Mother-of-the-bride

In one week my daughter will wake up with a new name.
In six days I will watch her have her make-up done,
slip into her wedding dress,
cover her face with a veil.
I wonder if she will laugh in nervousness? Cry in excitement?
I wonder if she will notice as her hands shake when she takes her dad's arm and begins the procession towards her soon-to-be husband? I wonder if her voice will catch on a ball of tears as she repeats her vows? I wonder if she will laugh instead because she cannot contain her happy.
All of these thoughts, and more, slip in and out of my focus today, as I count centerpieces, check off wedding favors, and scribble a new list of last-minutes.


She looked like Snow White when she was little. All that pale skin and dark hair with big, blue eyes that absorbed the world. It's hard to convince people how shy she was in her early years. Introverted. That's what the teachers called her.
She doesn't say a lot.
She doesn't have very many friends.
Of course, the anxiety started immediately. I worried she would grow up friendless and lonely, wearing an obscene amount of black eyeliner with combat boots to make the statement she didn't need anyone, but would cry in the bathroom stall at school because no one would speak to her. She wouldn't have a boyfriend, go to prom, or have sleepovers with her 4 closest friends. I wouldn't hear them all squeal when talking about the cute boys while demolishing bags of potato chips. Oh, how I worried.
You know, like any mother would.

It was at her 3rd grade parent/ teacher conference when we were asked to speak to her about talking in class.
She was a chatterbox and it was distracting.
Her dad and I nodded our heads in agreement, dutiful parents who are taking the teacher's recommendations seriously, but when we walked out of the class and around the corner, we high-fived each other in triumph.
She's talking! Too much, even! And she has friends!! Parent win! (all the flexing, fist bump emojis here)
And we never brought it up to Bre.

Last week, while I sat on a green rug, in an unfamiliar living room, with eight other people I am still getting to know, a sweet friend, said a prayer for me.

"Lord, don't let all the preparation steal her joy. Let her enjoy this time with her daughter, this time of her wedding."

The simplicity and truth of it was so profound, it knocked the breath right out of me.

Sometimes when people pray, I am fervently trying to focus on what they are saying but actually thinking, "Oh my gosh - are they ever going to stop? This is taking f o r e v e r." (we've ALL thought this. COME ON.)

But not this time. Not this prayer. I wanted to stop time for just a little bit, seconds even, to let it soak all the way in. I wanted to grab her hand, and say,
wait,
slow down,
say it again,
say it ten times.
I can't forget this.

It was truth and need. It was spirit interceding for spirit. It was God seeing me when I hadn't asked him to.

You see, so much had been hard to enjoy. Oh sure, a few glimpses, some smiles and laughs, ... but mostly, moments of being happy she was enjoying the process, not because I was.

I know. It isn't about me. It's not. I am SO THANKFUL she is having every precious second of this process. I pray always it is, and will be, everything she hopes and more.
But there is a place for me too.
As her mom.
As the one who carried her in my body, whispered in her ear, cheered her achievements, listened to her dreams, prayed for her wisdom, and loved her through every second of her life. I have held her heart, her victories, her secrets, her disappointments, her wailing's, and her pain.
I have held it all inside my body as if it were my own, letting it beat with my beat and breathe with my breath.
And now, the next thing, the next beautiful step, just days away.

There hasn't been any time to sit and savor.
The list much too long. Time much too short.
And me, much too inadequate.
All this wedding planning and crafting and doing has left me feeling very small.
This is a job for someone else. Someone who knows how to decorate, and entertain, and be all things girly.
Someone who is not me. Someone who is better.
And this is the time I certainly cannot fail. I cannot. I must do the BEST job for her.
My best is not even good enough.

It must be perfect. It is her wedding.

And so to compensate for all my short-comings I am painfully aware of, I am unable to sit in any one thing for more than a few minutes before my mind begins jumping into the next to-do.

I had unconsciously crossed over from a Mary to a Martha.
And in doing so, I had let every opportunity for joy and excitement, slip into the crevices of lists and worry and an abyss of self-doubt.

Thank God for honest (and to the point) prayers.

I'll tell you the first time I really let myself live as mother-of-the-bride.
Not semi-wedding planner. Not list maker. Not bouquet taper.
Just her mommy.
I was stopped at a red light on a country road and I checked my Facebook.
Her post from minutes before was the first in my feed.

"Ten more days until I marry my best friend!"

I remember how I felt when I married my best friend.
I remember the thrill, the giddy, the shout-it-from-the-rooftops-I-want-the-whole-world-to-know-I-am-almost-hitched euphoria.
And I could feel it in my daughter's post. I could picture the giant smile on her face. I could imagine the dreams in her head, all hearts and waterfalls and big blue ocean.
And I began to cry.
Because guess what everyone?
MY DAUGHTER IS GETTING MARRIED!!!

My daughter, the once shy chatterbox who is now a fearless woman with a heart that sees; is going to walk down the aisle and start her own life, with all its twists and turns and road bumps, with her best friend.

I have one week left.
One week left to savor every second. One week left to be needed in this specific way. One week left to be her "Mommy" before she is someone else's "Wife."
I am going to try my hardest to walk this week as Mary, sitting in each precious moment, resting in my role as her mom.
I have one week left.
Let it be all joy.


XO