The other day I attended a wedding shower. The outpouring of love for this couple materialized in gifts, hugs and sentimental cards. Some women know them from work, others are sisters or aunts or high school classmates. I am a friend of her mother, who helped me stay the course in my own journey of parenting. Their family were our guests for a
month a few years before she died of cancer, and the bride lived in our attic the summer the twins were small enough that I could hold both at once.
People brought poofy packages hiding salad spinners, sheets and wooden spoons. Little girls in smocked dresses sat at her feet, eager for the unveiling, even though they themselves are not interested in spatulas. Presents are captivating no matter what the contents.
I marvel at the abundance that
appears around marriage.
"Getting married? Let me give you something."
The circle of women told the story even without anyone speaking, which they certainly did. Grandmothers who have lived long and well, mothers who are done with diapers, young moms chasing their toddlers around the room, unmarried women still looking for companionship, children whose eyes get big over a bouquet of ribbons. It feels steadying to me, merely to see
the script played out in real lives.
This is what you have to look forward to.
This is what you are part of.
This is what you remember.
Often our days are more segregated. We partition off life's stages as if they should not touch, the way small boys keep the peas and macaroni and applesauce separate. Ten year olds go to school with other
ten year olds. Twenty somethings hit the town together. Young moms hang out with other harried moms. Matrons play bridge and have tea.
But being in that room reminded me that life is a progression, interlinked and cumulative.
All the moments of life are a series of consequences leading to eternity.
Heavenly Secrets 6490, Emanuel
Swedenborg
