My "First" Wedding

Dear friend,

Years ago, you told me I would be playing the bride in a murder mystery play that you had written, and you handed me a frothy, white dress to try on. You gave me a veil and a bouquet, and I wore a big, sparkly ring on my finger.

One of my good friends played the groom, and my wedding party was made up of my theatre friends. The tables were decked out every night with purple flowers, beautiful tablecloths and glasses. There were party favors at every plate. The food was delicious, and one of the greatest delights of my life was eating wedding cake every night for three weekends in a row.

There were little dinner mints, those folded paper wedding bells, and everything a girl could ask for at her wedding. It was perfect. I bought you an orchid corsage to wear on the last night. A small way to thank you, I know. But it was all I could think to do at the time.

Now, my own real-life wedding is fast approaching. My heart is sad when I think that you, and others who have passed on, won’t be able to physically be there with me. But I swear, you live on in my heart every day.

As I’ve been planning,  I remember how you made my “first wedding” so memorable, and I find myself not needing all the frills this time. I don’t know if you knew this, because you were doing it all for the sake of the show, but you gave me my big white wedding.  Thank you. And I know that this time around, you’ll still be there somewhere.

I’ll save a place for you.

Abigail 

Not Everyone Likes Pizza

This is an example of the type of wedding
we will not be having.

The older I get, the more I realize I don’t know. For example, I didn’t know that a wedding would bring out the worst in so many people—including myself. I told myself that brides get stressed during wedding planning because they were planning those creampuff weddings with brocade chairs and overdone centerpiece. Surely, our little pizza party affair would be no stress at all.

Ha.

I laugh at myself now, looking back at myself 5 months earlier. People lose their minds when someone gets married. There are just so many emotions. Everyone wants to be invited; everyone wants to have their flavor of cake; and oddly enough, few people think pizza is a wedding food. Everyone is a critic. You quickly, out of self-defense of your own ideas, snap back, or close yourself off to those prying eyes.

And I’m not saying that’s wrong, exactly. I mean, even Jesus got a little snippy when it came to wedding plans. “Woman, why do you involve me?” Jesus replied (John 2:4), when his mother asked him to help out with the little wine situation they were having*.

This is a little more like it...

On top of that, I feel like nothing in my life is stable at the moment. I’m living out of my suitcase while my things are being moved to the place where B and I will live. My job is changing, so my comfort level there isn’t what it used to be, either. I feel like my solid rocks are gone, and I’ll soon be leaving the cozy little neighborhood that I’ve called home for 4 years now, to move to a city where you have to pass several strip clubs in order to even reach our apartment.

Last week I was so worked up that I couldn’t even eat or drink. Anything I put in my mouth, I choked on. Just drinking water was a huge accomplishment for me. Anytime anyone would question me or something I said, I’d get mad that they were so easily offended. Granted, there are a lot of people who are grievously easy to offend, but that doesn’t make it my problem. I somehow adopted an attitude of “if they don’t like it, then they can just leave.”

The problem wasn't always with what I said, even, but with the way I felt in my heart. Even if I was saying something nice, sometimes I was feeling bitter. I began to startle myself. This isn’t me. This isn’t who I want to be. And then came the most shocking revelation: this isn’t who Jesus is either.

This thought hit me repeatedly in the last week, in different circumstances: “I don’t think Jesus would like this.” “I don’t think this is in the Bible.” “What would God even say about my attitude right now?” “Geez…when was the last time I even really talked to Him.”

That last one was triggered when I was complaining to a friend who I love dearly, but sadly don’t get to talk to very much. She asked a question that frankly took me off guard: “have you had the chance to pray regularly?” I was embarrassed because I realized that I really hadn’t. She encouraged me, though, and said, “The great thing, though, is you can always just jump back in.”

The thing is, though, that I’ve gotten lazy in my spiritual life. I work at a very Christian business, so I’m surrounded every day by Bible verses, sermons, and the option to go to chapel. I’ve told myself that I’m getting a daily dose of verses simply because I have to look so many up as I edit articles. Yet, this isn’t enough. I’ve lost sight of who Jesus is. I don’t really know him. I don’t always know, as the 90’s kids would put it, “WWJD.”

So, I’m reading again. I’m praying. I took some quiet time this morning, and for the first time in months, I felt peace in my chest. Now, if I could just get enough sleep each night, I’d be doing really well…

But that’s a problem for a different time. Pass the coffee.

*It is important to note that Jesus was a rare wedding guest—the type who does NOT want to put his two cents in. He was probably like, “Maybe they WANT water at their wedding.” #notjudging

The Intercession of Strangers

Sometimes I feel far from God. Not that he’s walked away, but that I, in the business and non-stop pace of my life, have walked away from Him.

Its been especially bad lately. There is so much darkness in the world. I feel like now, more than ever, with the Internet, spewing out hatred and darkness, rape and murder, that we are more aware of evil than we were ten, twenty years ago. Our minds are filled with questions: “How could someone do such a thing? What kind of person does it take to… [fill in the blank]. What if I was the victim? What makes that person do such a thing? What makes him/her different from me?”

Some days, I wake up with a cloud of darkness hanging around my head. I go about my daily life, and the hatred and sins of the world haunt me, make me afraid of people, afraid of myself.

And even closer to me and my own life, so many friends of mine, who were strong believers, now have their own doubts, or have turned away from God entirely. It’s almost become a fad to hate God, and I feel so alone.

God, where are You?

Yet, I still don’t take the time on most days to seek Him out, to just take ten minutes and focus on Him. Instead, I open yet another news story, or scroll through more mindless social media, which once brought us all together, but is now, forcing us to see the evil in our fellow man more clearly than before.

Mistrust runs my day, and fear enters my nights.

I woke up this morning with this overhanging dread again, and a migraine to accompany it. “God, why don’t you speak to me?” I said in a prayer. He has spoken to me so many other times when my heart wept the most. I have audibly heard His voice, and I know the sound of it like a baby knows the sound of his mother’s voice, even when he first emerges from the womb.

I miss you, God.

When I finally chased away my blues and the headache and came to work, one of my coworkers came to me and told me an interesting story. She had met a woman last night, later in the evening, after everyone in our department had left for the day. The woman’s name was Cindy, and she asked my coworker what department she was in, because she was a newer employee, and often on her breaks during her late shift, she would wander through our department, praying.

Then she said that she felt drawn to one office in particular. She led my coworker back to a door and placed her hands on it, saying that she most often feels God leading her to pray for the person who works behind the door.

It was my door. She’s been praying for me.

I know that God wanted me to know that. He wants me to know that even strangers who I’ve never met before pray over me—that my problems aren’t so big, or my worries so outlandish that God no longer cares.

I was reminded of verses in the Bible that talk about how the Holy Spirit intercedes for us, when we cannot or will not pray for ourselves. If the Holy Spirit prays for us, then maybe he calls others up to pray with Him. Thank you, God, for never forsaking me.

Thrift Store Score

There are few things more thrilling in life than finding a good deal. Over the years I’ve been a thrift and consignment store shopper, on the look-out for deals. I’ve found a few good things. A few years ago, I found a cute bracelet that I really liked. It was only $5,  so I bought it. Weeks later, the markings inside the bracelet revealed that it was sterling silver. It also included a jeweler’s marking. I looked that up, and found out that normally those bracelets go for about $120. I got it for $5. Win.

Since then, I’ve learned to keep a good eye out for good jewelry. I’ve been making jewelry and ravenously buying jewelry all of my life. My dad used to take me with him when he shopped for my mom, because I could spot a flawed gemstone immediately. One Christmas I actually stopped him from buying an emerald set, because one of the emeralds was cracked. The jeweler was less than thrilled.

Over the weekend, I was visiting family and friends in Maryland. As I usually do, I went to a consignment shop. While there, I took a glance at the jewelry counter and tried on various cheap, pearl rings with chipped paint. They were costume jewelry, so I decided against them. But then I saw a beautiful ring in the corner of the cabinet. It looked to be silver, with a diamond and two sapphires embedded in it. It was only $26, and fit me perfectly, so I decided to purchase it.

This morning I discovered some strange markings inside of it, and a small sapphire, which I hadn’t noticed before, embedded in the band.

How odd. Who puts a gem INSIDE the ring?

My ring, ya'll

Anyway, it took me awhile, but I tracked it down, and found out that it was a Zales engagement ring (clearly, that relationship didn’t go very well), and sells for $119.

SCORE. Let me remind you that I got it for $26.

I am by no means an expert at this, but I have a few hints on how to find a treasure among plastic fakes:

Look inside the jewelry for markings. Most commonly, you will find the 925 marking stamped inside the piece. That means it’s sterling silver, and, you can’t go wrong with silver. It’s a good metal that’ll last. It just tarnishes, so you have to clean it from time to time.

Also, look for markings like 10k, or 14k, basically any marking that includes a “k.” That tells you that the metal is gold, and the number tells you how many karats. Look for any other markings, and do a quick Google search if you can. Often if a piece is good, it’ll have a jeweler’s stamp inside of it.

Look for small, dull stones. Seriously, real jewelry often isn’t terribly flashy. The flashy, sparkly stuff is usually fake, used for bigger, cocktail-type pieces. Real gemstones (unless you’re talking about big, LARGE diamonds) are often darker in color (like real sapphires and rubies), and small, because good gems are expensive—so the smaller the piece, the more affordable it is. When I find a ring or earrings with small, dark stones, I know it’s usually a real sapphire (or ruby, or whatever).

Dead giveaways that something is fake:

•         Any sort of chipping or peeling of the metal.
•          Cloudy stones. Old fake diamonds, especially, used to cloud if you introduced them to water too often. Real stones might often be dark, but they’re seldom cloudy.
•         The metal reveals a copper-colored underside. That means whatever it was coated with (even if it was coated with silver) has rubbed off. That orange stuff on the underside is often what turns people’s fingers green.

Left Me, Left us, Left Him

No one is really going to understand,

And I don’t expect them to.

No one is really going to care,

And why should they?

But, I know why you left me.

Left us.

Left Him.

Didn’t you know that I would love you through this?

That I would be your friend no matter what you did?

No matter the choices you made?

But maybe you were smart. (You always have been.)

Maybe you knew that I loved you too much.

Maybe you were afraid that I would follow you.

And perhaps, in your heart of hearts, you still know the truth.

Maybe you were trying to protect me. (Just like you always did).

I don’t know. I guess I never will.

But I still love you.

I’m still here.

We’re still here.

He’s still here.

To an Imaginary Friend

Why do you haunt my dreams still?

I wake up and I know you've been with me all night. 

I thought imaginary friends were supposed to vanish at adulthood. 

Yet, here I am at 26, and you're still with me. 

Maybe I'm trying to resurrect the spirit of my childhood. 

If I am, I've been successful—

For every time I think of you, speak of you, and especially write of you,

There you are—in a word, a message, a picture. 

You don't fade with time as I once thought you would,

And I'm beginning to think that you are mine for life. 

Or perhaps, 

Just perhaps,

I am I yours?