As the day grew closer for our daughter's Coronavirus-fraught-wedding in our backyard, it seemed like there was no way it was going to turn out well. Besides being able to invite a fraction of our original list, there were many difficulties to overcome: How to keep folks separated from each other but still have a party? How to serve our simple menu of cake and more cake, along with drinks, without us getting our germs all over each other? How to navigate the hurt feelings of those who weren't invited...How to do a DIY wedding when you're slap worn out...and especially, how to remember that this is my last baby, my only daughter, the true empty nest, without completely crumbling (even if you do love her fiance). And if the 'Rona wasn't bad enough, the riots started and we were all feeling like the world must be coming to an end.
I was walking the dog out in the cool night, a few days before the event...I talked to God and asked Him why all this was happening, and why did all the worst of things seem to be coming true right now, just when our daughter was about to get married? Not only was the chaos devastating, but they also are an interracial couple. My fears of culture clash, the difficulties they could face in the future...all seemed to be about to fall in on their heads. But in just the next breath, the Lord comforted my heart. Already, in our family and with friends, we had seen God change hearts and minds about Liz marrying someone of a different race. People were seeing Marcus as a person, a Godly man, an individual, some rethinking their unrighteous attitudes. Their love, purity and relationship was speaking to all of us, driving us to God's Word about the truths of these things. Our two families were coming together as one to bless their union, trusting God to direct their path.
The big day came. It was supposed to be very hot and raining -- even thunderstorms were predicted. We rented a tent, set it up to the side, and our army of family and friends descended to transform the back of our yard. There were twinkle lights draped impossibly high from the pecan trees, japanese lanterns, flowers and more flowers, creamy lanterns and candles, beautifully arranged tables and a jam-up dance floor in the middle. A friend helped me make an aisle with shepherd's hooks, hydrangeas and tulle, leading up to an arbor built by one of our sons, dripping with gorgeous flowers. The lights were lit, the drinks were chilling, the young women stunning in their multiple shades of blush pink, the young men resplendent in their black tuxes.
In any wedding, there comes that aha moment where it's finally time to walk the aisle. We were all lined up outside the door of our house, everyone beaming and thrilled to be a part of it. The music was divine, the six children who were a part of it were too adorable, but behaved perfectly. The bridal party made their way down. The groom was handsome, waiting with the pastor. Then came the bride, more beautiful and radiant than I can explain. A Christian wedding is supposed to be a picture of Christ and the Church, a sacred union of all that is good and holy. God held off the rain, and we saw the sweetest of examples of how He meant it to be. After it was over, after the amazing kiss, the jumping of the broom, the dancing to celebrate and the sparkler send-off, I kept hearing the words from the guests: "perfect. magical. divine." That pretty much sums it up. I think that, in some amazing way, it turned out better than if we had not been in the middle of a cultural Dante's inferno. We all felt like God was winking at us, because only He could have pulled that off.
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