Last weekend I went to a wedding shower. It was not the traditional scenario where you sit around in a circle with a china tea cup on your lap trying not to spill your while the bride finds unique superlatives for each elaborately wrapped gift chosen from the registry. In those parties, no one moves from their chair and you spend the afternoon chatting with exactly two people, the one on your right and the one on your left. 

This party had action. It was outside on the lawn, a lawn I might add that was large enough for a game of touch football had they been so inclined. But the games de jour included Knock the Bottle off the Pole with a Frisbee and a battery operated riding car for the little kids who looked like a live video game humming in circles around the grown ups. The long tables were festive, with white tablecloths and flower arrangements. People moved frequently as conversations ebbed and flowed, and fresh faces arrived. I was laughing with two women when another looked hopefully for a place to eat with us. 

"Is anyone sitting here?" She looked at the abandoned plate and cup. 

"It was only the mother of the bride. She is talking to someone else. Join us!"

There were cousins and friends, many from out of town or state, all gathered to celebrate a couple whose relationship is ripe for marriage. The mother of the groom called everyone to come closer, and two chairs were placed prominently on the deck. First they were offered a gift which turned out to be champagne glasses. Then they had to close their eyes. Two bridesmaids snuck up behind them with the quilt we have been making for them since last fall. It is a blue and white log cabin, with blocks from fifty people who love them. Their reaction was exuberant. Well, hers was. He is not the exuberant type.

People who had made a block months ago came closer to see its place in the whole. Many smiled. Maybe they were pleased that what had felt like an imperfect collection of strips actually looked great in the context of others. Which it did.

I wanted to pick up one of those beer bottles and pour this moment in. There was a wave of community, of family, of love that could carry them through a Vermont winter. But it was May and the flowers were generous in their color and scent.  Support is extraneous when you are floating ten feet off the ground anyway. 

Still there may come, no there will come, a day when laughter is in short supply. When there are no flowers on the table, no abundance of hugs. My prayer is that they will be able to hear the laughter, and feel the affection that was absorbed into the fabric of that quilt. 

And it will keep them warm.