part 3 Walk Slowly

The solemn stillness was interrupted by the minister, “Who gives Ashley to be married to Jonathan?”   I responded, “Her mother and I give our blessing on this marriage.”  Gently I lifted the wedding veil that covered her face, up and over her head, until it rested peacefully on her shoulders.  Kissing her on the peak of the forehead (our special spot) I told her, “Your mother and I love you so much and are very happy for you.”  She took a deep breath.  Her eyes watered.  She smiled.  Moving towards Jonathan, I shook his hand and gave him an embrace and joined their hands together.  Turning back, taking a few steps, I sat down beside my bride of 26 years…

part 2 Walk Slowly

So slowly with Ashtree (my nickname for Ashley) I walked down the short passageway to the marital altar.  Like brilliant lightning bolts across the dark night sky, random memories flashed into my mind with every step.  Flash— the scene of her birth in Kansas City, Missouri.  Flash— the moment she laughed for the first time, near St. Louis, Missouri, she was just a baby.   Flash— the memory of her first day of kindergarten in Nashville, Tennessee.  Again, flash— her first bus ride to elementary school in Eagleville, Tennessee. So many flashbacks of Arizona, Atlanta, and so on…   Then suddenly the music stopped and so did we and the memories followed suit.  For the briefest of moments, it was as if Father Time had winked at me and time stood still and quiet.  

Walk Slowly

Slow down Father Time was my plea.  He answered, “There is a time for everything.” I replied, “But time is moving too quickly.” He listened not.  The long awaited moment had come.  It was pomp and circumstance at its very best.  Father dressed in tuxedo and daughter in brilliant white gown.  Double doors flung open with great energy and anticipation as trumpet played, signaling the grand entrance and the changing of a great many things. My thought at that instant—she looks like an angel. Walking side-by-side down church aisle lined with hydrangeas, my wife standing in the distance watching, my next thought arrived—walk slowly, walk slowly, hold her hand closely, and walk slowly, cherishing these few precious but fleeting steps.  Oh Solomon, you wise teacher, you were painfully right when you wrote so long ago, that time stands still for no one.  There is a time for everything and a season for ever activity under the sun. Make the most of the precious time you have.