wedding bells--part 2

I'd never been to a wedding with such a gregarious groom.

Terry looked handsome in his tux, and he walked to the stage much the way I've watched dozens of grooms walk to the stage--proper-like, sedate. Serious. But then he broke the mold.

With his back to us, Terry lit a candle on stage. And then he pretended that he had burned himself. At the gasp that flittered across the room, he turned and grinned. Laughter replaced the gasp. Still grinning, Terry walked closer to the crowd to a place he'd been instructed to go. But he couldn't keep quiet. "Hi everybody!" he said.

More laughter. "How ya doin', Ter?" somebody asked.

"Fine ... you?" he responded.

It couldn't have been a sharper contrast to the wedding of the night before. But it carried its own charm.

Cheryl's daughter preceded her, singing "The Rose" and sprinkling rose petals as she walked. By the time Cheryl appeared, Nicole's song had ended and someone had begun playing a recording of a song Cheryl and Terry wrote and sang--a song that celebrated the three-fold chord they were about to become, and the Potter who was even now fashioning their lives into a thing of beauty.

Sometime during the song, I became aware of a little imp sitting to the right of Tera. She had snapping dimples and an uplifted hair-do, and brown eyes that showed she was perpetually on the verge of laughter.

"Take your feet off the pew, Ceriwyn," her mother instructed. Ceriwyn complied, never taking those brown eyes off Tera.

"Can we be friends?" she asked.

Tera did a double take and looked back at me with an 11-year old, Isn't that funny? expression. "Sure," she said.

Ceriwyn's mother shushed her after a few minutes, but not before we learned that she lived on Camano Island but had come from Everett, where she'd been visiting her dad ... and that she loved her high heels, but would probably never wear them again "except for a special occasion, like now" ... and that she was almost as tall as her auntie ... and that she might be a comic when she grew up. "Don't you think I should be a comic?"

I did, and told her so. She had so amused me by that time that I'd already begun scribbling notes on the back of the "Order of Events" paper we'd been handed at the door.

Tera leaned close to me and whispered, "I'm tired and I'm hungry. When we get downstairs, I'm going to stuff myself with shrimp."

Ceriwyn, we learned, has amazing ears. "Me too!" she said, leaning around Tera to flash her dimples at me.

About the time Ceriwyn's mother intervened, Cheryl appeared in the doorway, looking excited and beautiful. The ceremony was lovely--full of tender moments and a few giggles, and a message by Dave that caused several couples in front of me to draw closer, and smile at each other. When it came to an end, the tinkling of bells rang through the church as everyone raised the silver bells we'd been given on our arrival. Cheryl and Terry went outside to line up along the street and greet their guests; we began inching ourselves out of our pews.

Ceriwyn barely drew a breath as she offered information and peppered us with questions. When Dave came along the back aisle and leaned in to ask me something, Ceriwyn leaned around me and grinned at him. "You're a good priest."

"Thanks," he said back, laughing.

"Is it fun having a priest for a dad?" she asked Tera. Tera just nodded.

"I got kicked out of Grace Academy," Ceriwyn offered out of the blue. When I asked what she did to get kicked out of the private school, she explained, "I hit a kid with a pillow. I guess that was sort of my last chance. My new school is much, much better for me. I don't know the principal of my new school, but I saw her once at Walmart. I was SO scared."

We went through the receiving line and congratulated Cheryl and Terry. When we moved along to make room for those behind us, Ceriwyn giggled and said, "The bride kinda got jealous 'cause I didn't hug her first ... I hugged Terry." Because it flowed in a logical sream in that interesting brain of hers, she followed that announcement up with "My mom is an 'accountist.'" and "I'm a dancer, you know. And I have my tap shoes on."

I looked down at her red, fake gem-encrusted Dorothy shoes.

"Mind if I dance for you?" she asked.

Who would say no?

She tapped out a few steps for me right there on the sidewalk. "You're very good," I informed her.

"Yep. I just picked it up when I saw it on a museum and it was whatchamacallit day ... St. Patrick's Day." (I have no idea what all that meant, but I was too busy scribbling notes to verify.)

Dave, Tera and I walked downstairs to the reception. Ceriwyn danced her way down. As luck would have it, Ceriwyn planted herself next to Tera at our table. Tera looked down at the sheet in my hand, noted the rapidly dwindling white space, and said, "Do you need more paper?" At my nod, she scampered back upstairs. When she returned, she plopped two sheets down in front of me--back side up, ready for notes. "I figured you'd need two more."

And I did.

I continued to record Ceriwyn's fascinating observations and comments. "I've never tried mini weenies before, but they look soooo good. Do you think they taste like hot dogs? ... I hurt myself taking a picture once ... Want to know what I learned to do? I don't think I can show you now--it's the splits."

But it wasn't all Ceriwyn. I took note of the way Cheryl kept looking at Terry, and the way he looked back at her. I took note of Cheryl's "adopted" dad (the father of her best friend) and the way he kept grunting, from the back row, "Cut the cake already!" I watched the ladies at the buffet table pushing the potato salad ("You have GOT to try this, John. I think it's the best I've ever tasted!") and kids with cautious steps carrying too-full cups of punch back to their "kids-only" table.

I took note of it all. And when Cheryl's aunt toasted her with "A prayer of mine has been answered -- you look happy," I fought tears. I lost that fight when Cheryl's daughter, Nicole, made her own toast, and said, "Today is huge. Maybe not to the world ... but it's huge. They're perfect for each other. He makes her laugh, and she makes him serious ... sometimes. And now, they're together forever."

"Cut the cake already," the man in back said again. Cheryl took pity on him, pulled her groom back to the cake table, and cut that cake. Just before we slipped out the door, I brought the man a piece.

Oh, how I love weddings.

wedding bells

Two days, two weddings.

Friday, we settled ourselves in long, aisle-facing pews in Bastyr University's austere chapel (think Westminster Chapel-grand) and watched as our beloved Gina walked the rose petal-covered path on the arm of her father. The moment had been prayed for and anticipated for several years. Gina waited. She didn't rush into the first relationship that came along. She knew Bill was out there somewhere, and she waited for him to make his appearance. When he did--when we, her church family, caught our first glimpse of him and recognized God's imprint--we smiled. Her wait had been worth it.

I'm not sure I've ever been to a wedding that magnificent. It wasn't just the place, although you could sit in that chapel for a month of Sundays and still not see every detail in the frescoes, the cutwork, or the stained glass. It was an atmosphere of elegance that enveloped the large bridal party and every guest in attendance. It was the glow of rose petal-encircled candles lining the long aisle. It was the lighting of overhead chandeliers. It was knowing that the waning light from outside met us through windows embellished with the Word of God.

I loved hearing Dave's voice ringing in that chapel. And I loved the message he gave Bill and Gina--the reminder that God had created them differently to bless one another. He told Gina that God had placed a great need for admiration in the heart of Bill, and that her calling was to spend her life giving him that respect and admiration. He told Bill that God had placed a great need for security in the heart of Gina, and that his role in this marriage was to bathe her in love--to lay his life down as our Savior did for His Bride.

They left in an old Model-T type car driven by an elderly man in a rounded top hat. His wife sat beside him, sporting her own fancy, tulle-wrapped hat. In the box seat behind them, Bill and Gina donned similar hats and waved to the rest of us, who stood laughing and watching. The whole thing delighted me. There was brand new love, sitting expectantly in the back seat, while love that had stood the test of time guided it on to the next step.

The next step, in this case, was the reception--held at the Christian school where Bill is a wrestling coach. We lined up for water and punch and then lined up for an array of food that you don't have often--or ever. Shrimp cups and curried chicken. Brie and sourdough. Chicken salad tartlets. Rice Krispie treats dipped in your choice of milk or dark chocolate, which dribbled invitingly from separate fountains.

We ate, and laughed, and visited with old friends, and watched the wedding party arranged on stage a la Da Vinci's "Last Supper." We listened to a short list of toasts and raised our glasses in agreement with each heartfelt expression, and I cried when Gina's father told her how much he loved her.

Shortly after, when Dave reminded us both that he had another wedding the following day, we said our good byes and started for home. If I'd known that the dancing was about to break out, I would have begged for another half an hour. From what I hear, fifty-some women and three lone men tore up the floor. It would have been fifty-some plus one.

I love weddings. I love watching as two become one, and knowing that amid all the hard times that are sure to come, sweet moments will be interspersed--moments when one pair of eyes will look in astonishment at another and be startled anew to discover that in this big, cold world, someone has promised to love you.

There's still another wedding to share ...