I watch the bride, too, but I never want to miss the groom...

In the past few months, I have attended two different weddings. For both, I was there in support of the groom, and in both weddings it was the groom I mostly, though not entirely, kept an eye on while the bride was coming down the aisle.

It was a pleasure to see the expressions on the grooms’ faces as their beautiful brides walked down the aisle because, having been each one’s roommate at some point, I knew how long they had waited for this occasion.

For me, the most climatic moment of the wedding is when the bride comes in.

See, I take for granted that once the wedding has started the two will actually marry, so the kiss and pronouncement are a given. She’s been preparing herself days, months, perhaps, years. Indeed, both of them have been preparing themselves for each other. Clothes have been picked out, flowers decided upon, friends and family notified, tears shed, prayers prayed, and so much more. A lot has gone into the moment, and the occasion, when the bride enters the wedding ceremony.

In both weddings, we stood to honor the brides, and rightly so. Proverbs 31 encourages such an honor when it calls forth the children and husband of an excellent wife to “rise and bless her.” Are not friends and other family, then, given a model to follow? We did. We stood to honor these women.

And my eyes were on the grooms, for I didn’t want to miss what I would see in them.

In Revelation chapter 19, we get a foretaste of a wedding story that is fleshed out a bit more in Revelation 21. We read of a bride who has both made herself ready and has been made ready. Then we read of the bride, the wife of the Lamb, coming out in her glory—the very glory of God—to meet her groom. We understand the bride to be the people of God, while the Lamb, the groom, is Jesus.

Just as in the weddings I attended, where the brides, after their preparation, came down the aisles in their glory, so too will we, followers of the Lamb—after our time of preparation—go down the aisle, so to speak, to meet Jesus.

Which leads me back to why I was watching the grooms.

If we, as the people of God, are symbolized in the bride, and Christ is symbolized in the groom, then in the eyes of these Godly grooms, I was getting a glimpse of just how excited Jesus is to be with me, to be with us, to be with his bride.

In those grooms I caught a glimpse of our Lord.

If they were excited, in love, and joy-filled, then how much more so is Jesus towards us?

Regardless of my marital status, I know as a follower of Jesus there is a union waiting of which earthly weddings prefigure. I’m learning to live today preparing for that day, and I’m empowered by the awareness of just how excited He is to see me.

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About Jeff Pate: After 7 years of living abroad that culminated with a Master’s of Divinity from Regent Seminary in Vancouver, Jeff is now in training to be a chaplain at a hospital and is assistant pastor of Mosaic Church in New Orleans. The best thing about being single for Jeff: “I once read or heard somewhere that married couples can show the exclusive love of God, while singles can show the inclusive love of Christ.  I love having the freedom (including the time) to share life with many different people. Right now, that’s especially the people at work and church.”

*Photo credit: eperales

I'm determined to remember what I learned last time.

George Santayana once wrote, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

It has only been two years since I found myself in the exact same place I have landed in now. I remember it well. So why am I going through this again?

Two years ago, I had just started summer vacation and my mom was taking me on a long-awaited trip to California so I could see where she grew up. I had packed my suitcase and driven to my parents’ house since we were leaving early the next morning. As I was spending a relaxing evening there, I heard my mom ask, “What is that…?”

My dad and I both turned to look at her. She looked back at us and said, “There’s a lump.”

We just sat there, silent, not fully understanding what she was saying—or hoping we were wrong about what we thought she was saying.

We didn’t leave the next day for our trip to California. Instead, we took a trip to the hospital to have tests run. A mass was discovered and my mom was scheduled for surgery to have it removed.

Positive lymph nodes from the surgery brought up scary words like “cancer,” “chemotherapy,” and “mastectomy.” I remember one particularly terrifying moment after we received the results of a scan that showed a spot on my mom’s liver. I still remember the feeling of helplessness when I walked out of my room to find my parents holding each other in the kitchen, sobbing.

I recall the wave of relief after that little spot turned out to be nothing more than a cluster of blood vessels. We rode this roller coaster ride, with all its dips and turns, for almost eight months—only it felt more like an eternity.

Last March was the one-year anniversary since my mom finished chemotherapy and had the scan results show she was cancer-free.

This past Monday, my mom had a bone scan because she has been experiencing quite a bit of back pain lately. Two spots that hadn’t been there before showed up on her ribs.

We still don’t know anything for sure. Tests are being run but the waiting is hard. We should know for sure within the next three weeks whether my mom will have to go through this nightmare again.

At first, I didn’t handle it well. The 24 hours after hearing the results were difficult. I love my mom dearly and I hate that she even had to go through it the first time. But then I began to remember what I learned from that experience, and I took my pain to the Lord. As always, He is faithful in sending down the comfort needed to sustain.

As I was flipping through my Bible, I “randomly” turned to Luke 7 and found myself reading about a Roman officer whose slave had fallen ill. He knew of Jesus so he sent some men out to ask him to heal the slave. The officer believed that all Jesus would have to do is speak and the man would be healed. What stood out to me was Jesus’ response to this in verse 9: “When Jesus heard this, he was amazed.”

What amazes me about this is that Jesus could find anything amazing. After all, he’s performing miracles on a daily basis and he is omniscient, yet the faith of a Roman officer amazes him.

For the next three weeks and for as long as I have breath, I am determined to have a faith that will amaze Him. I am choosing to wake up every morning with gratitude on my lips, even on the hard days. Because I remember how He carried me through the first time, I know I can find comfort in knowing that the same God who holds the world in His hands is also holding me.

If I have to relive this particularly painful part of my past, I’m grateful that this time I am prepared.

“We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8-10)

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About Sara Anderson: An ESL teacher for the past 6 years, Sara feels it is her duty to rid the world of the words “supposably” and “moist.” She once had an unfortunate incident involving a glass of milk and a hairy spider so now she must blow into a glass before pouring a beverage in it. She loves Dave Barnes, Hillsong Live, and Kari Jobe, and when she needs her soul stirred she reads Brennan Manning. In fourth grade, she received an autographed picture of Billy Ray Cyrus, but don’t ask her to show it to you because her friend stole it and Sara never got it back.

*Photo credit: Alex Bellink

I'd been telling God how great my finger paintings were...

Children’s artwork sucks. Whether finger paints, crayons or macaroni crafts, they’re just no good.

I’ve been given a few from little relatives and my first reaction has never been, “Better hide this away for Antiques Road Show in a few years.” But I’ve kept them anyway.

And the parents of those children value the art, too, because it’s the expression of a child’s heart.

In fact, I’d be shocked if I heard someone say, “This is crap, Billy. Everyone knows that horses aren’t blue.”

Parents assign value to their kids’ artwork because of what it means. It is a child’s best effort and the artist joyfully anticipates how it will be received. Particular paintings may even gain refrigerator status. I’m sure the kids believe the praise over their best works, but what if little Billy decided he needed some gallery space because the fridge was full? It’d be ridiculous!

But that’s how I tend to act toward God with my best efforts.

“God! Have you seen this! I could have said something hurtful yesterday, but didn’t because it wouldn’t have helped anything! Oh yeah, that person praying for 15 minutes 9 days in a row…that was me!”

I don’t literally point those things out to God, but I do strut a bit more when I’m being good.

I thought I was doing quite nicely a few weeks ago. I was impressed with my spiritual growth and thought that maybe God was in the process of making me a hero of the faith. Then I flipped somebody off in traffic. To my knowledge, I have never done that before—at least not where it could be seen. It was at night, so maybe nobody saw this one, but I sure held it up like a first place trophy.

And very quickly I was so disappointed. How much do I suck as a human being if that is my reaction to a situation? I thought I was being perfected! I thought I had gotten some things straight! I guess I didn’t have time to put on my holy mask before giving that salute.

I had been telling God how great my finger paintings were. I wanted him to notice that my macaroni art was a thing of beauty while not noticing that He made the most beautiful things on Earth. I was bragging about being good for a day or two when Jesus was perfect from beginning to end. And I couldn’t help but be ashamed of myself for not seeing it. Sounds silly to propose an art gallery for finger paintings—until I see that I’m doing the same thing.

I think I might regret telling you that story when it comes up in a job interview, but I’ll just tell them my crayon art is much more advanced now. Really, I’m glad that I had that happen. God let me see myself rightly when I was becoming more and more delusional. I wanted to hide at first, but I got to see a very clear distinction between where I am and where God is in the perfection count.

It didn’t come with condemnation, but grace.

God reminded me that my status doesn’t depend on angry driving, saying bad words, or anything else I do. Further, I don’t need to prove anything because Jesus proved it. That Jesus was mocked while the blood poured from his wounds is what took care of my sin—even my most recent sin that left me disappointed in myself.

My tendency toward being proud of my good works is strong. It’s hard to believe because I’m one of the most humble people I know. But I’m glad that I got to see a better picture of my heart before I started believing the hype too much. And please don’t think flipping the bird in traffic is my worst offense. It probably bothered me so much because it was in public and undeniable. I’d give you more details of my screw ups, but I don’t want to completely eliminate the possibility of being employed in the religious sphere.

Those times when I’m so obviously confronted with my hypocrisy gives me the chance to embrace the lesson in humility or pretend that my pretentiousness is justified. Hopefully I’ll embrace the chastisement, because nothing’s worse than a person who thinks his own perfection is just around the corner. And I really don’t want to be that guy.

However, these lessons are most valuable when appropriately spaced out. So don’t cut me off in traffic. I’ve already learned my lesson this month.

*Photo credit: Boudewijn Berends

Someday it will be over...

{Editor’s Note: Today’s post was written by Sundi Jo from sundijo.com. You can read more about her at the end of the post.}

I quit. Again.

I’m a 28-year old college student in a college algebra class with 18-year olds who talk about beer bongs and late nights, while I avoid a nap and dread another talk about log functions. Someone stop the insanity! I think for a moment that maybe I should join the insanity, but memories from my high school partying days make my stomach turn and I’m quick to change my mind.

My Chicago Cubs-loving professor handed me last week’s test grade. A 57%. I quickly reminded myself how grateful I am that he doesn’t use the red marker to overrun the page with a big fat F. That allows me to have some dignity. I hold the tears back because my pride refuses to let others see me fall into tear-stained oblivion. 

Flashbacks of the previous days’ blood, sweat, and tears put into studying fill my mind—the blood from slamming my knee into the corner of the coffee table after getting up to take a bathroom break from my six-hour study session, the sweat from the hot flashes that are happening way too early in life, and the tears from asking God, “Why am I doing this again?” (I’m still waiting for that answer.)

I am a writer. I put words together that are supposed to help others. Most of the time I selfishly write them to help myself.

I don’t care about Sir Isaac Newton being one of the greatest mathematicians, scientists, and philosophers to ever live. I don’t care that Albert Einstein, in the midst of his madness, invented e=mc². I am not remotely interested in the fact that “y” is on the vertical axis and “x” is on the horizontal axis. If I have to figure out why the graph opens up versus down one more time I may just scream. Hey, maybe I’m actually absorbing some of this stuff…I don’t know whether to be excited or scared.

The next day I get an email from my professor offering hope that I can still keep my head above water this semester and also the game time for the Cardinals versus Cubs game. I’m banking on the fact that us both being Cubs fans will somehow make up for the lack of remembering the difference between a natural and exponential log.

I continuously remind myself that this is just a phase in my life. Someday it will be over. Will I look back and laugh at the tears and bruised knee? The jury’s still out on that.

That second job you have to make ends meet is just a phase in your life.
Stopping every 40 miles to pour water on your radiator on that road trip is only a phase.
Your checkbook won’t always be in the red. It’s only a phase.
This too shall pass.

Next week I’ll quit again. I’ll probably cry. I’ll stare at my algebra book with the same hate we stare at the candy bar wrapper after we’ve stuffed our emotions with a Snickers bar.

Then I’ll get over it, pick up my book, walk into class, listen to stories of last weekend’s beer fest, and stare at the white board until my eyes cross.

This too shall pass.

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Sundi Jo is an author, speaker, and social media marketing manager who makes her home in Branson, Missouri. She blogs at sundijo.com. Her first book, Dear Dad, Did You Know I Was a Princess?, comes out next year. You can read her first eBook, Step Away from that Diet: Ten Steps to Losing Weight and Gaining the Confidence You’ve Been Searching For now. You’ll find her engulfed in the social media world, spending time with friends and family, hanging out in a pair of jeans, t-shirt, and flip fops, or writing. Find Sundi Jo on Facebook or Twitter (@sundijo).

*Photo credit: Paulius Peciura