The vow templates.
Six ways into the hardest sixty seconds of the day — traditional, modern, funny, short, religious, and second-marriage — each with a fill-in structure and a fully worked example. Take the scaffolding, not the sentences: the structure is what keeps you from rambling, and the example only shows the register. About a minute each, spoken slowly, is the mark to aim for.
Traditional
For a formal ceremony, or for anyone who finds that words polished by four centuries of use carry more weight than anything written last Tuesday.
I, [___], take you, [___], to be my [wife / husband / partner],
to have and to hold from this day forward,
for better, for worse,
for richer, for poorer,
in sickness and in health,
to love and to cherish,
until we are parted by death.
This is my solemn vow.
I, Thomas, take you, Eleanor, to be my wife,
to have and to hold from this day forward,
for better, for worse,
for richer, for poorer,
in sickness and in health,
to love and to cherish,
until we are parted by death.
This is my solemn vow.
Modern
For a secular ceremony in your own voice — specific memories and concrete promises instead of inherited phrasing.
[Name], the first thing I noticed about you was [___].
What I know now is [___].
I promise to [___], and to [___] without keeping score.
I promise to [a small daily thing you will keep doing].
I promise that when [a hard thing] comes — and it will — I will [___].
I can’t promise [___]. I can promise [___].
You are my favorite person, and I choose you — today, and every ordinary day after.
Carmen, the first thing I noticed about you was that you read the last page of a book first. You said you could face anything if you knew how it ended.
What I know now is that I can’t give you the last page — nobody gets it — but I can give you the whole rest of the book, and I want my handwriting in every chapter of yours.
I promise to tell you the truth kindly, and to hear yours without keeping score.
I promise to keep asking how your day was, and to stay for the long answer.
I promise that when a hard year comes — and one will — I won’t go quiet on you. I will stay at the table until we have solved it or laughed at it, whichever comes first.
I can’t promise I will always get it right. I can promise you will never have to wonder whose side I’m on.
You are my favorite person, and I choose you — today, and every ordinary Tuesday after.
Funny
For a couple whose guests already know their banter — keep the ratio near 70/30, funny to sincere, and let the turn land hard.
[Name], I promise to [a small, absurd, very specific domestic promise].
I vow to accept that [their harmless flaw, stated fondly], and to defend it in public.
I promise to [one more joke promise — the most specific one you have].
But here is the part I’m not joking about:
You are [a sincere, specific truth about them].
I promise you [three real things].
I promise to [one real promise that costs you something].
[A closing line that is a joke and completely true at the same time.]
Katie, I promise to keep pretending your parallel parking doesn’t frighten me.
I vow to accept that “five more minutes” is a philosophy, not a measurement, and to defend it at dinner parties.
I promise to watch the shows you have already seen, and to act surprised at every twist.
But here is the part I’m not joking about:
You are the first person I want to tell everything to — good news, bad news, and things that are only news to me.
I promise you the last slice, the aisle seat, and the honest answer — in ascending order of difficulty.
I promise to take your side, take out the trash, and take nothing about you for granted.
Marrying you is the easiest decision I have ever taken this long to say out loud.
Short
For anyone who would rather say five true things than perform for two minutes — and a reliable fallback if nerves are a real concern.
[Name], you are [one true, specific thing].
I promise you [___], [___], and [___].
I promise to [one thing you already do, and will keep doing].
I promise to [one thing that will be hard].
Whatever comes, we meet it together.
You have my word, and you have me.
Marcus, you are the calmest room I have ever walked into.
I promise you honesty, patience, and my full attention — even during the playoffs.
I promise to keep noticing you — across every crowded kitchen, at every dull party, for the rest of my life.
I promise to say the hard thing gently, and to say it soon.
Whatever comes, we meet it together.
You have my word, and you have me.
Religious
For a faith-centered ceremony that is not bound to one denomination’s liturgy — reverent, with God present in the promises rather than in borrowed formality.
[Name], I believe [a statement of faith about how you came to each other].
Before God, and before everyone we hold dear, I make you these promises.
I promise to be faithful to you in every season.
I promise to pray with you and for you — in gratitude, and in grief.
I promise to forgive [___], as we have been forgiven.
I promise to [a promise about the home and life you will build].
What God joins today, let nothing divide.
I am yours, by grace, for the rest of my life.
Hannah, I believe grace has a sense of timing. I asked for patience, and was given you — which, as it turns out, taught me patience anyway.
Before God, and before everyone we hold dear, I make you these promises.
I promise to be faithful to you in every season — the ones we pray for, and the ones we pray through.
I promise to pray with you and for you, in gratitude and in grief.
I promise to forgive quickly and without a ledger, as we have been forgiven.
I promise to build a home with you where kindness is the house rule and the table always has room.
What God joins today, let nothing divide — not distance, not hardship, not time.
I am yours, by grace, for the rest of my life.
Second Marriage & Blended Family
For a second marriage or a blended family — promises made with eyes open, with room to address children directly if they are standing with you.
[Name], we both know what promises cost — we have each learned it the hard way.
So I make these with my eyes open.
I promise you [___] over [___].
I promise to keep showing up on the days it would be easier not to.
[Children’s names] — I make promises to you, too.
I am not here to replace anyone. I am here to [___].
I promise to [something specific to their daily lives, at their pace].
[Name], [a closing line about what the years have taught you].
Rachel, we both know what promises cost — we have each learned it the hard way.
So I make these with my eyes open, which is the only way worth making them.
I promise you steadiness over grand gestures, and the truth over the comfortable version of it.
I promise to keep showing up on the days it would be easier not to — we both know those days come.
Owen and June — I make promises to you, too.
I am not here to replace anyone. I am here to be one more person in your corner — at every game, every recital, and every kitchen-table negotiation about broccoli.
I promise to knock before entering, to listen before advising, and to let you set the pace.
Rachel, the first half of my life taught me what matters. I intend to spend the rest of it proving I was paying attention — with you.
The one-minute rule: 100–150 words, which is 60–90 seconds spoken at ceremony pace — slower than you think, because you will be nervous and the room will be quiet. Two three-minute vows do not read as twice the feeling; they read as a ceremony sagging in the middle. Be ruthless in the edit: one memory, one plain truth, three promises. If a line would work in anyone’s vows, it has no place in yours — specificity is the entire trick.
Write separately, but align on three things first: tone, length, and whether jokes are allowed. The most common avoidable wince in any ceremony is a mismatch — one partner lands three punchlines, the other opens a vein — and it is entirely preventable with a two-minute conversation. Agree on a word count, keep the drafts private, and if you want a referee, send both to the officiant; they have read hundreds and will quietly flag a mismatch.
Practice out loud, standing up, at least three times — vows that live only on a screen fall apart in the air. Print them on a card: a phone reads badly in photographs, dies at the wrong moment, and shows the notification from your dentist mid-vow. Mark the line where your voice is most likely to catch, and plan the pause there. Then hand a spare copy to your officiant, because the card in your pocket is only mostly reliable.
Questions, answered plainly
- How long should wedding vows be?
- About one minute each — 100–150 words spoken at ceremony pace, which is slower than conversation. Agree on a shared word count with your partner so one of you does not run three times longer than the other. Two tight minutes of vows inside a 25-minute ceremony is the range officiants consistently recommend; past that, even wonderful writing starts to lose the room.
- How do I start writing my vows?
- Start with specifics, not sentiment. List three memories only the two of you share, one hard thing you got through, and three promises — one daily, one difficult, one lifelong. Write a bad first draft fast, then cut anything that could appear in a stranger’s vows. The structures above exist for exactly this: fill in the blanks honestly, then smooth the seams until it sounds like you talking.
- Do we have to write our own vows?
- No — and plenty of couples shouldn’t. Traditional vows have carried this weight for centuries and repeat-after-me formats mean nothing to memorize under pressure. A popular middle path: speak traditional vows in the ceremony, and exchange private letters while getting ready that morning. You get the personal words without an audience, and the ceremony keeps its shape. Check first, though — some religious officiants require set wording.
- Are these vow templates free, and do I need an account?
- Free, no account, no email address. Download the PDF with all six templates and worked examples, or the plain-text version if you want to draft directly over the structures in your own notes app. Copy, adapt, and rewrite them however you like — the entire point is that the finished vows sound like you, not like us.
An Aisle account gives the words somewhere to live — your ceremony details, your schedule, and your people, all on one wedding site.