Tag: bride

Posted on

Mixed Sensations

Choctaw, Oklahoma.

By the time our plane touched down at Will Rogers Airport, the four of us – typical of any who’s just traversed nine time zones – were ready for an environment change.

From our plane’s starting descent to Will Rogers, I had begun pondering afresh the hazy landscape stretched before us. The vast and wondrous place we had grown to call home – the continent of Africa – lay in our past, at least for now. Images called up through the rearview mirror can stir a special gathering of comforts to the soul. Especially when one is alternating between nostalgic scenes of the past and a fog of bewildering landscapes out ahead.

Shifting my mind to the immediate future a sense of happy anticipation began to rise. Similar stirrings of emotion found their way to Ann and Scott and Amy. Our reunion with Julie lay just ahead. How had she grown up so fast? In a mere two weeks from now she would take my arm to be escorted – my beautifully-gowned princess – down to the wedding altar and her waiting groom. Meanwhile, here in the present moment above OKC the bride’s ever practical mother tweaked her set of musings, Will the dress fit well?

Catching sight of Julie – her bright smile signaling the pleasure of spotting family – stirred our feet to pick up their pace. Two years before, having brought her to the States after high school, we had bid some teary farewells. Our journey back to Africa brought home a too-obvious fact. Our family’s usual ‘fifth passenger’ seat sat vacant, a fact offering nothing to elevate our mood.

A handsome young man donning western wear stood at Julie’s side as we approached.

Seeing her daughter’s fiancé for the first time Ann’s mind went momentarily to that particular garment in the works. A near-complete, carefully arranged wedding dress – making its way right now (hopefully) toward the baggage claim carousel.

The drive from Oklahoma City to Choctaw and to the ever-welcoming presence of my sister and brother-in-law was covered in minutes. Betty and Gene’s residence with its tree-festooned landscape had, since the early 70s, served in some measure as our home base during mission furloughs. Soon we were shuttling a parade of luggage pieces across the entryway into their home.

Further transitions lay ahead. Into just what? We hardly knew.

©2023 Jerry Lout

Posted on

Bridge Ahead

As with many words, the term threshold has a way of stirring memories – some positive, others less so. An all-time favorite of mine calls up a treasured photo image, captured on, yes, my wedding day. The moment awakens warm feelings, still.

“How about we get a shot of you carrying your new bride across the threshold!”, the photographer offered.

My bride, Ann, and I were IN.

With the pastor’s house adjoining the church parking lot, a momentary mock venue was set.

Calling now to mind a thousand snapshots of us captured through all the years since that December day 1967, none matches the delightful threshold image.

Over time a long string of dates and events have signaled a parade of threshold moments. Many scenes, photographed or not, could carry enchanting captions.

“Hello (smiling)” Jerry meets Ann, 1964

“Yes, I’ll marry you”. (1967)

“Ladies and gentlemen, time to board”. Africa-bound flight. JFK International

“It’s a girl!”  (1972)

“It’s a boy!” (1974)

“A girl!” (1983). . . Nairobi Hospital all

Thresholds.

Transitions mark the lives of us all. Every person forging new – uncharted passageways across life’s landscape – no two points of entry just alike.

Our Africa years stretched into decades. A good two dozen laps around the sun had flown past since we’d pledged our wedding vows and the camera flashed our threshold moment.

The dawn of 1992 would soon lift her ever-stretching sunlight across a very new kind of landscape.

©2023 Jerry Lout

Posted on

Yield Signs

Jesus knows us in closeness. It’s something akin to what we witness in those enduring marriages we most admire. The envy of-the-world ones.

An aged couple, having grown deeper and deeper into oneness with each other over time present a heartwarming picture. It gives substance to a special word of endearment.  Companionship. While other couples speak sorrowfully of having “grown apart”, our two love birds only solidify their union, growing fused as one over their long marital journey. Why is this?

It is not because the two have been spared struggles and hardships. Indeed, intense pain and even trauma may mark such a couple’s history together. After all, what long-term marriage has not weathered some harsh, distressing storms?

Yet, in spite of everything, a mystery seems to be in play. Where deepening, loving companionship ends up actually flourishing – not just surviving. When broad-sided by overwhelming hardship, a surprising number of devoted couples emerge the other side with their marriage not only intact, but healthier than ever!

Marriage – especially Christ-focused marriage – illustrates well (though imperfectly) the beauty of the Christian life. Such a life grows and flourishes in close fellowship with Jesus, issuing from his own tested and proven love.

Every earnest bride who ever pledged “in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse” made the discovery along the way that vows are made for testing.

Likewise, the broad-smiling groom at the altar offering his pledge to love, cherish, protect. . . soon discovers he has entered a long and challenging learning curve.

Adapt – adjust – accommodate.

Married-life language shouts change. The words are marked by tangible elements of sacrifice. They strike at the heart of a wonderful and frightening movement toward growth – the yielding up or adapting of personal will.

And so it is for the Lord’s beloved ones – the love-smitten, fresh-launched followers of Christ. Their pledge is simple, yet sacrificial. Not shallow, not flippant. The pledge is weighty, and glorious. An all-out love-fueled – and practiced – surrender,

“Your will be done”.

©2023 Jerry Lout

 

 

Posted on

Fifty ~ Golden

Make your fiftieth anniversary memorable.

We needed little help meeting that assignment. Our terrific B&B of choice lacked sufficient heating reserves to counter the bitter cold pounding its harsh winds against our room’s exterior wall.

The host responded promptly to our Midnight SOS, and transferred us to a cozier room. A while later the breakfast table found us  – if a bit bleary-eyed – happily at our post.

With the aid of Facebook I succeeded surprising my bride with a little ballad I’d earlier composed. The lyrics here offer an unabridged version. Honoring my Forever-love, Ann Barnes Lout. . . I understand better now why they call it Golden. 

                                                                              ~December 30, 1967~

                                                                       I saw you then I see you now

I see you now, your movements slower

See you now, a bit more seasoned

And we smile to one another

As we chuckle at the reason. . . you were younger then, a little younger then

 

You look my way and there’s a senior

A little shuffle in his movements

You see his hair has gotten thinner

And you doubt there’ll be improvements. . . I was younger then, a little younger then

 

I saw you in your bridal garment

Saw you taking steps toward me

Couldn’t keep my eyes from watchin

You’re the only one I could see

 

And we met there at the altar and we pledged our lives together

our affection our devotion, all the way until forever

Our love was brand new then, brand new then

 

I saw you when our love first flowered

In those days that we ran faster

Laughing, runnin ‘long beside me

Chasing dreams we dreamed to master

We were children then, a lot like children then

 

I see us move toward a sunrise’

where an east horizon beckons’

See us trek across an ocean

where we hope to find a welcome

 

And the years they go on movin

with our numbers yet increasin’

as our family keeps a growin’

into yet another season

Seasoned now, yes we’re seasoned now

 

I see you radiant and lovely

More attractive now than ever

See you sharing gems of counsel,

younger women come to treasure

 

You look my way and there’s a senior,

a little shuffle in his movement

You see his hair has gotten thinner

and you doubt there’ll be improvement

 

I see you out there in the garden

See you touch a pretty flower

And I ponder how this woman

grows more lovely by the hour

 

And we met there at the altar and we pledged our lives together

our affection and devotion, all the way until forever

We would hold to one other, our devotion not forsaking

As we sealed our marriage union in these vows that we were making

    

I saw you then, I see you now

I loved you then, I love you now . . . I love you now

 

©2018 Jerry Lout  ‘I Saw you then, I See you now’   http://bit.ly/2DklGQJ

Posted on

Bovine Bargaining

“Thirty-eight”, the young man replied.

“Really, thirty-eight?”

“Yes”. My new friend’s voice was matter-of-fact. “Thirty-eight cows”.

How does an Oklahoma boy take in – not to mention, digest – rural Africa’s matrimony language?

“But, suppose the young man can’t come up with that many? What happens?”

“Oh, sometimes the girl’s father negotiates. . . you know, back and forth.”

“And, if they still can’t agree on a number that works?”

“Well, the young man goes away, with hopes the mzee will somehow lower the dowery. The girl’s father also hopes. . . that a more well-off suitor comes by.”

***

Among the many settings international workers encounter in their new culture is the world of matrimony.

What’s the delay?

I had grown a little impatient over the past half hour. It was wedding day. I had gotten volunteered to drive the bride and attendant from her family home – a simple dwelling well off the beaten path – to the church. A decked-out choral group waited there, watching for our arrival. The groom likewise waited. And waited.

“Brother Jerry, it seems the old man wants more cows or more money. . . or something. . . an added dowry, a sum not discussed earlier, to close the arrangement.”

As the fussing went on – a bridegroom rep laboring to cajole, allure, persuade the old man – I noticed a diesel-belching 2-ton lorry enter property. Twenty or so adults, mostly women in colorful dress. . . several men formally garmented. . . jostled about within, trying to stay upright as the truck half-circled to a stop.  Because of the last-minute dowry challenge the festive mood had subsided. All appeared resigned to wait things out. Apparently the tactical game playing out wasn’t so new to the tribe. They got the picture. . . Give the old man time. He likely won’t risk losing face before the clan leaders by sticking in his heels much longer. Not for adding a mere one or two more skinny cows.

My curiosity grew. How will this turn out?

©2018 Jerry Lout

Posted on

Quite A Steal

I waited in the car outside while bride-to-be and her attendants did what females do in an African wedding prep-hut. Excited giggles found their way past thin walls to the outside.

Turning my attention again to the outdoor place where the feisty papa of the bride had parked himself for the verbal contest, I noticed what appeared to be an attitude shift. The gray-haired man, in his effort to extract more dowry treasures from the groom’s family, raised his hand slowly. The patriarch tilted his head downward and nodded – signaling, I thought (and hoped) a civil concession.  Glancing to the east I winced. Those gathering clouds look headed our way.

An outbreak of measured laughter sounded from the gathering of elders near the old man. Then, excited jostling and laughter as the open lorry took in more eager passengers. All was good. My passenger doors swung open. The bride and three of her maids squished themselves with their bright billowing dresses into the vehicle.

Due to the drawn-out dowry bargaining, the ceremony got a late start. It was indeed rainy season and the early afternoon downpour began pounding the church’s tin roof. The volume rose, all but muting the voices of the bride and groom pledging their mutual devotion.

Africa weddings, I smiled, Nothing quite like them. Drenched celebrants – including those trying in vain with colorful umbrellas to stave off the blowing torrent – hooted and sang and celebrated on.

The deluge finally passed. Despite the wet conditions and the dowry drama, the knot had gotten tied for the couple. . . all was well.

Festivities drawn to a close, the Peugeot – her wet and weary navigator at the wheel – sloshed and slid along muddy rivulets to the main road.

Reentering our home six hours after parting for the nuptial event, I gratefully received the mug of hot chai my bride offered me at the door. Moving toward a room where dry garments awaited, I chuckled back to her as I went,

“Even at 38 cows, darlin’, you would have been a great bargain!”

©2018 Jerry Lout

 

 

 

Posted on

Arrangement

My bride-to-be nearly drowned. She was young at the time, just hours old.

“Mr and Mrs. Barnes, the risks are high. To our knowledge no baby has made it through long-term. But the surgery is the only chance your little girl has.”

Earl and Mary had little time to think it over. A surgical team gathered and a T. E. Fistula repair was scheduled. The life of Alice Ann Barnes – her full body weight shy of five pounds – hung in the balance.

T.E. stood for Tracheosophageol. Sadly, the baby’s esophagus and trachea were defective at birth. Designed to transport her mother’s milk into her stomach, Ann’s esophagus mingled with her air-tube. Thus, any nutrition-rich fluids were sent to her lungs, not her stomach. In 1949 the field of medicine had its limits. Without corrective surgery, death by drowning or malnutrition would likely result.

Anesthetics were administered, their effects carefully watched. The surgeon’s knife found entrance into little Ann’s back. The procedure was underway.

Hours passed as anxious parents waited.

“Her vitals are steady.” Intensive care nurses – hours into post-op – kept a close watch on little Ann. Some likely prayed.

December, 1967. The former pediatrics patient – poised, lovely in her white gown – moved along the church sanctuary’s center aisle and to her waiting groom.

***

Our courtship, Ann’s and mine, had largely played out by long distance – spanning twelve hundred miles and two-and-a-half years. First by old-fashioned letters. Then with my Oklahoma-to-Montana phone calls.

The marriage wasn’t arranged by third-party players, but neither did we magically fall in love. We grew toward one another through the modest media of stationery paper and ballpoint ink, radial-dial phones with long-distance lines transporting two distinctly different accents – one from just south of Canada, the other a stone’s throw from Texas.

We had survived, each of us, our childhood crises of health. To one day embark, united, on a journey unlike any we could have dreamed.

An arranged marriage, one might say. By providence.

©2018 Jerry Lout