For a few years, while I was writing my dissertation, I did a lot of weddings.
That meant I did a lot of pre-marital counseling.
And a lot of marriage counseling after that.
I spent a fair amount of time trying to help starry-eyed brides and grooms grasp the notion that there were more important things to think about than whether the bridesmaids’ shoes matched the punch.
(Go ahead and laugh. This was a while ago and I’m from the South!)
I also spent some time gently suggesting that obsessing over the perfect song for the first dance might possibly need to take a back seat to being able to tell a soon-to-be spouse what you really need and want and love.
I can’t tell you how many women clutched Kleenex and tea cups while they explained that confessing their deepest longings was just too scary.
The logic seemed to run like this…
If I don’t admit what I love, and don’t get it, I’ll be heartbroken.
If I do admit what I love, and don’t get it, I’ll be heartbroken twice.
Two things are true about those conversations.
As reluctant as I am to say this, I get it.
And, I never heard a guy claim the same dilemma.
(I won’t presume to guess what that means.)
I wish I’d known more about Rumi in those days!
Then again, “…to everything there is a season,” and I understand turning toward what I love in a different way than I used to.
And, while I’m still sleeping off their visit, my two best teachers are back to their regular worlds.
I, of course, am still finding crayons and pins and a very stylish white denim jacket which needs to be mailed home to its wee owner.
I also have a new context in which to listen and learn.
Or, perhaps, a vivid, fresh reminder of my chosen context.
At the risk of sounding like I’ve come a bit unspooled, my writing and painting and even my plan to actually go get my hair done are all echoes of “turning toward what I deeply love”.
And, in this season, a reminder to claim more of what I love.
I might not get it all but it seems way better than not trying.
Maybe the girls will watch.