One Wedding and a Birthday

Yesterday was kind-of momentous–a pretty big deal some might say.  A wedding and a 40th birthday rolled into one big, continuous party with Little A and I still coming down off a sugar high. 

The wedding, as those go, was beautiful.  It was Christ-centered and lovely.  Always, the look on the Groom’s face when the Bride begins her descent down the isle is just perfect: a combination of awe, joy, excitement and wow, it is enough to take one’s breath away.  And the moment that she had to physically leave her father and cleave to her new husband was just heart-breaking–that’s when the floodgates open and Little A whispers, “Are you ok?”

The vows were exchanged the kisses surrendered and the new bride and groom took off like joyful youngsters do–but wait, something different happened–something I’ve never witnessed before on said occasion:  the bride and groom can back, they came back to kiss their mothers and fathers and embrace their grandmother and I thought, “My goodness this is amazing.” I tucked the memory in along with the cake…

Then came one of my best friend’s 40th birthdays.  The cadre of hyper 7-year-olds bopping around the house and flowing out into the yard with –wait–how’d-they-get all-that-sugar?-hands…
The adults filled their plates and we ate and made sure the children weren’t scraping or falling or poking in between bites while the dervish seemed to take on an entity of it’s own. 
There was only crowd control at this point…
The time for the toasting and some tears and some more heart-warmth and we raised our cups to our friend who–is, put perfectly by a poet in the crowd as: “The most creative and caring person we know.” She turned and gave recognition to her two friends, one who was slightly younger and also celebrating a birthday soon and to Charlene, the resident, soon-to-be-92-year-old sage in our midst.
I share all this to say that we mustn’t forget our roots, those who have raised us, protected us, taught us, pushed us, encouraged must not be left behind in our past.  So, if we follow the words of Charlene: “Life is what you make it.”
Then let us make it thankful.

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