Today I write to you with a trembling hand and a racing heart, because in a few hours you will walk through that church door on my arm, dressed in white, with that smile that has disarmed me since you were little. And I, who have always been the one to carry you on my shoulders when you grew tired of walking, today I entrust you—not to another man—but to a sacrament, to a vocation, to the grace of God that will make you one.

I remember when, at three years old, you would climb onto my lap and say very seriously, “Daddy, when I grow up I’m going to marry you.” I would laugh and answer, “No, my love, not Daddy; a very good man who loves you more than anything in the world.” Well, that day has arrived. And although a part of me feels a strange pang (the kind only parents understand when they see their daughters leave home), the other part—the bigger part—is overflowing with a joy that can’t be contained.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church expresses it with a beauty that moves me every time I read it: “By the sacrament of Matrimony, Christian spouses are strengthened and, as it were, consecrated for the duties and dignity of their state” (CCC 1661). My daughter, today you are not only getting married: today you are consecrated. Your love for the man you have chosen will be a visible sign of Christ’s love for his Church. Every time you forgive him when he is late, every time you make him coffee even when you are exhausted, every time you pray together before going to sleep, you will be saying to the world: “See, this is how God loves.” And that, my little one, is the greatest thing a daughter of mine can do.

I’m not going to lie to you: marriage isn’t all kisses in the rain and candlelit dinners. There will be days when you argue over silly things (the thermostat, the toilet seat, who does the laundry), there will be nights when one of you feels lonely even though you’re in the same bed, there will be times when you wonder if you can really handle it all. But remember what happened at Cana: when the wine ran out, Mary didn’t stay silent. She went to Jesus and said, “They have no wine” (John 2:3). And then, to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you” (John 2:5).

My child, when your own hopes run dry, run to the feet of your Heavenly Mother. Tell her, “We have no wine.” And then do as she tells you: forgive even when it’s difficult, be silent when you want to scream, embrace when you’d rather turn your back, pray when you feel your strength failing. She always has new wine, the best, saved for the end of your story.

Today I give you up, yes, but I don’t lose you. I gain a son (your husband, who I hope will pamper you as you deserve and put up with me when I tell him, “Take good care of her, okay?”). I gain the hope of grandchildren who will call you “Mom” and me “Grandpa” (and who will break things in the house, just like you did when you were little). I gain seeing how the love I tried to give you—with my mistakes, my silly tantrums, and my clumsy hugs—multiplies in your home.

And above all, I gain the peace of knowing that the Lord, who entrusted her to me when she was a wrinkled baby in the incubator, now entrusts her to another man… but never ceases to watch over her. You are His beloved daughter before you are mine, and that comforts me more than anything else.

So go, my child. Walk down the aisle with your head held high and your heart open. Dance tonight as if the world were yours (because in a way it is, as long as you share it with love). Laugh with that laugh of yours that lights up entire rooms. Cry when you need to, but never without holding your husband’s hand.

And when you ever come home with a face that says, “This is harder than we imagined,” Dad will be waiting for you with freshly brewed coffee, a listening ear, and the same hug as always. Because even though you’re getting married today, you’ll always be my little girl, the one who stole my heart twenty-odd years ago and has never given it back.

May the Virgin Mary, Queen of Families, cover you with her mantle. May Saint Joseph, silent guardian, protect your husband and any children you may have. And may Jesus Christ, who turned water into wine, transform every drop of your daily life into eternal grace.

I love you more than words can say, my daughter. Today my little girl is getting married. And my heart is bursting with fireworks and offering a silent prayer of infinite gratitude.

With all the love from your father (who will always be your first hero, even though you now have another one by your side), Dad

(PS: Don’t forget to send me photos of the grandchildren… and bring your husband over to watch football with me from time to time. Deal.)