Good morning…
On a ninety degree evening in June, my husband Steve performed a wedding for one of his former Lovett wrestlers in Old San Juan, Puerto Rico. The setting could not have been more perfect, as the slowly descending sun snuck behind a mammoth tree on a bustling street corner beside the historic waters. Walking down the pastel-colored street from the hotel to the ceremony, two unique individuals were surrounded by friends, family, and onlookers.
During the short ceremony, one friend read a Margaret Atwood poem entitled Habitation.
“Marriage is not a house or even a tent,” she told the fan-waving crowd.
“it is before that, and colder:
the edge of the forest,
the edge of the desert,
the unpainted stairs
at the back where we squat
outside, eating popcorn,
the edge of the receding glacier,
where painfully and with wonder
at having survived even
this far
we are learning to make fire.”
Then Steve (Rev. as he is endearingly called) said a prayer and offered a personalized homily, before the couple exchanged rings and their own touching, tearful vows. After sharing their first kiss as a married couple, they continued learning to make fire, a flame that burst up the street to a lively band, spreading like wildfire into the city square, and setting ablaze the rest of their vibrant lives.
For all of us who find ourselves on the cold edges of a new beginning, I remind you to keep using [rekindle; fan into flames] the gift God gave you (2 Timothy 1:6, EXB). Now I pray that, along with this newly married couple, we might notice the unexpected kindling given along life’s way.
…Sue…
