Making things happen
... with integrity
Monday May 31, 2004 Volume VI Number 22
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Elegant Simplicity by Ken Kemp |
y brother Rob has the finest set of wheels in the entire family. That’s saying a lot because whenever the family gathers, out front on the curb is a pretty impressive fleet of automobiles.
Kevin called up his uncle, and made the not-so-modest request. “Uncle Rob, you’ve got a fantastic car. Would it be possible for us to use it for the get-away – you know, from the church to the reception?”
Rob’s generosity kicked in.
So there it sat, front and center, at the steps of the church. And while people gathered on those steps in the landmark community of San Diego’s Mission Hills, charming craftsman homes up and down the street, a gleaming steel blue BMW, big and bold, wide tires and oversized alloy wheels, waited patiently and at the ready for the bride and groom, as stately and elegant as the wedding about to begin inside.
Rob cornered me out there on the sidewalk before the ceremony and asked, “Hey Ken – would you like to drive them over?” Instinct said, “Aw… thanks Rob… no… someone else ought to…” My thought broke off mid-sentence as it occurred to me exactly what my brother just offered.
This
is the third time I’ve put on a tuxedo for the wedding of our child. Now I
know from experience why it is that every dad can relate to Steve Martin’s wild
dilemma in “The Father of the Bride.” A wedding is so long anticipated, so
meticulously planned, it lives so vividly in the imagination that when it
actually comes it’s like a freight train roaring through town, whistle blowing,
and all too soon, the rumble goes quiet, you hear the clickety-clack fading in
the distance and a faint far away whine of another whistle blast, and it’s
gone. The emptiness hits hard. And the toughest part of it all - that there
was barely time to connect during the ceremony. You’ve watched it from a
distance, feeling the things that only parents know; such pride, such a depth
of longing, such joy, so many things to say, and then something enormously
valuable is lost. Not that you wish anything different. It’s just a new
gaping hole in the heart. You wish there had been more time – just these
three: the groom, the bride and me.
And there was Rob standing there offering that very gift.
It hit me like a lightening bolt. “Hey – what you’re doin’ here, good buddy, is givin’ me just a few minutes to be with Kev and Sonya,” I said, thinking out loud. (Not to mention the opportunity to sit behind the wheel of everyman’s ultimate dream machine.) I just looked him in the eyes, he knew exactly what he was doing, and with a smile I said, “Thanks, Rob.” He smiled back and handed me the key.
(It never occurred to me that I should ask someone if it’s a violation of protocol for the father of the groom to be the chauffer for that ceremonial journey from the wedding chapel to the reception site. I still have no idea. But I don’t really care to know. Certainly one could well ask: would the bride and groom really want a PARENT in the car just after the wedding? In some cases, I suppose, the very suggestion would be vetoed immediately by one who knew better. But neither of those concerns entered my mind as I slipped the key to the Beemer into my pocket. I just flat liked the idea of being there to hear their banter fresh after the ceremony.)
My brother-in-law, Greg, a veteran himself of three weddings, predicted that the emotion would hit just as the bride walks down the aisle to the front of the church and Kevin stands there at the altar, beaming over the radiant beauty of his bride and the minister holds a little black book and the wedding party dressed and scrubbed and the whole congregation sniffling and on their feet as the processional music fills the sanctuary. Nope, he thought, then again maybe it won’t really strike you until you are standing there on the curb watching the U-Haul One Way truck pull away and head off toward the horizon packed with everything the kids call their own. Maybe that’s when it’ll get you, he mused. ‘Course, on reflection, maybe it’ll be a double whammy. It just might get you both times, he concluded.
All weekend, people had the same question – what does it feel like to have all your children married? “Yep it’s a milestone alright,” was the best I could do because I’m not really sure how it feels. I don’t really get much clarity anymore about this kind of thing until I write about it. That’s my way of figuring it out.
You
enter into some sort of zone as weddings approach. The time is set. The
clock ticks. The next thing you know, you are dressed in this tuxedo. Zero
hour marches toward you with a relentless sort of inevitability.
There are certain moments that linger in the memory. There’s that first look at the bride. It’s the double-take. Our two daughters did it to me; both stunning. You’d think I would have prepared myself, but you can’t. You don’t. Especially us guys. You walk up and there she is, transformed. Radiant. You freeze. Your eyes widen. It’s a momentary trance.
This time, that first look got me again. I was off guard. I walked across the lawn toward the photographer late afternoon and saw Sonya under the white trellis tending to a little flower girl dressed in white satin with a pink sash and a basket of rose pedals at Presidio Park where pre-ceremony photographs were planned. There she was, and I stopped dead in my tracks. She is a lovely girl, I knew it, but there she stood, the Bride, holding a bouquet and smiling, and involuntarily I paused, frozen again. And over there, under a spreading oak tree on the green grass, Kevin stood with his best pals all in black tie and tux, so tall, so full of anticipation and Kev smiling like this is the moment he’d waited for all his life and I froze again.
Later, Carolyn walked down the aisle on the arm of a nephew, and I followed her to the front row as all our friends looked on. She was beautiful, too, with a style and a grace that reflects the years nurturing these children as they’ve grown to what they’ve become on this milestone day. We took our place across the aisle from the Mother of the Bride.
The ceremony began.
The music shifted from contemplative worship to the processional, the heavy oak door opened and Sonya’s father led that line-up of fine young men into the Sanctuary. An popular college professor and an ordained minister, Mike performed the ceremony as officiating clergy. He wore a pure white robe and a lavender stole and as he stood there beside Kevin, smiling bravely, his presence set a tone of good hearted reverence. This is a sacred moment. His role went beyond the nervous “Her mother and I” standard tradition for the father of the bride. Mike would hear the promises made, the covenant, he labeled it. And he would call on God to bless these two. And he would pray for their happiness and well-being.
No
small thing for the father of a first-born daughter. They share the kind of
closeness most dads hope for. They laugh and tease, and she is like him in so
many ways. Quick witted. Full of fun. Passion. Energy. Heart. And when he
prayed, he held their hands, their precious hands, he said. May God pour out
his rich blessing on them both.
And He did.
Two fine musicians, vocalists, engaged to be married soon themselves, stood in the choir box above the grand piano and offered a prayer in song. Without accompaniment, their harmony blended in a simple elegance as they sang of the virtues of gentleness and kindness and goodness and in the stillness of the moment, God’s presence and love filled the room.
Because you are chosen
Called to be holy
Because you are the Lord’s beloved
You must clothe yourself in kindness
with heartfelt mercy
in the meekness of humility.
So bear you now with one another
And forgive as the Lord’s forgiven you.
Over all these virtues
Bind them all together
In the love of our Lord Jesus.
Kevin kissed his bride.
And then it was over. “It is my grand privilege to introduce to you…” Mike announced. And the piano struck a chord of fanfare and the people filled the house with applause and Kevin and Sonya beamed and made their way through the admiring, teary crowd back down the aisle and toward the exit.
I reached in my pocked and found the key.
* * * * * * *
The crowd swarmed around the shiny BMW. Kevin’s cousin, Grant, opened the door for the bride to take her place in the back seat. Kevin jumped in as the door shut and the people outside waved and clapped. Photographers surrounded the rear bumper, cameras flashed.
Kevin and Sonya didn’t seem to mind that it was me at the wheel.
We pulled away from the curb.
“We’re married!” Sonya squealed and Kevin laughed and repeated the phrase.
I don’t remember everything. I wish I did.
When something really meaningful happened while I was driving, far back as I can remember, I’d reach back over my shoulder looking for a hand to take mine. Our kids know the routine. They’d give me one, and I’d squeeze it, just to let them know I heard or noticed and that it makes their dad happy. They’d squeeze back. So just like old times, I reached back and Kev took my hand for a manly handshake and then I reached for Sonya, and we squeezed hands, too. I looked into the rear view mirror, and there they were in the reflection - the Bride and Groom - and the Beemer floated down the highway like the sleek, high tech carriage of a prince and his princess.
I
told them how the wedding coordinator went on about the most beautiful wedding
she ever witnessed. She called it simple elegance. “Good,” said Sonya.
“That’s what I was hoping for.”
After that, Kevin barely knew I was there. He kept telling Sonya how beautiful she is. Sonya worried over the reception detail. Will they be there? Will the set up be right? Did the musicians find their place? Will the guests locate the courtyard? Did the flowers make it? Will the parking be TERRIBLE? Will the food be ready? Will there be a KNIFE to cut the cake?
Sonya - let it go, Kevin said. And then he repeated himself. You are so beautiful. I married you! I love your dress. This is the first time I’ve seen it. It’s perfect.
I knew you’d like it, she told him, smiling. That’s why I chose it.
You were right, he said.
And then they kissed again.
Me? I just kept on driving.
* * * * * * *
It’s Monday morning. You are a leader.
Sometimes, God gives you gifts you just know you do not deserve. It’s almost enough to fill in the empty place. Almost.
If you need help working through experiences like this, give writing a try. Find for yourself friends like you, my good reader, who stay with me, and laugh with me, and tear up with me and share the catch in the throat that reminds us that we really are alive.
We are alive to something that happens in the moment. But it goes way beyond the moment. It’s a taste of eternity. It’s a sip of something transcendent.
We are standing on holy ground.
Elegant simplicity.
Take it in. Savor it.
It’ll get us through whatever is next.
Posted in Valley Center, California
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2004
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