Bridesmaid of the Year

August 15, 2015 was the wedding of a beautiful bride and a handsome groom. Their love is palpable and contagious. Their wedding was colorful, simple, and rich with culture and affection. There were four bridesmaids and five groomsmen. I, Susanna, was provided the great honor being among those chosen for the wedding party. This past winter Shannon and Jose decided to change their wedding from December 2015 to August. I was quite pleased at the prospect of being in a summer wedding, and how much sooner they would be able to be together. Almost as soon as the change was made, Shannon sent all of us bridesmaids the link online to the dresses she wanted us to wear. Beautiful eggshell dresses covered in coral and turquoise floral patterns. I promptly ordered my dress, and once it arrived I refused to wear it out of a sort of reverence for the wedding. It's SO cute! I thought, but I can't wear it 'til Chacha's wedding! As the months rolled by, I would occasionally eye it proudly as it hung patiently in my closet. As the day of "la boda" drew closer I thought, It definitely looks like it will fit nicely, but I should probably try it on just in case. Every time this thought crossed my mind, I nodded and resolved to "definitely try it on later."

Then came the fateful day of... August the 14th. With the wedding less than 36 hours away, I finally decided I ought to try on my dress so as to confirm my suspicions of it fitting me perfectly. I slipped it gingerly over my head, and began to zip it up the side. It closed happily around my waist, and moved easily up the lower part of my rib cage, but then to my horror, my curves were taking preventative measures and the zipper came to a stubborn halt. I whispered a terror-filled, "Oh no..." and I yelled for assistance. "Mattie! Help!?" "What is it?" she questioned. I pointed to my dress, then to the zipper, then to my chest, wide-eyed and desperately hoping it was merely a difficult zipper, nothing more. Fixed zippers are feasible in 24 hours, breast reductions are not. She laughed and yanked and then, justifiably, asked, "Is this seriously the first time you're trying this on. Sus, the wedding is tomorrow!" "I'm aware the wedding is tomorrow, and yes!" I cried, "This cannot be my life right now!" I was yelling now. "Oh no, oh no, oh no! Ahhhh! This is not real! I'm so foolish! What am I going to do?! Stupid boobs! Why do I have to be so fabulously attractive?!" My next logical step was to fly, partially clothed, into the next room and tell my roomie. "Rudooooo! Heeeeelp!" I whined, frantically. "What did you do, Chichi?" she asked. "Look!" I replied, pointing at my dire...situations. "Please tell me this isn't the first time you've put on this dress. You've had it for months!" Sheepishly, I confessed that, yes, this may be the very first time. "I did not know that this was the kind of person I lived with..." she chided with a smirk. "I am! It is! I've had you fooled all along. Please help me! What should I do?" She glanced at me over the top of her glasses and sighed. "I'll run to Walmart and figure something out. I may be able to sew elastic into it.." A wave of relief swept over me. Rudo will try to save me.

That night when I arrived home from the rehearsal dinner, my sweet Rudo was perched on the couch, and, while a movie was playing, her brow was furrowed in concentration on her task. I went to bed around 2am, and she was still sewing. When I woke up the next morning she had just woken up to continue her work. We made one last emergency run to Walmart to retrieve clasps. After the clasps were sewn on, she promptly sewed me into the dress. Her thumb was bleeding, the needle was bent and threatening to break, and both of us were frantic. I was about to be late for bridal photos. While she made the final few stitches we prayed that God would keep the needle from breaking. Throughout the entire ordeal, she and I would occasionally burst into uncontrollable laughter regarding the absurd and preventable nature of the whole situation. I told her not to worry about sticking me with the needle, as it would be a sort of penance for my for my foolishness if she did, At last, the deed was done. I was girded, sewn, and fully patched into my dress. As I sped to the wedding venue, I prayed that the threads would hold. The Lord saw fit to put his hands on the seams, and through pictures, processions, and partying nary a thread came loose. I don't think I will be winning any bridesmaid of the year awards, however, Rudo deserves any and every best roommate EVER award.

It's funny how the days and hours leading up to a wedding can seem delirious and chaotic, but a sweet and reverent calm falls over it all when the bride makes her way down the aisle towards her soon-to-be husband. Their eyes meet, and they find forever to be the sweetest word they know. Cakes, bridesmaids' dresses, family drama, technical difficulties, and rain are all forgotten in the breathless moments when two become on. As Shannon and Jose promised "I do," a gentle rain fell on all heads and matched the tenderness of all the joyous tears. Now that they are one flesh and one mind, may all else fade as they walk together towards their Lord. When I remember the day's fiasco with laughter, I will also remember always remember the celebration with a warm, colorful, dancing fondness. And for that, praise Abba.

Little Bird

T-minus five weeks and I will be graduated from college. With shaking knees and trembling hands, I am tiptoeing up to the edge of adult life and peeking over it. It's a long drop! Not only that, but there are so many things waiting at the bottom: taxes, bills, full-time work responsibilities, numbers numbers numbers... For my whole existence, numbers have been something I've tolerated for the sake of the better things, but I can't run any more. I have to make peace with the piling, peevish numerals of being a grown-up. Also at the bottom of the cliff I see: adventure, freedom, delirious uncertainty, and the tools with which I may forge my own story-path. I think I'm ready to jump. I know the truth is that I'll never know until I dive off, head-first, into this next chapter of my life. It's terrifying. For the first time since I was five years old, I don't know what is going to happen come August. I don't even know what June holds in her ardent, eager hands for me. It's a fluidity that I have always craved in the depths of myself, but now that I have to face the reality of my shaky, colt-legged plans I want to shrink back. No! Suz, you've got this! I think to myself, more certain of my own voice than ever before. I can do anything and go anywhere, but that doesn't mean I HAVE to do everything and go everywhere... "Just do the thing in front of you, Susanna," advised a wise and dear mentor of mine.

I've been writing a great deal of poetry lately (to challenge myself and improve my skills), and in my poems there is an undercurrent of longing and lostness. I see the lives of people around me and my own life, filled with the temptation of self-doubt and the fear of becoming one of "those people" who doesn't belong anywhere anymore. I feel my identity becoming more weighty and stronger, and I begin to flex my long-neglected confidence muscles. But I am so afraid. The fear is threatening to squelch my joy of accomplishment and hope for an exciting and meaningful future. I regularly find myself being envious of the people who seem to know where they are going. They are walking "confidently in the direction of their dreams." I am stepping defiantly towards the unknown, hoping for the best and wanting desperately to become someone extraordinary. I don't mean extraordinary as the kind of person whose name echoes down eternal halls of fame, but the kind of person whose unidentifiable fingerprints are left all over everyone I touch. I want to always be kind. I want to love more passionately than I am able. I want to pour myself out so that I am always being refilled, reshaped and made better. I want to have adventures, but not just the kind that everyone thinks of. I want to become a traveler of people as well as geographical places... I want to know and treasure individuals. I want to become acquainted with cultures drastically different from mine and find what's beautiful about them. There is so much to learn, and I can't even begin to list all the things I want to see and do and say, but then I step back and look at myself honestly... How can I, Susanna, do all those things? I watch myself fall into laziness. I see my tendencies to spew my frustration on the people who love me most. I see the black, filthy snares of my selfishness that beckon me into their arms. I witness my frequent surrender to fear, and I shake my head. I can never be the person I want to be. I am in the way of my own dreams. I am my biggest obstacle.

Then, I stop for a moment. I take a breath, and look up. There are windows high up near the ceiling, and through them I gaze at the endless, azure notion of sky. If I am really my biggest obstacle, then it's not a very big one. I am intimately familiar with a Father who is known by many. He is a Father who crafted me carefully, tenderly, and with more love than I can conceive. I may be a sizable obstacle for myself, but not for him. He knows my path and he knows what I want. I am made to crave what he craves, and pursue the way he pursues. I call him.. "Abba... Help please." He knows, and smiles at me. He's wayyyyy ahead of me already. He knew I would ask for help today. He knew what I would be needing in this very moment. In the end, as long as he knows, everything will be fine. He has never promised me a life of ease or wealth, but he has promised that he is always there. He promises me that I am known. He promises me that he is not surprised by my success nor my failure. And, for now, that is enough. I will become his little bird, and dive off the edge. I trust that his warm and holy winds will catch me and carry precisely where I need to go.