Standing before the altar at St. John the Baptist, the floodwaters surrounding them carried a quiet symbolism — a living image of baptismal grace, where old chapters are washed away to make room for a new covenant.
Most brides spend the morning of their wedding day worrying about seating charts or late florists. Leian Lieza Galang spent hers taking a pair of shears to her gown, hacking off the heavy, formal train — so she could wade through hip-deep water.
Outside, a fierce tropical storm had drowned the streets of Hagonoy, Bulacan, in the Philippines, turning the local parish into a flooded sanctuary. Inside, Leian and fiancé Gilbert were preparing to prove that love doesn’t wait for dry land.
Their wedding wasn’t supposed to happen in September. Gilbert works as a rigger in the Middle East, thousands of miles away, hanging heavy steel in scorching heat. The couple had carefully marked December on their calendars for a dry, traditional Catholic wedding.
But grace works in mysterious ways.
A bad ankle sprain during a recreational basketball game sent Gilbert home on medical leave months ahead of schedule. Knowing he would have to fly back to his rig
