exodus 20:17. It’s about coveting — trying to scheme up how to take what ain’t yours. It’s the same words used in the Ten Commandments when it says ‘don’t covet your neighbor’s wife.’ Women lacked the agency to obtain spouses back then, so He didn’t tell wives what to think about one way or the other as far as how you get through the day married to us. So this ain’t about noticing that someone is attractive, it’s about plotting to break someone’s provision-exchanged-for-exclusivity covenant I told y’all about earlier. And frankly, if a man can have 18 wives in the Old Testament and still be called righteous, I reckon God’s not fainting every time you scout talent.”

He paused, then added:

“Also—sidebar—if your husband’s in the bathroom for 11 minutes with The Golden Girls on low volume on his phone, or your wife watches that JC Chasez clip where he licks a dance floor, that ain’t a crisis. That’s called being human. And if that shocks you, buckle up, ‘cause marriage is full of weirder moments than that.”

Zeke looked dead into the face of a visiting aunt who was already clutching her pearls.

“The Accuser wants us to find reasons to be unhappy. This modern talk about ‘emotional infidelity’ makes it sound like two coworkers talking about gas prices is adultery with a punch card. Folks, not every feeling is a failure. You are allowed to be married and still be a person. Married people still get annoyed, still get bored, still admire the mailman’s calves, or still wonder what it’d be like to live in a yurt. That don’t mean the covenant is broken—it means you’re not dead.”

Zeke flipped to Acts 15:20.

“When the early church met to decide what rules the Gentile Christians actually needed to follow—y’know, the ones of us who weren’t circumcised—they boiled it all down to this: Don’t eat blood, don’t mess with idols, and avoid sexual immorality. Understanding that phrase ‘sexual immorality’ like a first century God-fearer comes straight outta Leviticus 18 and Leviticus 20. That means things like don’t sleep with your stepmom, your goat, etc. Don’t swap partners with the neighbors. Don’t do what they were doing in the temples for false gods, which was gross and tax-deductible. Some forbidden relations get lots of attention, and others don’t, so read the fine print.”

“However, the Bible doesn’t say a word about someone noticing the waitress is pretty (like how the biblical narrators described nearly every heroine), or wondering if that lifeguard’s name really is Tanner, or zoning out during this sermon and going to the swimmin’ hole nekkid instead, like those folks over there. HEY, Y’ALL! ”

“Y’all, sin ain’t in the noticing. Sin’s in the scheming. If it ain’t lowdown, unloving, or Leviticus 18 gross, then it probably ain’t the scandal you were raised to think it is.”

He closed his Bible and rubbed his forehead like he’d been explaining algebra to a garden rake.

“Listen. Marriage is about Jesus and His Church. I don’t know if you’ve read the New Testament, but the Church is moody, inconsistent, and half the time don’t show up for choir practice. And yet, Jesus still loves her and He still sticks around, still calls her beautiful when she’s got Cheeto dust on her robe, etc. Sometimes speaking faith over a situation seems like lying. The Marriage Covenant is about grace, not performance. Start every disagreement from the position of 'we're permanent' and go from there.”

He looked at Travis and Savannah.

“In light of all this, please give each other permission to be human, mess up, zone out, get weird, need space, forget the salsa, cry over nothing, laugh at things they shouldn’t, and occasionally need alone time. That don’t mean anything’s wrong.”

“The real sin is pretending you don’t need grace. You’re not married to an angel. You’re married to a person, and the best thing you can do for each other is remember: Jesus already died for whatever’s broken in them, so you don’t have to kill them over it.”

EPILOGUE A: The First Fight

They made it eleven days, which, for Travis Wayne and Sass, is basically the equivalent of a platinum anniversary. Now, they’d had minor squabbles before—like when Sass asked if her eyeliner was too bold and Travis said, “You look like a raccoon who made a wish,” or when Travis “reorganized” the fridge by stacking Velveeta on top of her leftover wings.

But the first official, do-we-even-like-each-other fight? Target. Curtain aisle. 3:47 p.m.

Sass wanted paisley panels. Travis Wayne argued that if they just put up more foil, “it’d reflect the sun and Big Government.” Sass, holding a curtain in one hand and rage in the other, declared:

“If we get audited by the IRS or the HOA again, I’m pointing at the man who said duct tape is a window treatment.”

Tension rose. Voices did, too. A small child in the cart behind them muttered, “I think they need a snack.” That child was correct. Eventually, they bought the curtains and an emergency soft pretzel.

Later that night, Zeke got a Facebook message from Travis that read:

“Do u believe in soulmates or is it normal to feel like u married a witch with expensive taste?”

Zeke replied:

“Yes. Apologize, then do the dishes. That’s marriage.”

Zeke also received a Facebook message from Sass, nearly simultaneously, that read:

“Please intercede before I throw a plastic gnome at someone I love.”

Zeke, used to such things, replied:

“Grace first. Throw second. Reverse order only if truly led by the Spirit.”

EPILOGUE B: The Baby

One year and two panic-purchases of bulk pickles later, Cletus Ezekiel Dubler made his grand entrance.

Born at 3:04 a.m. after 19 hours of active labor and four episodes of Forged in Fire playing in the background, he came out screaming, sneezing, and grabbing the nurse’s lanyard like he was trying to file a complaint.

Sass, glowing and exhausted, declared:

“He’s perfect. Except that conehead. Can we iron it down?”

Zeke was invited to do the blessing. He held Cletus gently, looked at that tiny, scrunched-up face, and said:

“Lord, bless this child. Make him strong in You, quick to learn, slow to backtalk his mama, sturdy in the storms, not allergic to peanut butter, if it be Thy will, and may he never, ever try vaping.”

Then Cletus farted audibly. Zeke just nodded.

“Amen indeed.”

EPILOGUE C: Five-Year Vow Renewal

Five years later, the vow renewal was announced via group text and a Facebook event titled: “Still Hitched: We Want Cake Again.”

This time, they did it behind the new trailer, which had two whole additions, a chicken coop, and a Wi-Fi booster shaped like a bald eagle. The guest list included most of the original wedding party (minus Gunner, who had since gotten very into BMX and conspiracy theories) and a new cast of neighbors who weren’t entirely sure this wasn’t a cult meeting.

Brother Zeke arrived on a mobility scooter with a retired lawnmower engine. A fog machine puffed around him like he was Moses descending from Mount Sinai. It turns out the fog machine had been borrowed by another member of the congregation from a Baptist youth group that didn’t know it was missing, but that’s another story.

Zeke stood beneath a refurbished pallet arch and addressed the guests:

“Marriage is like fishing with a dollar-store pole. It takes patience, forgiveness, and the willingness to untangle a whole mess of things just to keep going. Five years ago, I stood under an arch very much like this one—though with fewer spiders—and I told y’all that marriage was a picture of Christ and the Church. Y’all are the Church; you’re moody, late, distracted by snacks, etc. But, Jesus stayed, and so did you.”

He looked around the yard at the children chasing a piñata shaped like a possum, the folding chairs labeled “Reserved for Cousins Who Can’t Behave,” and the cake that read “Still Hitched, Still Hungry.”

“Silly folks mark anniversaries with cruises or jewelry. Y’all marked it with a smoked brisket and a bouncy house. I approve.”

Then he cleared his throat, pulled out his notes, and said:

“Now repeat after me: I, Travis Wayne, still take you, Savannah Rae, to be my lawfully wedded wife, even though you leave hair in the shower drain and rearrange the pantry like a raccoon on Adderall. I promise to keep loving you, even if you set the Thermostat too high and you steal the remote every time there’s playoff anything.”

Savannah responded with her own vows, rewritten and laminated this time:

“I, Savannah Rae, still take you, Travis Wayne, to be my lawfully wedded husband, even though you snore like a bear, buy tools you don’t know how to use, and think cheese counts as a vegetable. I promise to keep loving you, even when you forget the milk, eat my leftovers, or try to explain cryptocurrency again.”

Zeke blessed them with a slap on the shoulder, saying:

“Still hitched, still holy. Now, let’s eat.”

Cousin Skeeter, now a dignified old goat with a slight limp and a taste for tinsel, bleated his approval.

EPILOGUE D: The 20-Year Anniversary at Cracker Barrel

Two decades in, the Dublers celebrated at their favorite fancy place: Cracker Barrel.They arrived in style—Travis in a vintage nWo T-shirt and Sass in a bedazzled denim jacket that read “Hot, Holy, and His.” The hostess seated them next to the fireplace, directly under a banjo and what might’ve once been a butter churn. They toasted with sweet tea. Then they ordered the fried catfish and argued over checkers on the porch for two hours. 

They stayed together.

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