Many of my peers have gotten married in the last few years. It started with one couple about four years ago (he was nineteen and she was twenty-one) and it’s grown from there. Some feel too young to me. Others, I just don’t know well enough to know what I think. But this wedding, I rejoice over. He is young too, but he’s always been mature, far beyond his years. He loves God and has served Him, and God has given him a solid job serving Him. It’s like an artist’s painting. It is God’s painting: beautiful.
My mom is over there now, celebrating with the family. She will have more stories to tell when she returns. I asked her to give the groom’s sister a huge hug for me. She is one of my dearest friends and I miss her. Here, scarcely returned from backpacking in the Sky Lakes, I will just have to collect what I can of the wedding. I pause at their wedding photo. This is God’s handiwork. Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, speaks the man as he beholds his beauty. Yes, God says. Yes.
They are kissing. He is holding her gently, but like a man in his full glory of strength. Time surely does fly. Wasn’t this the boy who played hide-and-seek with his siblings and my brother and I?Time does fly. Her arms are around his neck and her smile is so feminine and beautiful, and at the same time, mischievously mysterious. She is, after all, a woman. And I think to myself: this is Eden and purity. It is love.