Category Archives: Saying Goodbye

Young Love (#94)

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It’s been a whirlwind 3 weeks since I last posted a “Young Love” blog, and here’s why:

95 Theses.In Germany —

  • Reuniting with my college roommate
  • Meeting new friends
  • Sightseeing, museums, following Martin Luther
  • Visiting other cities, a super-fast “bullet” train
  • Getting lost in Berlin… and found at 3:30 AM
  • Praying, laughing, eating, and “doing the city” by night

 

 

In England —

  • Jonathan.Meeting my 12th grandchild, Jonathan Richard Nyman
  • Renewing relationships with his 5 older siblings
  • Hiking as a family
  • Getting back in action with my co-grandma and the children as “Team Gran”
  • Sightseeing, riding bikes
  • Sharing lively meals
  • Visiting parks and playgrounds
  • Quizzing knowledgeable youngsters about Bible facts

British Nymans

(Hans and Katy with children, L to R: Nicholas, Evelyn, Elizabeth, Andrew, Thomas, and Jonathan in Katy’s front carrier.)

I’m overflowing with gratitude for these loving relationships and the chance to “get current” with each one. Thankfully, the globe is shrinking, and I’m learning the tricks of travel, mostly by making mistakes. It isn’t easy for this grandma to go-it-alone, especially internationally, but God goes with me — the best travel partner of them all.

And now…. back to the story of Meg and Nate as they travel toward their wedding day (and night) in the autumn of 1969:

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September 22–29, 1969

Although Nate and I no longer needed to write letters to each other, our tiny mailbox was still full. Mom sent a steady stream of progress reports on the wedding plans, usually accompanied by a list of questions, and Aunt Joyce mailed ongoing encouragement from California. Nate’s mother wrote, too, with questions about the rehearsal dinner and guest list.

M and M.Mary often sent notes urging me to give Mom honest answers to her questions. “The bride is the boss,” she wrote. “Tell Mom what you want, and don’t let her change your mind.” I appreciated the voice of experience, a cooperative sister-bride who had probably let Mom have her way on almost everything about her wedding — but at least she’d “been around” to take a more active role in the planning. My guilt about being out of town was mounting.

One thing I could help with was ordering invitations, which we hoped to get mailed by November 1st. I gave Mom my choices by mail: ivory colored paper, black ink, fancy script, and traditional wording. I also thought it would be fun to give the lady-guests a chance to wear long dresses if they wanted. When I suggested we add “Black tie optional” at the bottom of the invitation, Mom wrote, “Moody Church people won’t know what that means. The men will put on a black tie and think, ‘There. I did it.’ ” So we added “Formal dress optional” instead, even though we knew not many would take advantage.

The guest list had mushroomed to hundreds, and Mom said the invitations needed to be addressed in my handwriting. But it was debatable if I’d be able to drive home (repeatedly) to complete that task in time. I decided to wait till the invitations actually arrived before hitting the panic button.

“Do not be anxious about your life.” (Matthew 6:25)

Young Love (#92)

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September 20, 1969

 

When the weekend came, I hoped to return to Champaign behind the wheel of a new-used car. Dad’s opinion would have to factor in heavily, since he would be fronting half the money, so I figured we would be leaning into the practical. Nate and I had probably seen our last sports car, but it had been a fun run.

I also knew Mom’s friends planned to surprise me with a bridal shower over the weekend, which seemed almost too good to be true. Presents!

More velvetAs for Nate, he’d be spending the weekend in Champaign bent over his books. I knew he needed to study, but it was really hard to say goodbye.

At my parents’ house, Lynn (one of my bridesmaids and my oldest friend) came over. We dug into the bridesmaids’ velvet again, cutting out the pieces for the 3 gowns she had graciously agreed to make. And of course our work turned into hilarious fun, too.

After that, Mom and I sat down with her red notebook of “wedding stuff” and ripped through a long list of decisions she’d already researched. We started with a lovely task, choosing the cake.

CakeThe bakery said there was a new trend in wedding cakes, frosting them in white as usual but spraying bits of color on them to match the wedding colors. We chose a burgundy spray to go on grapes made of white frosting, encircling each layer. It would be white cake with a chocolate topper to be saved for our first anniversary.

Next, we talked about wedding favors. Mom had already decided on wrapped pieces of groom’s cake packaged in small white boxes with our names on them. She said her women-friends would handle those – folding the boxes, cutting fruit cake, wrapping the pieces, and filling the boxes.

Then we chose the flowers, burgundy-tinted rubrum lilies and wine-red roses for the bridesmaids’ to carry, with a “waterfall” of white stephanotis for me. Mom suggested big white sprays of mums, roses, and gladiolas across the front of the church and centerpieces of pink, red, and white carnations on the reception tables.

Flowers

My head began to spin, but she continued.

For the head table it would be lilies and roses, and then there was a long list of corsages of many varieties, and of course boutonnieres. She had sketched a picture of glowing candles and giant bows to decorate the aisles (two of them at Moody Church) with wide ribbon-garlands between.

She lost me at about the word “centerpieces” as giant dollar signs throbbed in my head. Poor Dad.

MusicMom already had a handle on the music. Having played for countless ceremonies, she was a pro. I wanted a traditional wedding, so she suggested Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus” (Here Comes the Bride) for the processional, and Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” for the recessional. Just the words “Wedding March” made her jump to the piano bench and play a grand version of it for me – causing joyful goose bumps!

I had been thinking about music, too, and was hoping for two things: a stringed quartet to play as people were being seated, and a song that would be sung by a very special choir of seven: the bridesmaids. I knew they could all carry a tune and hoped they would agree to do it. It would be a song of thanks to God representing the feelings Nate and I would be having at that moment. Mom liked the idea and suggested the hymn, “Thanks Be to God.”

Thanks be to God for love divine, the hopes that round my heart entwine; for all the joy that now is mine, Thanks be to God!

We were ripping through one item after another when Mom abruptly closed her notebook and said, “How about riding along with me on an errand to Arlington Heights?” I knew it must be time for the bridal shower and hoped I could act surprised.

“The Lord will withhold no good thing from those who do what is right.” (Psalm 84:11)

Young Love (#91)

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September 19, 1969

 

A busy womanMom was running around like a crazy woman trying to get everything done at home. Though I didn’t see most of it from my vantage point 156 miles away, her diary has a few blank pages with the words “So rushed!” on them. But she did take time to drop a note in the mail:

“Honey – It must be frustrating trying to plan a wedding from 156 miles away. Let us do all we can from here. It’s fun and it pleasures us. All is well here. Oh how I’d love to tuck you into a clean cozy bed and stand guard through a round-the-clock slumber for you! Just make a list of things you need done, and advise.” (I must have been complaining about being too busy, but compared to her, I was on vacation.)

And right about now Mom signed to have a contractor redo her kitchen. Our wedding was 9 weeks away, but ever the optimist (Dad would say gambler) she said, “It’ll get  done.”

TomAmidst all of this my brother Tom resurfaced from his school in the east, giving Mom another chance to mother him. Because she missed him so much, this was special to her – and she wrote it up in her diary. He’d forgotten to pack a suit coat and needed one a.s.a.p. for a university commitment.

Mom scrambled to think of someone she knew in Washington DC who would agree to deliver some cash to Tom (no credit cards then) so he could buy a jacket. But she succeeded and was thrilled that her “baby” had needed her again.

Our little apartment mailbox often contained inspiring messages, and we were glad others were sharing in our happiness. Aunt Joyce wrote, “All of us here are so excited for you, praying that the Lord will cause you to grow in Him as you establish another Christian beachhead, starting November 29, 1969!” She always had an upbeat way of presenting us with a new challenge.

Though we still didn’t own much and tried to stay out of the stores, one afternoon when I arrived home from work, Nate greeted me holding something behind his back. Grinning ear-to-ear he said, “I got you something!”

He brought his hands around and held up a pretty suede skirt. “On sale!” he said. “And I just had to see my beautiful fiancé in it!”

Suede skirtI was flabbergasted he would buy me such a personal gift and immediately tried it on. Then, getting goofy as we often did in those heady days, I became the model and he the photographer. He was pleased that I was pleased, and as the day ended, we felt closer than ever.

Around midnight every night, though, we took a page out of Cinderella’s story — Nate would head down the stairs and off toward his tiny rented room a mile away. It wasn’t easy kissing him goodbye, but just before he left, it helped to have a prayer time together, followed by the ritual of crossing off one more day on the count-down to our wedding…. when my “prince charming” would no longer have to disappear at midnight.

“Let love be genuine… Hold fast to what is good.” (Romans 12:9)