by jphilo | Apr 9, 2010 | Family
Most of the time, identifying with women in the Bible doesn’t come easy to me. I’m not queenly like Esther. I didn’t follow my mother-in-law to a foreign land like Ruth, and my chosen professions have been quite different than Rahab’s. My humility and faith fall far short of Mary the mother of Jesus, and I certainly didn’t raise a perfect child. (Sorry kids!)
I can’t dance like Salome, cut hair like Delilah, or sit contentedly at Jesus’ feet like Mary of Bethany. I can be as bossy and driven as Martha, but who wants to admit something like that?
Even with my rotten track record, one woman from the Bible made my kindred spirit short list about eight months ago when our son announced his engagement to a wonderful young woman. Sarah, wife of Abraham, is one chick I totally get. I get why she laughed when God promised she would bear a child, though she was old, old. old.
Two years ago, if God had said something like, “Your son will get married on April 11, 2010,” I would have laughed, too. See, back then my son’s career choice made no room for marriage. And after five long years of his stalwart resolution to pursue that course for life, I’d come to accept his choice. More than that, I’d found peace and a way to maintain a loving relationship with my son. I’d even learned to accept God’s will instead of demanding He fulfill my hopes and dreams for my firstborn.
After I made my peace, if God had dropped the he’ll-get-married-and-you-might-have-grandchildren-someday bombshell, I would have done one of two things. Either I would have gotten really mad and told God to quit raising my hopes about something I didn’t dare hope about, or like Sarah, I would have laughed at his joke. Sarah made the better choice, to laugh, drop the matter, and move on.
But God, in his infinite wisdom, didn’t drop the matter. He gave Sarah a son in her old age. In Genesis 21:6, Sara says this after her son’s birth. “God has made laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh over me.”
I totally get what she’s saying because what she describes happens to my family these days. When we tell people about our son’s upcoming wedding, everyone responds with joy. Smiles, chuckles and beaming grins abound. Sarah’s words come alive.
God has made laughter for me.
Still, in the midst of joy, I am aware of the suffering and sorrow of others. My laughter could mock a mother estranged from a son, a single person wishing for a spouse, an infertile couple unable to conceive. So in the midst of joy, tears fill my eyes. I ask God to comfort those whose stories are so painful they can’t laugh for someone else’s joy.
Help them find your peace in their current circumstances, dear Father. Give them hope to hang on until you bring laughter back into their lives. Give them a sweet story to tell, one that brings joy to their hearts and to the hearts of all who hear it. Amen.
by jphilo | Apr 6, 2010 | Out and About
I’m beginning to doubt my wisdom in accepting an East Coast speaking engagement three days before our son and almost daughter-in-law’s wedding. I wouldn’t have considered it if the venue and topic had been less important. But how could I say no to sharing the truth about early medical trauma with doctors and other medical professionals? I couldn’t say no, which means this week is a busy one . And, oh boy, getting ready for two trips in one is mind boggling.
Things were pretty calm – speech ready, clothes picked out, wedding presents bought, books shipped – until last week when our future daughter-in-law emailed. “Could you bring two coolers,” she asked, “and some board games to put on the tables at the reception so guests have something to do after the ceremony while the photographer takes pictures?”
“Sure,” I said. When the games were cleverly packed in the cooler, I remembered the Christmas lights we bought for the daughter’s wedding later this summer and packed them, too, just in case. Hiram put the coolers in the trunk, and I dusted off my hands. “All packed, except for my suitcase and rolling briefcase.”
Then I remembered the wedding presents – ours and Mom’s – so I wrapped them and put them on the table, so as not to forget them. Next, I thought of the packages that came for Anne this week, the ones she wanted me to give her after the wedding. They went on the table, too. I dusted my hands. “All ready, except for the suitcases and the briefcase.”
On Easter Sunday afternoon, the son called. “Could you bring props for the photo booth?” he asked. “We need things for the guests to wear when their pictures are taken. Just get stuff from our old costume boxes,” he suggested. “Be sure to put in the wrap-around-the-neck gorilla hands.”
By the time I raided the kids’ costume box, my stash of disguises, and the junk drawer in our nightstand, two boxes were filled with hats, clown, pig and elephant noses, scarves, shawls, kazoos, doo-rags, aprons, parasols, old glasses, and who knows what else. I put the boxes on the table beside the other stuff. Monday afternoon, just before the rain started, Hiram and I carried everything to the car. When it was stowed in the car, I dusted my hands. “All packed,” I said, “except for my suitcase and the rolling briefcase.”
Problem is, there’s not much room left for either one. So I guess I’ll be traveling light. Think anyone will notice I’m wearing my swimsuit to the conference and the wedding?
by jphilo | Jun 8, 2009 | Family
Anne’s best friend got married on Saturday. My daughter was bridesmaid dress creator and maid of honor. I was wedding photographer (under duress), and Hiram was our gal Friday, but please don’t say it to him in quite those words.
One week before the wedding, life was tense at our house. Two of the four bridesmaids had yet to try on their dresses for the first time. Anne’s room was a disaster area, strewn with purple cloth and lavender thread. I was a nervous wreck, envisioning potential camera disasters in every waking moment and having nightmares about them every night. I maintained sanity by taking so many deep, cleansing breaths I almost hyperventilated.
On the day of the wedding, Anne was still altering dresses until an hour before the ceremony. But when she walked down the aisle, she was lovely, calm, and collected. I didn’t have to look lovely and maintained a surface calm by snapping over a thousand pictures, assuming that the more I took, the greater the likelihood of a few good shots. And my gal Friday – and don’t you dare tell him I called him that – kept me collected.
At the reception, Anne’s car had battery problems which kept Hiram in the parking lot during most of the festivities. Anne’s toast to the bride, Rachel Ross, was warm, witty, and wise. I kept snapping pictures, but the lighting at the reception hall and my camera were not compatible. Would I have any decent pictures of the reception and the dance?
My question was answered yesterday. Among the thousand and more pictures that took all day to download, this one, with my daughter, radiant and beautiful as she danced, brought tears to my eyes. All my tension and worry were redeemed by the look on her face.
Why, I am wondering today, after all my fussing and fretting, all my my worry and snippiness, was I granted the honor of seeing my sweet daughter dance and of capturing her joy?
by jphilo | Jun 10, 2008 | Uncategorized
Last Saturday, Hiram and I danced at a very special wedding. We are friends of the parents of both the bride and the groom. More than that, the bride and groom are part of our lives.
We met the bride when she came to AWANA Cubbies at age three. As leaders, we listened to her recite her verses and watched her “jump for joy” when we sang the Cubbie theme song. We watched her grow her way through AWANAs and Sunday school. When our church staged The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, she was very effective as Imogene Herdman making my character’s job as pageant director near disaster. My husband depended on her leadership in the youth group worship band when she was in high school.
I met the groom when he walked into my third grade classroom. His shy grin and curious mind made teaching a joy. When we followed each other to fourth grade, he was almost family by the end of the second year. And since his mom is one of my scrapbooking buddies, I’ve kept up with his life over the years.
We celebrated their wedding day at the bride’s parents’ farm. The weather was windy and muggy. After we ate and a visited, Hiram and I danced our way through a lively mix of swing tunes, waltzes, line dancing and polkas. As we danced, we imagined the life the newlyweds will start this week. They’re moving out west, as we did as a young married couple. We remembered our culture shock when we plunked down in cowboy country – and then stayed there for seven years.
Living so far from family and old friends was hard, but it was one of the best things we’ve ever done. We learned to rely on one another. We made friends, who weren’t mine or his exclusively, but ours. Because of those years out west, after thirty-one years of marriage, we still rely on each other first. Because of those years, we have mutual, dear friends who are still part of our lives. Because of those years our in cowboy country, we’re still dancing.
So kick up your heels, Austin and Libby. Keep dancing.
