Abba,
There’s a sparkle on her finger and a brighter sparkle in her eye.
That night she cocoons herself in bed like a little girl, closing her eyes to dreams of white dresses and twinkle lights and glass clinks. She can hear the music already, a rhythm that beats right through her bones as she dances with him and with all the ones they love around them, laughing and sweating and singing until their throats are raw.
She sees them running with their fingers curled together into a knot they’ve just tied forever, ducking through a tunnel of sparks raining down from the hands above them. She feels warmth in her belly at the thought of the following days: a blur of warm sand and cool sheets and quiet whispers.
A day or two goes by like this — maybe a full week or month if she’s lucky — and then it begins.
Sharp words flung between her and the one she loves like knives, most of them her own.
Tears shed because there are too many things to do and too many choices to make, and if she waits too long it could be too late but if she chooses too soon it could be the wrong one.
Worst of all are the fears. Scenes play like movies in her mind — a policeman at her door, a phone call in the middle of the night, a green line on a dark screen — and she wonders if this dream will end before it can begin. She’s waited so long for this moment, longer than most of her friends have, she wonders if it’s about to be yanked from beneath her feet like a cruel practical joke.
If she’s honest with herself, she doesn’t fully trust this gift being offered. Hope feels risky, joy even more so. She knows You’re the God who gives and takes away, and she’d rather brace herself for when the taking inevitably comes for them.
She’s forgotten that You are the Good Father who has proven Himself to give good gifts, and that the core of Your heart is kindness. She’s forgotten Your promise to stay close, to work all things for her good (and his), to offer impossible peace and abundant joy in the midst of deep suffering.
She’s become so lost in all the details and decisions of the wedding day, she’s lost sight of the days of marriage — however many they may be — stretching far beyond the grassy aisle before her.
Come near to your beloved bride-to-be, Lord Jesus. Remind her who she is, and whose she is, and Whose she always will be. Give her eyes to see that You are embroidering Your grace and goodness into every moment of this season and the one to come, weaving a tapestry that tells a story more beautiful than either of them could ever imagine. Soften her heart into that of a child untouched by pain and brokenness just yet, like a little girl dreaming about white dresses.
Make her brave enough to trust this gift.
Make her braver still to trust its Giver.
In Jesus’ Name,
Amen.
Kati Lynn Davis grew up in Chester County. After a brief stay on the other side of Pennsylvania to earn a writing degree from the University of Pittsburgh, she returned to the area and got a job working for a local library. When she isn’t writing, Kati enjoys reading, drawing, watching movies (especially animated ones!), drinking bubble tea, hanging out with her family cat, and going for very slow runs. Kati is pretty sure she’s an Enneagram 4 but is constantly having an identity crisis over it, so thankfully she’s learning to root her sense of self in Jesus.