I am grieving this
morning, but probably not in the way you would expect. First, the back story:
Ever since
Valentine’s Day, up until last week, my first-born was engaged to be
married. Then less than five days out,
his bride bolted in the wee hours of the morning.
I am pleased with
the support we have received. Hardly anyone, (I heard only one instance,) sank to the platitude of “maybe it was
better this way.” It was not better this
way, and even Pollyanna would have to agree to that. So I am not grieving any feelings of being
adrift and alone.
I had earnestly
prayed for family members’ travel schedules and safety. All that was answered
phenomenally. Graduations and final
exams were worked around, even military orders changed to fit the date! And we had a reunion after all, so I am not
grieving a missed family time.
The now-cancelled
wedding day came as cloudless as could ever be hoped for, with the most
comfortable mix of warm temperature and low humidity. James Lowell could have
written his poem about it—
And
what is so rare as a day in June?
Then,
if ever, come perfect days;
Then
Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,
And
over it softly her warm ear lays;
Whether
we look, or whether we listen,
We
hear life murmur, or see it glisten.
— except that,
unlike Lowell's native New England, in the Deep South, those days arrive in
May. The odds are drastically against having another such flawless day so
perfectly placed. While that may be lamentable, it does not sink to the level
of grief.
Nor am I grieving
over the reason for calling it off—at least, not over the vague and incongruous
reasons that were given. But don't take my word for it; I will allow you, my
readers, to judge. Here are the quotes:
"started to have concerns," and "a few lifestyle
conflicts," which "forced" her to realize "neither he nor I would be
happy long term." All the while, she maintains she still loves him and he is what she always prayed for. How's that for
clear and precise articulation? It is pretty hard to grieve when you're left
clueless by an explanation that presumes to forecast how others will feel.
I was delighted
that their first full day together as man and wife, a Sunday, was to be
Pentecost. What a fabulous beginning that would have been! Pentecost was the day that the Church, the
ecclesia, received its power—a wonderfully emblematic day to begin a new life.
But while that was a sentimental loss, it did not descend to a level of deep grief either.
As I said, my
source of grief will probably be unexpected by many of my readers. It is the
SCOTUS. The acronym stands
for Supreme Court of the United States. As I write, the arguments in Obergefell v. Hodges to change the
definition of marriage have been heard, but the decision that will rule on whether same-sex couples have a constitutional
right to marry has not yet been
handed down.
For the past few
months, one of the things I have been deeply grateful for was the thought that
this one marriage license, at least, would be issued while marriage still meant
something of value legally. The Creator of man and woman ordained marriage as a
covenant. Conventional 'wisdom' predicts that the SCOTUS will make gay marriage
the law of the land. This will devalue the meaning of the marriage license from
supporting a covenant between a man and a woman to merely certifying a contract
between two humans. I am grieving this loss: That my children are unlikely to
get married in a society that values marriage.
