I see myself standing there in the foyer. Watching.
Taking mental pictures. Immersed
in the give and take of the laying of this stone.
A gentlemen says, “I can seat you now, if you like?” He knows I am waiting for someone, but wants
to take care of his responsibilities.
I smile and respond, “I’m fine. I’m ok to wait here.” I try to reassure him and add, “Besides, I’m
writing. Can’t you see the words?”
He smiles in complicity, “Yes, I do.”
And I believe he may.
He is, after all, a reader and understands the importance words play.
I’m back to watching the scene before me. They say there are six degrees of separation
between us all. If we could extend our
lives six people out, we are all connected.
Watching the picture before me, I realize there are far less than six
degrees separating all of these lives.
We are a Kandinsky of colors swirling and mixing from north to south,
east to west. A portrait carefully
painted by a Master artist.
Aptly, a song rises above the crowd. Over and again the chorus is repeated, “How
are you? You look beautiful! I am so glad you’re here.” Melodies of friendship crescendo as the choir
moves slowly into the sanctuary.
I find my particular friends and move inside to wait the
perfect moments, the perfect music, the perfect promises. Together and alone we watch the drama
play. We can’t help but compare this day
with other days we have witnessed. The
lace, the flowers, the signed license and kiss for luck.
Sometimes, like this one, the day is enveloped with
laughter. The kind that makes your sides
hurt, your voice hoarse, tears running down your face. It’s with this laughter we tie our hearts
together. It’s an unspoken promise that
should our paths cross elsewhere, we will find a friendly smile, a genuine
handshake, a place to rest from the cares of life. It uplifts us, this laughter, and carries us
over the hard days.
I watch the mother of the groom from across the way and see
my own happy sadness in her eyes. I
understand the joy she feels of sons grown and the sadness of an empty
nest. The guards are slowly changing in
our lives. We are leaders, it’s true,
but ever so tenaciously we hand off the baton to them. They are the next generation and we trust
them with the Good News that changes lives.
They are beautiful, these grown children. The platform is decorated with their joy and empty
picture frames. This new family will
fill the frames with the story of their life.
To either side of the bride and groom are their closest friends. Those whose hands have held them up, carried
them, and implicitly join these two paths.
The weaving of these many lives has not just begun. They are a strong fabric
which has been tested and found to be true.
We measure the days of our lives with these events. Having the same faces to share the
mile-markers gives us identity, purpose, family. We joke the next event will be a baby shower.
We don’t share only the ceremony, this band of mothers, but
the set-up and clean-up, too. Not only
of the event – but of the lives celebrated by the event. We are those who will be cheering these
children’s successes. We are those who will
stand beside them when they struggle. We
are those who pray and love and hurt with these children. And with each other.
This wedding is a perfect day. The sun shines, the music shines, the
brilliance of their pure love shines. We
send them off in a shower of lavender, waving them on to their future.
I see myself again, standing among the crowd. I am holding the hand of a child whose mother
I have prayed with many times while she was yet finding her place. Over the many years, our paths crossed hither
and yon, an example of foundational acceptance.
The child understands this and walks this space with me, also, making my
heart smile.
Looking at the portrait the crowd makes behind the
newlyweds, I see more than swaying hands.
Each life its own brush stroke.
Survivors, overcomers, those who refused to let the dips of sorrow steal
their zest. I am aware that I am made
stronger, gentler by standing in this crowd.
Together we pave a path for those who follow.
To order a copy of A Book of Pages About Crossing Bridges
or a Friend Named Jesus, please visit my website: Writer's Pages
Facebook: Author Kris A. Newman
Facebook: Author Kris A. Newman
