The year 2016, the occasion, and the trodden to my fiance, who I'm to marry in mere months,

I've been going through a lengthy process with an excessive amount of paperwork, a three-ring

binder, in fact, that was three-inch-as-tall, at a laminated front, hadn't seen anything

like it since A-push. I have to go through all this paperwork and all

these hoops because unbeknownst to me. I'm a trodd to God's gift to earth, apparently,

a Catholic boy, an eye-baptized Methodist, have to prove myself worthy. The process feels

off. The resistance is not met positively by me. At one point, the priest asks me why I

want to get married in a particular cathedral in Italy where we were to wed. I say, well,

we are getting married on the 13th, and it was consecrated in 1313, which, if you listen

to this podcast, you know why that's exciting for me. I didn't realize he meant why do I

want to get married in the Catholic Church? I've been interrogated several times at this

point. I was growing weary, and we had another step we had to complete that many couples

do. Some places call it wedding prep classes, some premarital counseling, but as most churches

mandate to get married in their house of worship, we had to undergo the Catholic version,

which is called pre-Kena. And after a great deal of pushback, I was excited for this

part. I love counseling. I love icebreaker exercises. I'm here for some light therapy.

While I'd prefer credentials, I also welcome the dialogue for areas of compatibility.

We walk into a large church downtown for an all-day session, and are met by 90 of our nearest

endearst and by that I mean perfect strangers, all very different parts of their relationship,

some 18, some spanning generations. Many of us urban dwellers that co-habitate look

around sweating, wondering what address is we individually put down. Is it better to

lie and pass the course that we don't even know if it is pass fail or not? Is it better

...