His first look

*Google Images

I have this habit at weddings. The crowd will rise and their heads will twist back, eager for a first teary glimpse of the bride on her father's elbow. But in that moment my attention is drawn to the groom.

*Google images

Eyes moist or dry, chin quivering or still, his face is always a study. In the safety of universal (or so he thinks!) focus on his bride, his deepest joy, love and tenderness for her come surging to the surface undisguised.

She is here, this is my beloved. At last. 

I have been the bride. I know her joy as the one presented, the one beloved, the one treasured by father and then groom. I also usually know the bride personally and have walked with her on the heart's journey from first butterflies to final soul-binding committment.

But when I look at the groom, I see his amazement at the gift before him. Can she be for real? She is. Wow. 

With every step she takes toward him, he seems to become more of a man. Not in the stoic American way, but in the noble, tender way of Aslan, ready to lay himself down for the beloved.

I guess I'm just enamored by any glimpse into the heart of Jesus.

This weekend I had two different vantage points from which to view the groom: from the stage on Saturday, and then from behind the carved pillar of a tiny chapel on Sunday. In the first, I peered around the pastor's shoulder and saw the groom's mouth open, half laughing and half crying for the joy of it.  In the second, our friend's eyes shone wetter and brighter as he unconsciously sighed several times and clasped his hands nervously.

One of the brides was the wonderful girl who rented a room from us this fall. We will miss her, but they're not living too far and I am sure some of their new adventure will run parallel to ours. (Yay for game nights and hangouts!)