Dear Family & Friends: A Thank You Note

Twenty-five years ago, on a bitter cold and snowy January day, I was at 104 Mildred Court in Richmond, Kentucky with a strange creature about whom I knew nothing.

I was terrified of bodily functions and fluids (hers and my own), unsure of every touch, and paralyzed with fear of the unknown.  I was certain of only one thing:  the almost 100% likelihood that I would fail in my effort to mother her through childhood, adolescence, and into young adulthood.

Last Saturday that terrifying little bundle married her very own cowboy.

This was a hands-on, do-it-yourself kind of day.  Handmade centerpieces with flowers dried by the bride's lovely future mother-in-law from her very own yard.  Hand-hammered barnwood boxes nailed together by her thoughtful future father-in-law from their very own barnwood.  

Handmade lanterns with individually rendered bride-created tags, and the list goes on.  It was a virtual Martha Stewart festival of crafting opportunities--with not a single well-appointed, highly paid staff person to do the hammering, drawing, drying or tying.  

And boy, was it fun.

Come last Friday the real work began, with moving,

and toting,

requiring lots of manpower.  

With all hands on deck it's amazing just how fast things can be put together:

And then, in a flash, taken apart:

Smack dab in the middle of all this setting up and taking down there was a ceremony.  As each guest entered the church Father Mike handed us a simple stone.

During his homily he told every soul gathered there that the strongest of lives are built on a rock, and that each of us would be the rock on which this new little family will stand.  He charged us with the responsibility that comes with being a strong foundation, sturdy enough to weather any storm, solid enough to stand the test of time.

And as this joyful night wore on, as my dress became sweatstained from all the dancing and the hugging, as my cheeks began to ache from all the heartfelt smiling, I was reminded of myself those 25 years ago.  Of the fear and the loneliness I thought would surely overtake me, and with every hug, in every smile, I saw this beautifully diverse village of souls, my own collection of rocks, who had seen me, and all five of our kids, through.

The day after a wedding dawns on a house forever changed.  The numbers are different.  The family gatherings probably harder to come by.  The voices in our hearts have grown.  And as our daughter and her cowboy were southbound in that big old truck of his, I was held tight in the knowledge that even if I leave this planet tomorrow, you--my village of stones--you will keep them, all of them, safe.

 You will help them to be strong, you will help them to be happy, as you have for all these many years.