Sick Pilgrim
Last week I told you about how low I had been, and how a long drive and a visit with an old friend gave the Holy Spirit an opportunity to bless my socks off. I basked in the glow of that anointing all week long. My increasingly pessimistic soul is more than pleasantly surprised by that. Funny how the Almighty does all that mysterious, life-breathing, creative stuff in you when you get out of the way. I am so heartened by it, that I am not even cringing at my own use of such cliché churchy terms as “anointing” to describe my experience.
This weekend was the wedding. The weather was glorious. The setting was perfect—the handcrafted birch arbor in front of Lower Kimball Pond, the White Mountains on the horizon, late season zinnias and dahlias dotting the blueberry bushes and meadow grasses with pops of color. The company was just the right mix of family, the closest of friends, and dogs.
The ceremony was both beautiful and lighthearted. The bride, all in lace, carrying a bouquet of flowers from her mother’s garden, was glowing. The groom and the German Shepherd bridesmaid, Ashe, were obviously overcome when they saw her come down the grassy aisle with her dad. There were traditional readings, and personal vows. When the bride said, “I do,” Ashe barked in agreement.
In a time where there seems to be so much animosity, loss, and tragedy, two young people deciding to enter into a life of commitment together is an act of great hope.
What tangible examples of hope are you finding this week?
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