Tag: wedding

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They come to most people who’ve lived life awhile. Periods we label roller-coaster seasons.With jet lag and the landscapes of Africa behind us Ann and I pondered how life might look going forward. Her mother’s passing from this world was surely nearing as leukemia would bring its final assault. My father’s homegoing, too, drew closer in by the day.
Meanwhile, the peal of wedding bells lay immediately ahead.

My wife, smiling broadly, yielded a sigh of happy relief. The wedding gown project for her firstborn had come together well. How beautiful Julie was as she took my arm at the head of the church’s center aisle.
“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” Darrell Stinnett – the groom’s father and officiating minister – smiled my direction. The two weeks since landing at Will Rogers International had raced by. In mere minutes I would enter a long-established fraternity – father of a bride.

Returning to Okmulgee, the land of my upbringing, I resumed my vigil at Dad’s bedside. His breathing grew more labored. One late morning I stepped outdoors and took in the surroundings of the old home place. My son’s voice came from the front porch, “Dad, can you come?”
Slipping in to pay a visit at his grandfather’s bedside, Scott was quick to witness the change. It was September 1, 1992, exactly a month short of his 80th birthday. Grandpa was gone.

Crossing life’s final divide – the temporal to the hereafter – Dad had run his course. And finished well.
“To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord”.*
© 2023 Jerry Lout                                                       *2 Corinthians 5:8

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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

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Choctaw Landing

Rumors were buzzing of a tech revolution set to break across the planet. A history-shaping phenomenon spanning nations, sporting a lackluster brand – www.

While the World Wide Web was poised to take the universe by storm, sizable bands of missionaries scattered about remote regions of earth remained for the time being pretty much in the dark. No surprise. Through all of mission history new and curious cutting-edge advances – from transistor radios to laundry softener sheets (this one triggered puzzlement and wonder for Ann at our first furlough) – usually left the developing world sprinting to catch up.

Thus, a snail-mail missive bearing my signature made its leisurely way from Moshi Tanzania to the Colorado offices of International Students, Inc. In it I asked if there might be a place for me to offer some cross-cultural services during our temporary time in the U.S. (I smile now at the qualifying term ‘temporary’). Surprisingly, the response came swiftly.

“Mr. Lout, if you are able, please come by for a visit. . . (furthermore) We have a staff member serving on a university campus in Tulsa, OK. You should be hearing from James Tracy.”

Lord, is this you working?

D-Day for leaving Africa sped our way, a list of priorities getting checked off every few hours:

  • Ministry task handoffs
  • Miscellaneous paperwork
  • Eight-year-old Amy’s hard goodbyes to friends, and to Africa – the only              home she knew
  • A border crossing northward to Kenya.
  • Also, Ann fashioning a full wedding garment. Our firstborn, Julie, would marry not long after our arrival stateside. She and her mother hoped the dress would fit nicely. It did.
  • Receiving sporadic updates on our parent’s health (Ann’s mother, my Father)
  • Graduation Day. An exciting time, watching Scott all capped and gowned make his way across the Rift Valley Academy stage. Mere hours before our plane’s lift-off from Nairobi’s Jomo Kenyatta.

The coming season would usher in a flurry of emotions, all tethered to precious events and people. The receiving of a new son-in-law. The passing of a parent. The reorienting to life in a familiar yet strange land.

For Ann and me, the job of tackling and navigating our larger future would be met in due course. We drew comfort in the assurance of God’s presence and care over us and of our loved ones. He had gone ahead before us in times past and would somehow show his faithfulness yet again.

Taking our assigned seats in the big plane we buckled up, catching the excited buzz of our fellow passengers – home-bound tourists for the most part. I took in a few long breaths. My taut shoulders relaxed. Choctaw, Oklahoma, here we come.

A line in the dictionary offers up a succinct definition: “Either end of an airport runway, critical points of takeoffs and landings”. The word being defined –Threshold.

©2023 Jerry Lout

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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

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Vine Fed

Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardship as a pathway to peace.

The Prayer of Serenity line speaks to the resilient nature of life with God, as well as life with one another. Where tender affection and raw sacrifice must mingle.

Simeon and Rebecca’s wedding rang with the uncommon blends of sacred-and-exhilarating, of solemn-and-ecstatic. My friend Roger officiated.

Revisiting some of his prepared notes, several bits of wisdom there stirred my thinking.

. To give your lives away to another is the work of a lifetime.

. You are leaving home to find home.  In some ways you are entering this union having prayed and prepared, knowing what you are saying yes to; and in other ways you have no clue what you are signing up for (here, ‘empathy-laughter’ of already-married couples rippled through the chapel).

The minister continued,

. Jesus invites all of us to walk a narrow way.  Love is always a narrow way that limits our options but expands and fulfills our soul. The wedding aisle is one of those narrow ways.

Roger offered further nuggets. One especially drew me in,

. You’re in a room full of friends and family here to witness this covenant of faithful, steadfast, unconditional, and enduring love.   And it’s why we invite God into this.  Because only His love can empower our love to last a lifetime.  

Only God’s love empowers our love to last, to flourish, to remain nurtured and sustained. To be kept alive.

Can we rally an image in our mind’s eye. . . clusters of ripened fruit suspended from an array of vine-fed branches? Lingering a moment with the picture before us we catch a whisper – an inviting voice – directed to our soul,

“I am the Vine”.

©2023 Jerry Lout                                                                                      *John 15

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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