The Dress

Dear Lauren,

I walked into your bedroom early this morning, my arms full of things you left behind as you returned to college.

It was still dark, the sun sleepy and hidden. I took a moment and sat on the edge of your bed, smoothing the comforter and missing you. It is quiet here once again.

My eyes studied your closet doors, and the furniture we pushed up against them, for now. No one must peek. Within your closet hangs a beauty of a dress.

Only you, me, and the store clerk have witnessed its splendor adorning your frame.

And so it will be until summer arrives.

//

When you were six weeks old, a photographer friend emerged from her minivan, multiple camera bags slung over her shoulder, eager to snap pictures of my four loves. I buttoned you up in a tiny white dress, all ruffles and lace, and held you close, beneath my chin, nuzzling your soft, sweet-smelling head while your brothers chased barefoot in the lush grass of our Florida lawn. They were decked out in jeans and white t-shirts, all boyish, hair slicked. I called for them, and they raced our way, grinning at your beauty, your dress, proud of their brand-new sister.

Oh, Kristin! She is so beautiful, my friend said. Just think—One day you will be the mother of the bride. Her eyes crinkled as she played with the edge of your gown.

I grinned, happily tossing that thought in the background. There were decades to go and so much life to enjoy before I had to think about your wedding. About bittersweet goodbyes. Never mind all of that.

And then I blinked and Alexander proposed, looping a sparkling ring upon your finger.

Ready or not, here we go.

//

It is a gray, blustery day when we enter the bridal store, but your face is aglow–all summer light beams– as you smile, twirling before the trifold mirror, gathering up the long silky dress, and gliding toward me with: Mom, what do you think?

I blinked. What do I think?

I think you are the sun, moon, and the loveliest flower. I have never seen a more exquisite dress or a more beautiful daughter–my favorite girl. Wasn’t it only yesterday that we brought you home from the hospital, and your brothers gathered around your infant seat to hold your tiny hand and grin as they pecked your cheek? It seems perfectly impossible that you will be married this summer and—-

Mom? you lure me out of my thoughts. Do you like my dress?

I nod, a lump rising in my throat.

It is perfect, Lauren. Perfect.

//

Now that you are engaged, I have this urge (upon waking in the middle of the night) to remind you of certain things.

Always use real butter. Wash your sheets often, and invest in fragrant fabric softener. Cook meat slowly to keep it tender. Overlook petty annoyances, and love in truth. Pray for your future babies, and always pray for your husband. In fact, pray without ceasing. Stay on a budget without turning stingy, practicing creativity in wild generosity. Dust ceiling to floor before vacuuming. Remember to come home to visit–and never ask permission to open our fridge or pantry, as they will forever be yours. Say “I’m sorry” first. Laugh daily. Cook cheese noodle casserole and crockpot cherry pie on those cold, dreary January days that never seem to end, and watch the world brighten, if only a little. Take your vitamins each and every morning. Feast on the Bible, and talk to God all the day long. Remember that I am forever your mother and here for you. Always and no matter what.

Marriage feels like a riddle, my daughter. What you think you know about this holy institution right now you will soon call into question. It is part of the fall of mankind. Mysterious. Fear not–God is near and will teach you everything you need to know. Remember your vows, and honor them.

//

As I sit perched on the edge of your bed, I consider my own wedding dress, currently hanging in the back of our closet. I loved my dress, and still peek at it on occasion, but it is more of a distant memory marking the beginning of my marriage to your Dad. The gown is not nearly as important as I once imagined it would be. You will understand, in time.

God will take you and Alexander and he will grow and stitch and clothe you in the fruit of his Spirit. Who you are on your wedding day is only the beginning of who you will become.

Your breathtaking gown will fade or go out of style or both but remember: it is your marriage that is meant to brighten and grow sturdy roots. Marriage is a gift designed to endure for your lifetime. The dress? Not necessarily.

You will soon pledge your commitment to your groom–and together God will strengthen and weave you through seasons of plenty and seasons of want. Those inevitable times of scarcity? Fear not…they will serve as a gift, a palate cleanser, rinsing your mouth of worldly longings, and sweeping your heart free of burdensome clutter. Difficulties will pull you closer to God if you choose to trust him moment by moment.

//

It is time for me to stand and walk out of your room and firmly back into my own life. I fight the notion that these days often feel like frail architecture in this empty-nest landscape. I stubbornly preach truth to my soul: God is here and steadfast throughout every season of life, no matter how flimsy life may appear. Every beat of the human heart holds a purpose before the Lord. Remember this, my daughter.

I can scarcely believe the rush of the passage of time, and I remain humbled that God chose me to be your Mom. What an honor, both grand and grave.

Your radiance will saturate the wedding chapel come summer, and I am praising God in bringing you and Alexander together. Our family is multiplying, and this is an adventure and a true joy. But it is not without its own tender ache–a throb born of a mother’s love. I will miss you.

While our guests feast on wedding cake as you and your groom dance, I will smile and vanish back in time, to the memory of cradling you close in infancy, swaying back and forth as your brothers circled me on tiptoes, their hands resting on my arms as they kissed your face and called you by name. It takes so little to bring me back to those days. Faded snapshots of a season gone by repeatedly bear witness to a chapter concluded. I will treasure the gift of memories, always and forever.

You are a joy, a delight. May God bless and keep you and Alexander on this journey of a lifetime.

I am delighted that we found your resplendent wedding dress, together. Such a fun day.

I love you so,

Mom

---