A father's care

Two of my young friends got married last weekend. Their wedding was much-anticipated, a long time in coming. The bride is from a small town in the mountains of North Carolina, and she wanted to get married at home. Luckily for her, "home" is a beautiful family homesite where her father's family has lived for generations.

The weather in North Carolina has been gorgeous lately--sunny and warm, with marvelous blue skies. Last weekend, though, was stormy. We were all hoping that the storms would hold off until after the outdoor wedding. The reception was to be held under the shelter of a massive tent, but the ceremony--the ceremony was to take place in the grand cathedral of the North Carolina mountains, with only the sky overhead.

The storms began rolling in as the guests were gathering. It thundered during the prelude. The clouds intensified during the processional and the scripture reading. And sure enough, it began to rain just after the bride's father had given her away.

The minister was wonderful, getting straight to the point of the ceremony and keeping things sacred but cheerful. The bride and groom were obviously thrilled just to be there. The parents of the groom were poised and peaceful. The mother of the bride was remarkably composed. But it was the father of the bride who took my breath away. He quietly walked up behind the couple and lifted a white umbrella over their heads.

Just after I snapped this photo, umbrellas popped up all around. But in this one precious moment, there was just that one umbrella--the one protecting the bride and groom as they stood before the Lord and pledged their lives to one another. Held by the man who was willing to stand in the rain himself in order to shelter his daughter.

What a picture.

--Unwrapped with Emily at Chatting at the Sky

Nineteen candles

See that boy? The one on the left?

Or the one on the left in this picture?

Yes, that one.

He's 19 years old today.

Nineteen years ago, he was a brand-new baby. And I was a brand-new mama.

Not that I mind that he has only one more year to be a teenager. Or two more years to be a minor. No, I don't mind at all. Not a bit. I don't miss those days of having a sweet little baby with curly red hair. I don't long for the days when he was a baby in my arms. I don't miss rocking him to sleep. I don't dream of the days when I was teaching him to walk and talk. Or read and write. Or ride a bike. Or drive a car. Oh, no. Not me.

Of course not.

A question

Thanks for letting me be honest with you. I appreciate the way blogging gives us a chance, if we'll take it, to be truthful with one another.

A question has been stirring in my mind lately, and I'd like to share this with you, too.

Question: When people see you, what do you want them to see? Or when people think of you, what trait do you want them to attribute to you?

I don't mean to ask what you think is your best or most prominent feature. That's probably pretty obvious. What I mean is what you WANT people to see in you.

Fill in the blank: When others see a picture of me in their mind's eye, I want them to see _____________.

I'll go first. I want people to see graciousness. Not graceFULness, because that's probably impossible. I'm accident-prone, so I don't think that'll ever happen. But I want to be gracious. Why? Because I spent a lot of my early life being ungracious, that's why. I was a champion rule-follower and I was pretty harsh toward anyone who wasn't. So gracious is what I want to be.

What about you? If you're completely honest with yourself, how do you want others to see you? Beautiful? Kind? Fun? Successful? Intelligent? Physically fit? Carefree?

Don't answer by saying what you think you should feel. Tell me how you do feel.

There are lots of great attributes out there. How would you--honestly--fill in the blank?