I’m at a wedding this weekend.
My oldest brother is getting married to the sweetest, most genuine southern beauty, and my whole family is in the wedding party. There are a million things to get done, of course. Weeks ago things started popping up around the house: chalkboard signs and table arrangements and taupe colored bridesmaid dresses.
Essentially, throwing a wedding is like throwing an incredible huge party, and it’s kind of the best. Granted, there’s a ton to get done, but the reason for it all is arguably the most beautiful ceremony that can occur under the sun.
And so, in a way, I’m engrossed by the most beautiful thing on planet earth right now.
Something strikes me every time I’m a part of something inherently and exponentially beautiful, though. It’s funny, but it’s like all of my problems in life are amplified in a way. Watching others happiness reminds me of my own unhappiness. Meals with family make me think of the moments I am completely alone. It feels like I’m cheating on the more realistic, down to earth sides of my life, like I’m not honoring them in the way they deserve.
This weekend has nothing to do with me. I didn’t choose the color scheme or pick out the dress I’m going to wear. If all goes well, I will go completely unnoticed, entirely overshadowed by the bride and groom. That would be right, that would be good.
And then I will go home, and although a thousand things just changed for the better in their life, everything in mine will stay the same. I will still be recently graduated, unemployed, proud resident of the average sized bedroom in my parent’s upstairs. I don’t need reminding that my life starkly juxtaposes that of the happy couple.
It could be so easy for me to let bitterness win. Because that’s all we want as humans, isn’t it: to get everything we want.
There are a million things the Lord has not handed me as I wished Him to. Or, to put it another way, if I could write my life, I would possess so many things I don’t currently have.
Life, for instance, a plan for my future. A ring on my finger. A straighter nose. A spotless past. An unbreakable heart.
A party, just for me. A husband who vows that he will never leave me. Always be mine.
It’s not hard to think of what I don’t have, especially on weekends like this.
It’s funny, but I thought that the hardest thing about being single would be the loneliness, the forced-independence, the unmet desires, the tumultuous world of dating. I never imagined that the hardest part would be none of those things, but would lie in the party itself.
That the hardest part is rejoicing with those who have what you want.
Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.
Oh, how hard it can be. The Lord asks us to throw our selfish hearts out the window and be more, to harness the Peace of the Spirit in a way we never have before.
Because, you see, the Lord may be one who takes away, but He is also a God of giving, and one who gives abundantly, more than we can ever ask for.
He has withheld so many things I want, and yet has given a million things I never even thought to ask for:
the ability to walk someone through a panic attack
an internship working with underprivileged kids
an incredible, humongous, loving family
sister in laws
a vibrant, living, consistent group of girls to live with during college
a story, one that is more broken than I wanted
and an ability to weep with those who weep, though I still have work to do with the other half of the verse.
Because our God might take away what we think we wanted, but He will surely give us what we need. More than that, what we never could have imagined needing.
But He knows.
And this weekend, there is no room for wishing, for if only I would open my eyes I would see, that I have never been in want. Not truly.
So I can go downstairs and play card games with my family, and I can laugh, and I can let it be all that it is supposed to be for me. Because it’s a gift, all of it. And if I let the blessings grow to size, there won’t be any room for anything else.
And that’s right. That’s true. That’s today, exactly as it’s meant to be.