Chicken Soup for the Bride's Soul (22 page)

As she unties the ribbon holding her fiancé’s ring to a velvet pillow, her nephew’s tiny hands stretch up, tightly clutching the lacy edges. His small, earnest face is crossed over with concentration on his task. I am struck by what a long time it’s been since we held objects up, stretched on tiptoe, so adults could reach down for them. And I long to have those small hands again, to be that child just for a day.

As I watch her fiancé’s eager shining eyes at Valerie’s approach, I can hardly fight the tears. If my heart breaks, it’s not through sadness. It’s only that I feel the small hands of childhood tugging at my memory. It is a childhood I had forgotten, left lying just under a layer of dust in some happy back room in my mind, long neglected. I am momentarily aware of its existence very close: a small warm flash and then it expires. The door closes with a whisper.

And I am twenty-six again, holding my best friend’s bouquet as she turns to face her husband on her wedding day. I force the lump out of my throat, squeeze my eyes shut. Force the sun-touched picture in front of me to soften back into focus, and chase away any selfish longing for the old days.

I know that for Valerie this doorway leads to many more happy rooms. To summer afternoons and backyards and childhood memories of the future. Sun streams through the stained glass, onto the pews and the rapt congregation as the organist hits her first booming notes. As Valerie turns away from me and reaches out to take her husband’s arm, a cloud of triumphant recessional music filling the church, I close my eyes and let the tears roll. I wish her all the luck in the world as she passes through this doorway and on to the new rooms that lie beyond with her husband.

Kathy Passero

At the Ritz

I
awoke this morning with devout thanksgiving for my friends, the old and the new.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

My cousin Toni was my best friend growing up. I had two brothers but no sisters, so she and I were especially close. Our favorite times together happened when she would spend the night. Sneaking Ritz crackers to my room, we nibbled and watched TV in bed until the wee hours of the morning. The next day, we always woke to find the bed full of crumbs. No wonder we didn’t get any sleep, we exclaimed!

Years passed and we remained close. When I married and had two daughters, Toni became their favorite sitter. I was thrilled when she met the man she knew immediately was the love of her life. After a couple of years, she and Chris decided to marry.

Toni and Chris hoped to have a big wedding and nice honeymoon, but their budget didn’t allow for either. They thought about waiting and saving but decided they’d rather be married. The wedding didn’t have to be big to be nice, and the honeymoon could wait.

I wished I could afford to give them a honeymoon as a wedding gift, but that was out of the question. Nevertheless, I wanted my gift to be extra special and memorable. When I heard they were planning to spend their wedding night in their new, sparsely furnished apartment, I decided to give them a night they would never forget.

In a simple but gorgeous gown, Toni exchanged vows with Chris in her parents’ backyard under a trestle covered with hundreds of fragrant, climbing roses. As the evening drew to a close, a small group of friends and family watched the happy couple open wedding gifts.

Then, I took an envelope out of my purse and handed it to them. Inside the card, they found the key to a hotel room I rented for their wedding night. It wasn’t a honeymoon suite, but it was nice and came with a restaurant for breakfast and a pool for swimming.

Thrilled, the newlyweds shared hugs and kisses and headed for the hotel.

No one knew I had spent my morning at the hotel. No one but me knew they’d find a nice room with two king-sized beds, the comforter turned back invitingly on one. No one but me knew they’d find a rose and a chocolate on each pillow. On the table a bottle of sparkling wine beside a tray of cheeses, olives and crackers. On the nightstand, goblets engraved with their names and the date. And on the second bed they’d find a special nightie for the blushing bride and a robe for the groom.

Consequently, no one but me received a phone call at 2:00 A.M.

Toni was laughing so hard she was crying—or maybe crying so hard she was laughing! They had found the wine, the glasses and the roses. She slipped into the nightie and Chris modeled the robe. Then they slid under the comforter—and found themselves in a bed full of cracker crumbs!

Fortunately, the other bed was waiting for them, fresh and clean. But twenty years later, we still laugh about her unforgettable “wedding night at the Ritz.” And we exclaim that, of course, the crumbs were the reason they didn’t get any sleep!

Cathy L. Novakovich

“If there are any among us who know of some reason why Dave and Lynette should not be joined together, let them speak now or forever . . .”

CLOSE TO HOME ©
John McPherson. Reprinted by permission of UNIVERSAL PRESS SYNDICATE. All rights reserved.

Chain of Love

A
wise lover values not so much the gift of the lover as the love of the giver.

Thomas à Kempis

Ron’s eyes brightened when I walked into the restaurant. Always attentive, he took my coat and pulled out my chair. I avoided his eyes and wondered how to start.

We had dated for two years before getting engaged a week earlier. During that time we had decided to avoid physical intimacy. We wanted to remain objective about the relationship and thought this would help. And we were true to our agreement even though it became increasingly difficult as we fell more deeply in love. Now that we were engaged it seemed silly to continue our abstinence.

Yet I wanted to do just that.

How would Ron react when I told him? Would he think I was hiding something? Would he think I was afraid of intimacy? Worst of all, would he think I didn’t love him?

Setting down my glass of water, I reached for his hand across the table.

“Ron, you know how much I love you,” I began. “And I think our ‘agreement’ has both tested and strengthened our relationship.”

I faltered. Ron sat, silent. Waiting. My eyes focused on our clasped hands, then rose to meet his.

“I . . . I want to continue this way.” I took a deep breath. “I want to wait until our wedding night.”

Ron was grave as he pondered my request. I shredded the corners of my paper napkin—and waited. After a long pause, he looked up and met my anxious gaze.

“Agreed.”

“Really?” I gasped.

“Really.”

My heart filled with new respect and appreciation for the man I was going to marry. Yet, as we left the restaurant, Ron seemed distracted. In the parking lot, I suggested dessert at the local ice cream parlor.

“I have something important I need to see to,” he declined. He had already started driving away when I realized he had forgotten his coat. I tried to flag him down but he didn’t even see me.

Why was my attentive fiancé suddenly so absentminded? I returned home uncertain where we stood, not sure I had really gotten what I wanted.

Later that night the phone rang.

“I need to see you. I need to come over.” There was urgency in his voice.

“Why? What’s wrong? Ron?” He had already hung up.

Fifteen minutes later Ron arrived carrying a large cardboard box. My heart sank. Was he returning all the gifts I had given him? I twisted the week-old diamond ring on my finger. I started to slide it off.

Ron held out the box. “Open it.”

I swallowed hard and lifted the lid. Inside the box was a paper chain.

I pulled out length after length after length. On each link was a date, beginning with the current day and numbering into the future.

I knew my face mirrored the questions churning inside me. I looked at Ron.

He smiled at my puzzlement but quickly grew serious.

“I thought about your decision,” he said. “And I plan to honor it—although it will be a great sacrifice.” He nodded at the chain draping from my hands. “The chain represents that sacrifice.”

Ron asked me to hang it in my bedroom and tear off a link every night. As our wedding neared, the chain would shrink and so would the sacrifice.

“With each torn link, pray for me to have the strength to be true to this commitment.” Ron gazed into my eyes. “Will you do this for me?”

Tearfully, I accepted the chain and the commitment. All the love I felt poured forth when I kissed him like never before. Ron pulled away.

“If you want me to keep my promise, you had better stop giving such wonderful kisses,” he teased. I laughed . . . and blushed . . . and showed him to the door. With my heart still racing, I suddenly recognized this would be a sacrifice for
me,
too.

The chain circled my bedroom three times. I delighted in the evening ritual as I tore a link, thought about Ron’s—
our
—sacrifice, and said a prayer just as he’d asked.

Soon only seven links remained. Then three. And, finally, the day before our wedding, only one. I didn’t tear the last circle; I packed it in my suitcase.

On our wedding night, I showed Ron the final link of the chain. Smiling, we each took one side . . . and pulled. Then, together, we offered a prayer that our love—rooted in mutual sacrifice—would blossom and flourish.

Kathleen Happ

“I still want to take a European honeymoon.”

Reprinted by permission of George Crenshaw, Masters Agency.

Through the Beholder’s Eyes

A
friend is someone who knows all about you, and loves you just the same.

Elbert Hubbard

Have you ever looked at a couple and asked, “What exactly does she see in him?”

Shane Davis was a handsome enough young man, a broad-shouldered teddy bear of a guy. He had a winsome smile, a quick humor and a swagger in his step. Not a cocky walk, but a gently swaying gait.

His bride-to-be was a petite woman of forceful intelligence. Melissa didn’t hold back her opinions; she was quick to speak her mind even if Shane disagreed. But when she talked, he looked deep into her eyes and smiled. It completely disarmed her.

I guess I could have surmised that his affable character was enough reason for these two to fall in love, but I suspected she saw something the passive eye would overlook. Naturally inquisitive, I wanted to know what it was.

Shane and Melissa were in my office for premarital counseling. Like most pastors, I knew I had a captive audience in the young couple. If they wanted me to perform the ceremony, they were obligated to spend at least six hours with me. I usually told couples, “I don’t do weddings; I do marriages. If I’m going to be part of your ceremony, I want to be part of your lives first.”

I knew this couple was different when they scheduled their meetings with me a year in advance of their wedding. That won my heart.

As we spoke over that year’s time, the petals of their lives pulled back and I watched love bloom before my eyes. I saw it in their gentle unassuming touch. They didn’t need to maul each other to express their love. It was often a look, a wink or a hand reaching out to pull back a stray hair off the forehead.

I spoke to them of family history and love’s everyday choices. At every turn, their participation and earnestness encouraged me. Mostly I listened; and at times I felt like the student. This is where a story began to unfold that would take my breath away.