Celeste. When I met her, she was a little girl, shy as they come, with long, curly, jet black hair. Chubby cheeks, smiling eyes, usually wearing Chuck Taylors. Her Dad is the most excellent house painter I have ever known (and I've known more than a few). He and I would occasionally work together on a job. Once, there was a 25-foot foyer that was calling for a faux-metal ceiling (it was begging for that)...and I had no inclination whatsoever to get up there. He nimbly climbed scaffolding and a scary ladder and followed my instructions to make it look like brushed gold metal. But that's the least of it. He's one of those people that you implicitly trust -- conscientious, God-fearing, honest. His parents brought him here, at 15 years of age, from Mexico, illegally. He grew up, married a kind, humble American girl and raised a family. Then he decided to jump through all the hoops to become an official American citizen, even though he didn't have to and most don't. It took lots of time, money and persistence, but he did it. He is highly respected by our church and by anyone who knows him, yet he never assumes such. So these are the people that Celeste comes from...
Celeste. What a beautiful, old-fashioned name for a beautiful girl. It means "heavenly." She always stood in the background, never drawing attention to herself. There were other girls that people noticed, but Celeste was one who didn't seem to mind. She kept wearing her Chucks and being just who she was -- thoughtful, caring, steadfast. Even though I would see her at church and across my feed, I somehow didn't notice that she grew up. Her cherubic, innocent face belies the fact that she's a working adult now. One afternoon I was strolling through Facebook and happened to see that she had gotten engaged, to this adorable guy. How do these things just happen, kids growing up like that? I FB-stalked him and saw their winsome pictures. There was Celeste with a ring on it, sure enough, still in her Chuck Taylors. I was so happy, I texted her Mom and said hey, can I decorate her wedding? Because, you know, I don't have enough to do right now. I dream that, sometimes...
When I spruce up a wedding, I am afraid I become a bit of a diva. I worry, dream, draw pictures, wake up in the middle of the night fretting. I talk about it to everybody, ad nauseum. The tension builds and no one around me can rest until it's over. To my loved ones, I am truly sorry. Maybe I can change, but it's looking doubtful. Venues rarely give enough time to get the place ready...they'd like you to spend extra dollars for extra time to do it right, but this is do-it-yourself, not Designer Central. I'm under several guns right now -- besides my obligations to work, wind ensemble, the holidays, holiday decorating for other people, and life in general, the big Event is that our daughter is due for their second baby. Today. I have no illusions that she's coming today, as her last baby came almost three weeks late, but the advent season is here and in not just one way. Yesterday we found out baby London has turned transverse (sideways)...just like her Mama did when she was in my tummy. I'm not gonna miss her birth, so someone else will have to fill in for all the things if she arrives on time. Bless God for good friends who rescued me from myself and assisted getting everything done. Several helped, but dear Kathy gave me two whole days, one to organize and clean all the decor, another to decorate at the venue. Pure gold. A wedding is about love and commitment. So is a true friend.
So the day is almost here and I think on my own youth, where I blissfully sailed into our simple wedding, no stress, knowing he was the right one and just wanting to be married to him. Candles, flowers, details...none of that really mattered. There were so many that blessed us. Now I more understand all the implications of marriage, the good and the bad, the charge of the long game. The truth of love, which includes the aches, the sicknesses, the sagging of the flesh. And more, maybe, the give and take of two sinful people over time, where the fairy tale ideas grow dim and the reality of weariness can overwhelm the strongest. I will pray for Celeste and Dalton, as the Lord brings them to mind. That they will love each other, forgive each other, respect each other, and that time will be kind to them as they trust God to carry them through the darkest of days as well as the light-filled, happy ones.
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