The Girls That Gave Her Away

Photo credit: Katelyn James

It occurred to me today that for the first time in her life, my newly-married daughter will be the only female in her home.

She has no one with whom to share clothes.

Coming from a family of seven - three of them females, four if you count the mother - and moving into a dorm and then a house full of women during her university years, this may count as minor tragedy. I don't know. We shall see how this particular culture shock wears upon their young marriage.

Shannon has had sisters Sarah and Syndi, and then she had this host of girls-becoming-women roommates who shared the 625 Cru House at JMU for several years. She has lived, all of her days, surrounded by girls.

There is something magnificent about such female bonds - blood and otherwise; something rich and vibrant and powerful. It's not always that way, of course; women can turn on one another so fiercely, can destroy confidence and hope in ways that no weapon every could. It comes with the territory.

Myself, I was shaped by such harshness. The only daughter - in fact, the only girl in my entire extended family - somewhere around the age of 10 I met the unyielding gaze of exclusion at the hand of what we might now call a bully. Back then, it was just the prettiest girl with the blondest hair and the most friends. In our tiny classroom, she ruled the roost, and one day, she deemed me unworthy. Her rule stood fast. For the entire fourth grade year, I had no friends, save the girl who ate paste and picked her nose and the poverty-stricken girl who was the token untouchable.

Wanda. Lena.

I remember their names, and still my heart clenches and fear snakes up the back of my neck, because my name was lumped in with theirs for those nine months.

Wanda. Lena. Beth.

Today, my heart hurts for the most broken. My heart aches for the untouchable. But as a child, all I knew was that some were in and some were out and the line was something none of us really understood, except that to be on the wrong side of it meant deep, searing pain.

/ / / / / /

So here I am, all grown up, the mother of three females who fit every stereotype of every girl you've ever known, who love makeup and dress up and have more clothes than they could wear in a million years; who have best friends and girl secrets and deep relational bonds with other females. (And also with one another.)

And this wedding becomes reality, and Shannon says she has eight friends who will stand with her.

And though I'm the mom of three girls who grew into womanhood right under my nose, and though I know that a lot of the world works like this for women, I confess that a part of me didn't get this. At all. Eight friends? Eight women who will stand with you, help you, surround you, love you and love one another and be anything and everything but awkward?

New to me.

When I married the kids' dad, I bought the dress by myself. I drove myself to get makeup and hair done the day of the wedding. I had a friend stand with me in the wedding, but that was it.

And now I'm the mom of three girls who grew up and into the kind of fierce, female companionship that can make or break a woman. They've learned the value of deep, unyielding love. They gain strength from one another, and they've found that outside of the family as well.

/ / / / / /

The morning of the wedding; before the glitz and glamour. They are beautiful.

So: These women, right here. These are the eight - the two sisters and the rest of the crew - who lived and laughed and cried with Shannon, and then came along to witness the most precious covenant she'll likely make in her entire life. Their presence brought a precise and intentional community to the marriage ceremony, one that burrows in more deeply to the relational support that God knew we all needed. The guests were the witnesses, but these women - and the men who stood opposite - were the community of faith and sisterhood that gently nudged Shannon to this point.

In effect, they gave her away as much as her father and I did.

In these past few days, I've come to know these girls; watched them do slow mornings and frantic, hurried deadlines, emotionally teary, joyous and giggly. Watched them follow the photographer's instructions. Watched them interact with the bride - their friend, my daughter. Each and every one is such a glorious example of the brilliant gift of life, given by the Father of Lights, pouring part of her heart and soul into the people who matter in her life. They inspire me. They bring joy. They are, in short, absolutely amazing women.

It is a rare and blessed privilege to know all eight of these women, to catch a glimpse of them at this unique moment, poised to make deep and meaningful marks upon the world.

I've come to love these girls. And I get it, in a beautiful example of all things working together for good. Three days of all this estrogen, all this female relationship stuff; it's brought some healing to the ten-year old girl who still lives in me, the one who still isn't sure that the girls in the room aren't going to turn on her and decide she is one of the untouchables.

Love like this can mend broken hearts, even just by the overflow.

In one of the many moments that brings tears as I recall this wedding, I am thankful to these girls, who invested their words and tears and stories and resources into my daughter, who walked and stumbled and cried and rejoiced with her in shaky steps that eventually gave her a confident stride towards her groom.

I never had friends like this in all my life. But there is not regret; only joy, and an impulse to look around and see where investing in my own 'sisters' might result in such big love, in this season of my life.

And there is this, a sense that I managed to do something right. I never understood the girly girl thing; never got female relationships. But somehow, with the strong influence of my own mom trickling down through me, my daughters figured out how important it was. And how to make it work.

And they know it's worth it.

Photo credit: Katelyn James

She's Married!

With a million thoughts about Travis and Shannon's wedding floating around my head, I'll start with this:

I am so glad we had this party at our home. 

We looked at several venues - each one beautiful, with the potential to be an excellent location for their nuptials. Fairview Farm right here in Powhatan was, quite honestly, my first choice. I was secretly hoping she'd pick the rustic barn.

But when we asked, "Where do you see yourself, dancing your first dance with your husband, where do you want to be?"

She closed her eyes and thought for a minute.

"In the backyard. Under the trees."

And that's exactly what happened.

Every moment last night, from the ceremony to the party - it was as we dreamed it would be. Even better, because the reality of the friends and family gathered around to celebrate with us created a sense of fellowship and love unique to that particular moment.

It was amazing.

So, a few things that I've been thinking of since we crawled out of bed this morning, like old decrepit people who worked 16 hour days for the better part of the entire week.

(Because we did.)

First of all, the help of our friends this week was invaluable. Several people came by during the week to offer assistance with set up, flowers, table settings, creating signs and such. People dropped off stuff we needed to borrow. Folks came by with flowers for the happy couple - just because. Folks did so much, offering time and resources so generously; it made my heart full.

We're so thankful for every one of these gestures of love, but Judy Ringgold went above and beyond in unexpected ways. Jackie Heberle was the genius behind a lot of beautiful things. Chad Milburn not only orchestrated a surprise honeymoon (and Shannon was GENUINELY surprised to find out that she'd be leaving Sunday for a week-long cruise!), but he also showed up Thursday asking Tony, "Need any help?" Tony said, "Can you build a stage?"

And so, he did.

Amber Towler is a friend, but she's also and talented and incredibly valuable wedding planner and organizer. Her attitude and her skill set made this wedding happen. She's an honorary Brawley, for life.

Cathy Rusch drove in from Maryland to prepare appetizers and then drove back to Maryland.

Lisa Sizemore and her crew did a bang-up job with food, managing the largest event she'd ever tackled. It was wonderful to see familiar faces on her crew (I love living in a small town!) The food was delicious, and the bonus of special Powhatan High School Marching Band sausage balls specially prepared for Daniel was the icing on the cake.

Not to mention the actual cake she brought as a gift.

All of the friends and family who prepared desserts - you blessed us. The leftovers have provided an interesting post-party breakfast.

Lastly, Katelyn and Michael of Katelyn James Photography were a fabulous addition to the evening. The photographs they took will allow us to relive this incredible celebration for years to come; they give us a chance to share the evening with friends who weren't there. The combination of their professional work and the way Katelyn and Michael interacted with our family and friends made the day better. They became part of the celebration; it surprised me to realize what a great difference that made in our day. We'll have the photos, but we have the memories as well; Michael took the groomsmen to 7-11 to get free Slurpees (after all, the wedding date was 7/11/2014), ostensibly to kill time while Katelyn finished Shannon's pictures - and it became part of the fun of the day.

So many people made this a special day.

I am, truly, so glad we had this celebration at our home. I mean, look at this (all photo credits to the amazing Katelyn James):

That's OUR YARD, y'all!!!! 

What I love about this - the pallet that lived in our backyard for two years with bricks piled on top of it.
The fact that two weeks before the wedding, the kids and I moved bricks and the snow plow and other
assorted stuff to pull this and another pallet out. The fact that David pressure washed it, and Max helped paint
the heart, and Syd hand lettered the words and made the arrow and then REmade the arrow because it
didn't work.
Oh, plus this: MY YARD, PEOPLE. THAT'S MY YARD.

MY YARD, Y'ALL. Have you figured that out yet? You don't know that I look out and see this every morning
from my kitchen window, gazing over the clothesline and the dry patches of grass that never grew.
And the shed, just to the left of where she's standing. It's just my yard.
But add some perspective and narrow the focus -
and put a beautiful girl in a beautiful gown in the frame and you have a thing of beauty.

Gravel. Gravel. Gravel.
Gravel that Tony spread over the course of two days last week.
To you, it looks like a driveway.
To me, it looks like the love of a man who would do anything for the children
he gladly claims as his own, because they belong to the woman he loves.
So he borrowed a tractor and called the gravel guy and spent two entire days away from his business,
sweating in the hot sun, pushing around gravel to make the perfect driveway.
Looks like love.

Indeed, it was a wonderful day at home.

However, the joy of having all this happen at home continues the next day. We woke up this morning and looked around and remembered: We had a big party here. Wow.

I wouldn't trade it for the world.

And just a note; the new Mrs. Wagner called early this afternoon. She's at Barnes & Noble, looking for books to take on the honeymoon.

That's my girl.

The Night Before

Not a lot of words, but there's this:

At one point, I found myself completely drenched in love and warmth and hope and gratitude and trust and wonder and joy and awe.

This is really happening.

I leaned over towards Shannon's dad and whispered, "I can't believe this is really happening."

I don't think he was totally with me on that. Dads and moms probably find different depths of emotion welling up in them in such moments.

But that was it, and it washed over me like a tsunami.

Surrounded by love, in ways I cannot explain and would not, in this moment, if I could. Tomorrow is the day it becomes a story.

Today, it is our lives.

Thank you, to all who played a part. The list is long.

Every bit matters.

gratefully,

beth

My niece. My student. My heart, so full.

Selfie. 

Special women.

These guys....

The best surprise guests at the rehearsal - loved having these two here!

Two of my favorite people in the entire universe. I love these faces, so much.

Very fond of this group of people; the musicians.

This was...something... 

The menfolk at this event have excellent taste in footwear. And in socks.

Again, the socks. He claims to have knitted these himself.

What a joy to have this family part of this wedding.

This picture; this moment.

A flower girl; a maid of honor. 

The Wagner Family

And so the house is quiet. The girls are out for a final night of celebration with the bride. The remnants of their existence are all over the bathroom; five girls today, sharing one bathroom. Makeup and curling wands and straighteners and clothes littered everywhere...

Tony has given up. He is holding his tongue, and navigating his way through the clutter, using the other bathroom, picking up tables, and hanging lights, and painting boards, and figuring out how to make Every Impossible Thing Happen.

"We need to hang this fabric from that tree....no, that one...yes...the higher one...right..."

"We want to make a fence. Out of tulle."

"Can't you get 100 cars in this field? I know you can..."

"We need more money."

Et cetera. He smiles and nods his head and makes it happen.

My brother and his family have arrived; the little joys of a scant 45 minutes together for conversation outside of the wedding chaos were duly noted, and precious.

Everything is a mess. I am tired. Tomorrow, we start early with creating corsages and flower things and pulling together all the random things to make tables beautiful. We need to mow, again, because it rained (thank you, God) today and things are growing. The list is still long, though many boxes have been checked.

New talents have been discovered: Sydni is an artist of some exceptional and surprising depth. She has
hand-painted watercolors and graphics for signs and tables and all sorts of beautiful, lavender things. I am amazed by this young woman.

Sarah continues to cook amazing meals, under pressure. She's thriving on the hungry mouths.

There are two ginormous wooden pallets in the kitchen; it's like Pintrest, except for reals, in my house.

We've come to the end of the planned expenditures, and undoubtedly there will be a few more in the next 36 hours, but we made it. Mostly. Slightly over budget, but we made it.

And so, they will be married soon, and I'm too tired right now to notice much of anything other than the gentle rhythm in the house, the life sneaking into my ears as the guys watch a movie. The dim glow of the lights on the porch and the sound of the bullfrogs in the pond, if you listen at the window.

The faint smell of food in the kitchen; the scent of coffee waiting for the morning.

Clutter, everywhere - but purposed. Not just the laundry and the leftover shoes, the plates and glasses (like all the time), but veils and wedding shoes and boxes from Crate and Barrel and paint and easels and glue guns. Arms full of flowers crammed into the fridge. Tuxes hanging from the door jambs, and soft, flowing bridesmaids dresses hanging everywhere else.

There's a reason for all of this, from the tired, aching muscles to the piles of slate on the table. We're moving towards a moment, a celebration; a covenant that will take the purpose and intention of all that two families have poured into this young man and this young woman. It all gets poured into a promise and becomes a new thing, a new bond.

A family.

One of my jobs today was to take their new Bible up for an imprint. Unfortunately, it couldn't be done; the cover was too thick, and the sales clerk shook her head sadly and apologized. I carried it home, knowing that this minor glitch would be a disappointment.

She had asked for three words on the front of the Bible: The Wagner Family.

Purpose. Intention.

Whether the words are embossed on the navy blue cover of this Bible or not, it is so. The clutter will be gathered and gone, and they will go on their way and begin this new branch of the family.

I am so looking forward to this celebration with friends and family!

But tomorrow is going to be an incredibly busy day...

A Week From Now, She'll Be Married

It's wedding week. By this time on Friday evening one week from today, my second born child will be the wife of her high school sweetheart.

We have massive lists of Things To Do and a timeline and stuff piled high all over the house; it's a DIY wedding happening right here in our backyard, and that means there's just a heck of a lot to do to get ready.

I'll be busy.

But I've learned, lately, that it pays to be intentional; to count the moments that matter and take the time to speak truth aloud to myself when I most need it. To say, "Be here, now, in THIS moment. Notice. Pay attention. This won't come again."

A lot of parenting moments have flown by. I think they do for all of us; you bring home a bouncing baby boy and in the blink of an eye, he starts kindergarten; and then he's in 8th grade and before you know it he's driving a car and then he gets in that car and drives away to college.

For me, it was three bouncing baby girls and two handsome boys, all born in the space occupied by the first President Bush and Bill Clinton (I pretty much missed the 90's). So many hands and feet and mouths to manage during those years, and the decade after as well; some of our family history is just a blur to me. Pictures I find in scrapbooks and tucked away in boxes are incredibly special - they feel fresh and new, with faint tinges of memory; they assure me of what I hoped was happening all along. We had much joy; much laughter. We were a family.

I never raised my kids with the explicit expectation of marriage. Like my parents with my brother and me, I emphasized education. Post high school, it was a given that college was the natural next step. But, of course, my kids are human - and we humans crave companionship. And when Shannon and Travis became best friends in high school, something began to grow between them - and within their relationship - that was blatantly obvious to them and to those of us who loved them.

For six years now, they have dated one another. They broke up - once, and he wrote a heart breaking song about their time apart that continues to wreck me, when I remember sitting around a bonfire in the back yard, hearing him sing and understanding, for the first time, the depth of his affection for my daughter. They managed a long distance relationship for all four years of her university education, and I never was prouder than when she went with her first choice - JMU - rather than stay closer to home and closer to him. She chose internships that took her out of town for two full summers, while he stayed home and worked. And waited.

She lived the life she wanted, while finding a way to stay connected and nurture the relationship that continued to flourish between them.

And then he drove to North Carolina, to our family's jewelry store, and bought her a ring, and planned an elaborate surprise proposal and a surprise engagement party, and we began to plan, and now here we are.

In a week, they will be married.

I have purposed, in the midst of the to-do's and the scrambling and the mad dash to get it all done, to remember. To take the time to appreciate what got us here, and where this child came from. When we give her away next Friday afternoon, we will do so with full knowledge of the investment made in this incredible, intelligent, funny, thoughtful, kind, passionate, loyal daughter of God.

My daughter, Shannon; my ginger, my little red-headed brainiac.

How I love her.

Shannon, this evening - in a familiar pose. A party was happening
outside with her sisters and friends - and she was caught up in a
book, reluctant to leave. She'd rather read than just about anything
else, and I love that about her (that apple fell right close to the tree,
if you know what I mean).

The two of them were always together, and usually it
was like this; Sarah was a mess, and Shannon was steady. Here,
they were headed off to the first day of Pre-K for Shannon -
Kindergarten for Sarah. So sweet....

Again, together; another first day of school. Only 16 months
apart, so much of their childhood is intertwined. They love
one another deeply - and that passion works through their
interactions in various ways. One pre-wedding meltdown this
week included harsh words, insults and rude remarks - followed by
embraces and apologizes and tearful confessions as they
sat twined together on the couch. They are blessed to
have one another.

Again, with Sarah; but I cropped her out. A hint of the woman
she was becoming here, somewhere around 5th grade. She
was an excellent student and incredibly bright.

Here with Sydni - the middle sister, a healthy balance.
Shannon is gifted by nature and by her
circumstances. She navigates the middle child
role very well.

That's my girl, wearing the soccer shirt that was a
constant for four or five years. This picture shows a
bit of the fiery ginger personality that usually lays
far beneath her gentle kindness.

As I find time, I think I will reflect this week upon this extraordinary young woman's life thus far. I trust the photos will help prompt the memories.

One week, and counting. #agingerandagiant #shannonandtravisgetmarried

For The Purge

I wrote an entire blog post this morning, while I was folding clothes.

In my head.

Now my daughters are binge-watching "Luther" while folding more clothes.

They say I am to be proud of them, for wasting their lives in such a way.

But what is wasted? They've determined that one should add 'graphic design' to her major at college. Though they say, "My day amounted to nothing", they have been adjusted by a chiropractor, made homemade manicotti, folded eight loads of laundry and created new alcoholic drinks.

And the screaming? Oh, the shrieking; this show, Luther, is making them scream bloody murder.

And then there are the random, shrill declarations:

"My chiropractor touched my unwashed hair!"

"Will you hurry up so we can watch the next episode?"

"IT'S CALLED A HOT TODDY!"

There are lights blazing in the backyard, awaiting a crowd. Tulle hangs from the curtains and the mudroom is filled with pewter and aluminum. The dress, ivory and satin, hangs hidden from the boys in my closet. The driveway has new, beautiful crushed stone for parking and the trees have been trimmed.

"Are my paintbrushes over there?"

We are scrambling and scrabbling to make a wedding happen in ten days. No strangers to parties and large events, this is by far the biggest - and the web of plans and products we need are stretching my mind to the farthest limits. The quote for the flowers came in late - and WAY over budget - and so we're going to learn to make boutineers and corsages.

(First, I must google boutineer and learn to spell it correctly.)

"Boutonnieres."

WHAT?

We will learn to make flowers, and we are hand-painting signs and ordering wine glasses and dance floors and praying for a freakishly cool day in mid-July and making appointments for hair and nails and wishing we'd all lost 10 pounds a month ago.

(That last part is just me. And to be honest, it was 20 pounds.)

I've had need of my husband in a big way; it's felt a lot like selfish whining and complaining, but Lord knows the need is there. "Every day, just look at me once," I said. "Look in my eyes and tell me it's going to be alright."

Our days seem to be never-ending lists of tasks and chores and time management for The Next Thing That Must Be Done Before The Wedding. I just can't live like that, cannot slog through the days without remembering who we are and what will be left after the wedding guests eat and drink and make merry in our backyard.

It will be a time, a good time. The clothes will need folding again and everything we set up will come back down. These moments of unmarried young women, home as sisters for the last time like this...this, I will lose to time and the inevitable letting go. So this time now, this present muted vision of love; I will cling to this.

And crawl into my husband's arms and wait for the next wave.

I have so many words these days, but they just swirl in my head and heart. There is no time to write; it feels like an indulgence, one for which there is no space in this season. And yet I feel it; the emotion, the fear, the questions and the wildness, choking me as it rises up out of my throat. All these things I feel grasp my guts and make me crazy, I think. I don't write because I am frantic with so much to do; and I am frantic because, I think, I am not writing.

Honored today; I took a phone call from a woman I've spent a scant 12 hours with on a retreat in Florida. At a major life transition - a moment where one knows to think and contemplate and prepare is necessary before the jump - she called me to ask my opinion, to bounce her dilemma off the presumed safety of my ear. She is a writer - a good one, a professional - and she commented that she has to write. She said it with such passion, and it resonated. I feel that way, too; and yet I blow that thought away with easy breath. There are so many other things I have to do. But writing....there is something there that sustains me. Not writing for the reading, but for the purging. 

I have missed this space. I am doing a good bit of listening these days. My words need some freedom to roam.

A Short List Of Wisdom

At small group tonight, some of us who are past our forties had occasion to offer wise counsel to the women just moving into their forties. In short, we told them that a woman's forties are THE BEST.

You get to the point where you start thinking that what all those other people think really doesn't matter.
You know you're sexy, because you are.
You still have energy but are wise enough to measure it out as needed.
You know things; not everything (that's for when you're eighty), but you know more than you did a decade prior, and you realize that's a good thing.

There are other things more pertinent to the discussion we had tonight, but it got me to thinking about the place I am now. I'm into my second year of the 50's, and I must say I'm still wavering on whether or not I would proclaim this "good". I'm still above ground, so there's that. But the jury is still out on a lot of things.

In no particular order, here's what I know about being a woman of 50 (or 51, but who's counting).

1. At least once a day, you think, "Crap. Am I really FIFTY YEARS OLD?" Because you don't feel like fifty, and you're not sure what fifty looks like, but it shouldn't be this.

2. You start wishing you'd worn sunscreen. Like, all the time. And everywhere.

3. Hairs grow in places where, in all honesty, they simply shouldn't. 

4. You sit cross-legged on the floor, like you always have, and then realize the error of your ways. Because either a) you can't get up, or b) you manage to stand up, but then you have to limp into the next room. Because your legs stop working.

5. Sneezing requires a certain dexterity involving squeezing your thighs and quite possibly placing your hand in a private place. Otherwise, things get messy and you'll need a change of clothes.

For a person who sees the glass half-full all the time, that's a rather depressing list, isn't it? Truthfully, some of this sucks. Seriously.

But, on the other hand...

6. You are happy when people are happy, but you finally realize that it's not your job to make people happy. That's for all you 30-year olds out there. Go for it.

7. You really want to hold a baby again, and you realize that in just a few years, you (hopefully) will. GRANDBABIES, Y'ALL.

8. Things about faith and eternity and salvation make a lot more sense; the pressure loosens and you become quite alright with love, pure and simple, and letting God be God. Because you're not. Thank God.

9. If you're lucky enough to have found the right person, love can be an incredibly rewarding - and refining - experience; one that's not about making you happy, but making you better.

10. You know a heck of a lot more good songs than anybody in their 20's. Or 30's. The pain of hearing someone say, "Who's Billy Joel?" is overcome by the joy of realizing that you still know every word to every song on The Stranger. Also, Hotel California.

Fifty-year old friends - what am I missing? What do YOU know now that you didn't before?