Many people spend more time in planning the wedding than they do

Hear the wise words of Zig Ziglar, who declared: “Many people spend more time in planning the wedding than they do in planning the marriage.” At first, the saying sounds like a light rebuke, a gentle observation on human folly. Yet beneath its surface lies a truth as ancient as love itself: that men and women often give their energy to what is fleeting and ornamental, while neglecting the labor of what is lasting and eternal.

The wedding is but a day, a celebration adorned with flowers, music, feasts, and garments of splendor. It is a moment of joy, a symbol before the world of a union newly forged. Yet it passes quickly, like blossoms that fall after spring’s first wind. The marriage, however, is the long road, stretching through years of trial, of compromise, of joy and sorrow mingled together. To prepare for one day and neglect the journey of decades is like polishing the vessel and leaving it empty of wine.

The ancients knew the difference between ceremony and substance. In Rome, there were elaborate rites to join man and woman—torches, vows, and sacred bread. Yet wise counselors reminded the newlywed that the ritual was not the true marriage. The true marriage was the daily practice of fidelity, the careful tending of trust, the forging of partnership in the furnace of life. To mistake the feast for the covenant was folly then, as it is now.

Consider the story of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI. Their wedding was one of the grandest Europe had ever seen, a spectacle of luxury meant to dazzle nations. Yet the marriage itself was fraught with distance, misunderstanding, and disunity. No amount of jewels or ceremony could hold their bond together, nor protect them from the storms of history. Their tale reveals the truth of Ziglar’s words: the outward show of union means nothing if the inner life is untended.

By contrast, think of the humble union of Abraham Lincoln and Mary Todd. Their wedding was modest, even awkward, without grandeur. Yet their marriage endured through hardship, grief, and the crushing weight of war. It was not ceremony that sustained them, but shared struggle, forgiveness, and the determination to walk together through the fires of destiny. Here we see the greater truth: it is not the wedding day that proves love’s strength, but the countless days that follow.

The lesson, then, is clear: focus not merely on the celebration, but on the covenant. A wedding is a beginning, but a marriage is a lifetime. Plan not only the feast, but the daily bread; not only the music of the ceremony, but the harmony of shared life. Ask not only, “How shall we shine before others?” but also, “How shall we endure together when the world grows dark?” For beauty fades, but character remains.

So let your action be this: when you prepare for union, spend as much time preparing the soul as you do arranging the feast. Speak of your values, your hopes, your struggles, and your fears. Learn the art of forgiveness before it is needed, and the art of patience before it is tested. Build not only a day of beauty, but a lifetime of resilience. For in the end, as Zig Ziglar teaches, it is the marriage that endures, and the wedding that passes.

Thus remember: the feast is sweet, but the journey is long. Do not pour your heart only into the garland that fades by evening, but into the bond that must endure for all your days. For the true splendor is not in the ceremony, but in the covenant; not in the music of the moment, but in the lifelong harmony of two souls walking as one.