Young Love (#125)

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April, 2017:

As a new month opens, I’m eagerly looking forward to a trip to join daughter Linnea and her family in their Florida home. Five grandchildren await me there, and renewing relationships with them will be pure pleasure.

A special treat will be taking granddaughter Emerald along with me this time, giving her a chance to play with some of the cousins she loves that are usually hundreds of miles away.

Meg plus 6       (l. to r. – Autumn, Emerald, Micah, Grandma holding Nelson, Skylar, Isaac)

As a result of all this excitement, I’ll be pausing the “Young Love” blog for a couple of weeks, but before I sign off, let’s find out if Meg’s bridal gown was ready or not….

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Friday, November 28, 1969

As I burst through the doors of the bridal shop in search of my wedding gown, several sales ladies saw my stressed expression and jumped into action. “Miss Johnson?” they said. “Your lovely gown is all ready.”

And I could finally exhale.

cookiesOne of the women headed to the back of the store while the others fell all over each other making apologies, offering me coffee and cookies, doing their best to smooth things over while I waited. It had been so long since I’d seen my dress, I wondered if I’d even recognize it.

Finally the lady returned with my satin gown draped gracefully over both of her arms as if she was showing it off for the first time. “What an exquisite choice you made,” she said, in an emotional, breathy voice. “It’s stunning. We want you to try it on, just to be sure it’s perfect.”

I was frantic to get back on the road, knowing the route to church was a 50 minute ride without traffic. And now a full-fledged Friday rush hour was in progress.

Garment bag“I don’t have time,” I said, taking a quick glance at the dress, which looked familiar. “Could you put it in a bag or something?”

“Yes, of course! But are you sure you don’t want to try it on? We’d all love to see you in it.”

In an irritated tone I said, “If I don’t leave right now, I’m going to be late for my own wedding rehearsal! Just pack it up, would you?”

Reaching the car, I tossed the bag-with-gown into the back seat and pointed the car toward the city. But just as I feared, traffic was stop-start, and my foot was on the brake more than the gas. I was going to be late by over an hour – and there was nothing to do about it.

Picturing 50 people impatiently tapping their toes at the front of the church without any sign of a bride made my eyes prickle with tears. Would they worry that I’d been in an accident? Or a break-down? Would they think I was late on purpose? And worse yet, what about my poor groom? Would he think I was having second thoughts…. again?

trafficThere was no way to contact any of them. Even if I got off the road and found a phone booth, what number would I call? There was no phone at the front of Moody Church’s massive sanctuary, and the church offices were closed. All I could do was grip the steering wheel…. and bawl my eyes out.

“My problems go from bad to worse. Oh [Lord], save me from them all!” (Psalm 25:17)

Young Love (#124)

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Friday, November 28, 1969

If we thought yesterday was busy, today was double that. Nate and I still had to secure our marriage license from City Hall. And the large room in the basement of the church still needed to be set up and decorated for the reception. The bridesmaids needed to practice their song together, since they had only been practicing as individuals till now.

Nate needed to chat with Pastor Sweeting, and I needed to touch base with the mothers of our child-participants to be sure they would be at the rehearsal tonight. Were their clothes in order? Did they understand their roles? Was there any reluctance among them?

And then there was my bridal gown.

Bridal gowns.I began pursuing that as soon as the store opened. It left me speechless to be told it was “on its way” rather than already hanging at the shop. “Just after lunch,” they said.

Nate and I needed to wrap our thank-you gifts for those participating in the wedding and reception (30 of them). A mountain of groom’s cake boxes had to be transported to the church, and someone had to make several more trips to the airport.

Marriage licenseBut first things first. Nate and I headed for Chicago’s Loop and the Office of Records to get our marriage license. Although it was a very nondescript office, being there was a highlight for us. We went right out and celebrated by making a 25-cent strip of photos to memorialize the moment.

The pictures would go into our “ENGAGEMENT TO WEDDING” scrapbook. Soon I would finish that one and switch to the one called “WEDDING THROUGH HONEYMOON.”

IMG_5374On our way back to Wilmette we stopped at the church to drop off a load of decorations and the boxes of wedding programs. We were excited to see that tables and chairs were already being put into place for the reception the next day.

 

FullSizeRender(5)When we walked in at home, we were greeted by the sweet sound of bridesmaids rehearsing their number. It was impressive how good they sounded, and I was so glad they were willing to sing during the ceremony. Their song, “Thanks Be to God,” was one of my very favorites. (l. to r. Glo, Jan, Mary)

From that point on, we began to divide and conquer. Mom, Aunt Joyce, and most of the others headed for the church to begin decorating, and Nate left to run groom-errands with his brother. When he kissed me goodbye he said, “I’ll see you at the church! Six o’clock!”

I headed for the bridal shop, silently praying my gown would be waiting for me. Traffic was horrendous, and it took me over an hour to make the 25 minute drive. When I walked in they must have recognized me by the anxiety on my face. After talking to them so often in the last few days, I didn’t even bother to give my name.

“I sure hope it’s ready!” I said, with a frantic urgency that was no act.

“Are you Miss Johnson?”

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“Anxiety in a [woman’s] heart weighs [her] down, but a good word makes [her] glad.” (Proverbs 12:25)

Young Love (#123)

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Thursday, November 27, 1969

Helen C.It was Thanksgiving, and the wedding count-down stood at 2 days. We all had much to be thankful for, starting with knowing we didn’t have to cook a big turkey dinner. Our whole bunch had been invited to the home of Helen Carlstone, a lifelong friend of both Mom’s and Aunt Joyce’s.

We knew we would fill her Chicago home to capacity, but that didn’t bother her. “We’ll make it work!” she said. So as she and her family focused on preparing a mid-afternoon, multi-course meal, the rest of us turned back to wedding stuff.

 

JulieAunt Joyce took on the bridesmaids’ headpieces. Though she didn’t have much to work with, she created wide, pink velvet ribbons the girls could drape over their heads with a knot in the middle. She had 7 of them finished in no time, and they would be simple enough to work with any hairdo. (Left: Bridesmaid Julie models.)

Nate appeared at noon, excited that he’d gotten a look at our wedding bands during his overnight stay with his family. His father, owner of a jewelry store, had ordered them for us, passing along a nice discount. “I can’t wait till we have them on,” Nate whispered.

After an elegant Thanksgiving dinner, we all pushed back from the table(s) completely satisfied. Helen had warmly welcomed Nate’s parents and brother to her dinner, too, after which we all readied to attend the Moody Church Thanksgiving concert.

But first, we “kids” headed to the basement to do battle with the Carlstone’s ever-popular ping-pong table. Several lively games of Round Robin helped to work off a bit of our pumpkin pie, and it was refreshing to do something physical for a change.

As we drove to church, Nate leaned over and said, “Just before we ate, did you see Helen reach into the oven and pull out the turkey pan with her bare hands? She must have hands of asbestos!”

RoasterI assured him that the bird was probably just keeping warm in a very low oven, but he didn’t believe me. “Right out of the oven!” he said. “I’ll never forget it.” And he didn’t, referring to Helen’s wonder-hands many times after that.

The concert was a time of rest as we focused on God through heart-stirring music about him. When I looked down the row, though, Mom was sketching something on her bulletin – the front of the church and where she thought each member of the wedding party should stand. In less than 48 hours, we’d all be in those places.

Back in Wilmette, we dove into Phase Two of gift-opening, this time with Nate’s family and our California people on hand. Aunt Joyce recorded each gift and giver in a book, as Nate and I opened and opened. As she wrote on page after page, both of us were powerfully impacted (for the first time) that our little apartment was about to be lavishly equipped.

Grand openingWe unwrapped dishes, silverware, glasses, blankets, sheets, kitchen utensils, pots, pans, small appliances, fondue pots, crystal, silver, absolutely everything our presently-sparse little nest could possibly need…. and then-some.

It was a mystery why neither of us had made the connection between sending out invitations and piles of gift-boxes arriving at the door. Why hadn’t we put that together? Whatever the reason, on this night, after a blessed Thanksgiving Day, opening so many gifts made a dramatic impression on both of us. We just couldn’t get over it.

“My heart is filled with joy. I burst out in songs of thanksgiving.” (Psalm 28:7)