I think I found my wedding dress. When I first put it on, I didn't want to take it off. I thought it was beautiful, classic, and timeless. When the saleswoman asked me which dress I would choose if I had to pick right that second, I answered without hesitation. She put me back into it, placed a veil on my head, and ushered me out to a long hallway with mirrors at the end. She told me to stop and take a good look. "Brides never get to see this, but that's what your fiance will see when you enter the church." I started to cry.

From the very beginning I have held onto the one idea that I want Brandon to see me appear at the end of that aisle and be blown away. I want him to have that memory of me, walking towards him, ready to begin our lives together, for as long as we live. I want that to be my gift to him. That saleswoman couldn't have thought of anything more perfect to say to me.

When I tried on the dress for the second time yesterday, it didn't make me cry, but it did feel right. I'd been wrestling with the thought of it for two weeks, worried about the price which was higher than I had originally thought I wanted to pay. When I put it on again, suddenly the astounding price tag didn't matter. All my qualms flew out the window. My friend Shelly breathed, "This is the one!"

Some of the other dresses I tried on made me look absolutely like a princess, decked out in silk and jewels. Some could be cinched up in the back until they made me look incredibly skinny and svelte. But this one, this one just made me look like me -- exactly the way I want to look on my wedding day. It is everything I thought I wanted from the very beginning: simplicity, beauty, elegance. And it is everything I failed to find in other gowns that hid me behind crystals and sequins and embroidery and lace. Shelly told me that the other dresses I'd tried on made her think, "Oh what a beautiful dress!" This one made her think, "Oh, Lacy looks so beautiful in that dress!"

In the end, no one will remember what kind of food we serve or what the flowers looked like. No one will remember if the cake was fondant or buttercream. No one will care what music we danced to or what wine we drank. But the image of me, smiling, confidant, radiantly happy, and beautiful in my perfect dress will be indelibly etched into memory. And that's the memory I want to keep.