East-West Wedding

Some friends of ours got married on Saturday. The wedding was a mixture of western and eastern ceremony. A few dozen tables were set outside as the bride processed around the audience. 

This was one of the most fun Chinese wedding because there was very little smoke or loud drinking and lots of good friends. 

Two of the girls were flower girls and Kesed was a ring bearer. By ring bearer, I  mean that he held a basket of flowers with the rings thrown in among the petals. 

The other ring bearer was MIA until it was time to stroll down the isle. I actually don't think he knew that he was performing this prestigious task. Kesed spent his time walking down the isle and whispering directions to his friend. Kesed carried the rings while I had hot flashes and nightmares of the rings flying out of his basket into the abyss of the dark night. 

The girls held the veil and tried not to trip down the stone stairs. They did a fantastic job. 

Behind the bride, there was nose picking and dress adjusting, but no major missteps. 

They were a beautiful couple who loves the Lord. We are grateful for them and for so many people who came to celebrate them. 

Halfway through, Malachi pulled up a stool and sat next to the bridesmaids. 

At this point, the doves were released. I think the doves might have been slipped something because they flew drunk. They flew into each other and dive bombed tables. It was fantastic. 

Here's Selah with one of the poor dizzy birds. We are grateful we got to be a part of their day and thankful for what the Lord has done in them both!

Today this man reminded me...

 

There is a single ,particular group of people that I find nearly impossible to love unconditionally. The Chinese grandparent. I historically have seen them as demanding, critical, and inflexible. A few months ago I started having a "What Would Jesus Do?" moment. He would clearly not avoid old people. So I've started to take time to either ask them their stories or pause and remember that they have a story, even if I don't get to hear it. It's been in their stories that I've found a softening and appreciation for all they have been through.  

Pining through the suburbs of Shanghai where even the food smells rich, this man slowly shuffled down the uneven backstreets. Passing them I felt the heavy determination of his legs as he forsook his wheelchair, opting for independence instead. It seems as if a stroke kidnapped his dreams and mocked his future. Walking, I watched his history rolling passed him like a silent film.

A smokey room parts as the younger version of him blinks his watery eyes and spots his bride for the first time. She shifts in her chair and allows the right corner of her lips to fold gently into smile. She turns away but through the wisps of her dark tussled hair, peeks in his direction, willing him over to her. As they begin talking, words seem to be spilling into a river of comfort. As if somewhere before their lives had met and shared the same waters.

The conversation began to carve into the earth, permanently marking out a future. Contours of a marriage, banks of parenthood, currents of traveling the country together.  

As they married and started a family, they held onto dreams like a well-worn quilt. Tucked between the two of them at night, laid down to be forgotten as they drifted in and out of work each day. Their hopes became grey hairs and arthritic knees. At times forgotten. Maybe not forgotten as much as fictionalized. With age came a reality that needed to be attended to.

After his wife died, his mind surrendered. Actualizing dreams without the person who conjured them with you somehow made them seem child-like. Hoping seemed like something left for people with plenty of time left. He was running out. Future was no longer measured in years, but in moments.

As I watch him place his feeble arms onto the security of the wheelchair, he shifts his feet forward. For a brief moment he wants to feel his independence holding up his entire self. He wants to be reminded that his body is more than a shell. He has not forgotten how to hope, his hopes have just become a matter of the daily. See, he doesn’t’ have time to wait on ‘one day’. He is living in the now because there is no guarantee of a later. His stiffened arms and locked in grimace are a reminder that to wait is to squander. To wait is to let fear win. So he bears down on his weakened legs and tries to walk. It is slow. It is full of labor and pain. But aren’t all things worth hoping for full of those? Demanding hope to be pain-free and easy is minimalizing hope to a simple wish. Wishes don’t keep us alive.

  Hope does.