motivations: hope

Hope

You are cordially invited to the matrimonial ceremony of Thomas Lee and Elizabeth Young, the cream invitation stated.

Leah read the card several times over, memorizing the date, time, and location. May 10. 3 PM. A black tie affair. You are allowed one guest.
She spent the next week trying to decide what to wear – floral pattern or solid color? Flats or heels? Hair up or hair down? Which camera should she bring?

Thomas and Liz were old college friends, and though they hadn’t kept up regularly in the past few years, she had still remained rather close with both of them, having consulted Liz about her future when the drastic change had happened.

“Don’t doubt so much,” Liz had said. “Sometimes, we put God in a human-sized box, thinking that He’s just as limited as we are in terms of our knowledge about ourselves and about life. But He’s got it all planned out for us.”
“But I want to know what the plan is.”
“What would you do with that knowledge?”
“I don’t know, be happier?”
“And what if you don’t like what the plan is after you find out?”
“I mean, at least I’ll know what, right?”
“But you won’t know why until you live it out.”

When the day came, she finally settled on a blue floral dress with light green flats, grabbed her small digital camera, and headed out with a cleverly wrapped coffee cup set.
The church was decorated delicately, white and light blue streamers and candles basking in the light of the stained glass windows. Yellow floral decorations lined the pews as festively dressed family members and friends eagerly anticipated the start of the ceremony.
She greeted Thomas and his parents at the entrance.
“Thanks for coming, Leah,” he said, beaming at her. “Didn’t bring anyone?”
“Nope, I’m not as popular as you,” she teased.
“Please.”
“Congratulations.”

She had been to seven weddings in the past two years already. Each time, her mother would ask her how she was doing in her search for the perfect one.
“The search isn’t really progressing,” she would say. “I’m too busy.” Or too lazy. Or too cynical. Or too ugly.
Her mom tried to set her up twice, but each time, she had declined. She didn’t believe in forced unions, maybe because she was idealistic, but also because she didn’t want even that aspect of her life to be dictated by someone else.

People assumed their places as the clock hand approached three o’clock. The music began, Liz’s cute flower girl cousin marched in, soon followed by Thomas’s ring bearer nephew. It was then Liz’s turn to walk in. Her dress was simple and beautiful, and Leah felt a surge of pride in her friend. She quickly glanced at Thomas’s face and saw pure joy reflected in his face. The whole procession of events was touching, and she got the same quirky feeling that she got at every other wedding she had been to – a mix of happiness and anxiety.
Soon, the pastor asked, “Do you, Thomas Lee, take this woman, Elizabeth Young, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself solely unto her for as long as you both shall live? If so, answer, ‘I do.’”
Without a moment’s hesitation, he said the two magic words. Asked the same question, Liz answered with a firm, “I definitely do.”

The newly wed couple walked down the aisle hand in hand, picture taking ensued, cheers were shouted, and guests were ushered towards a pavilion area a few streets down, where dinner was to be served.

She found herself sitting at a table with a few acquaintance-friends from college as well as a few people she had never met before. She eyed the tables, smiling at friendly faces and observing the environment with a slightly amused eye.

“Sorry, is this your napkin?” a voice asked to the left. She turned to the interrogator and was met with a semi-familiar face, one that she felt like she had seen in a dream or in the distant past, maybe in an elevator ride or walking down the street.
“No, I think it’s yours,” she replied. She paused before curiosity got the best of her. “Have we met before?”
He nervously patted the napkin down on his lap. “Um, no.” He smiled cautiously. “But we go to the same church.”
She tried to rack her brain for his memory, biting her bottom lip as she sorted through all the faces she encountered weekly.
“Leah Andrews, right? The pianist in the worship band?”
She nodded, embarrassed that she had no idea who he was.
He stuck out his hand. “Neil Nelson,” he said. They shook hands.
“Sorry about that,” she apologized.
“No worries,” he answered. “I just joined three months ago.”
“I see. Well, it’s very nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. You’re a wonderful singer.”
“Thank you,” she said tentatively. Because of her notorious singlehood, her voice was often complimented by those suitors in the church looking for a godly and talented wife.
“That wasn’t supposed to be flattery in any way,” he revised, seeing the look on her face.
She blushed at her obviousness. “Right, I understand.”
“So how do you know Thomas and Elizabeth?”
“College friends.” She sipped from her water cup to cool down her face. “You?”
“Thomas and I became good friends after meeting at a conference a few years ago.”
“Oh, advertising?”
“Right. He’s a great guy – he actually directed me to our church when I was looking for one in the area.”
She remembered Thomas asking her for her church’s name a few months back, now making the connection.
“So what do you do?”
“I’m working in pharmaceuticals.”
“Interesting. How did you get into that?”
“Good question,” she laughed a bit forcedly. “Do you want the long story or the short story?”
He glanced at the waiters that had begun to bring out the food. “I think we have time.”

She questioned whether or not it was wise to relay her full story, but because she had shared it so many times before, the well-practiced words came out of her before she could give it a second thought. And for some reason, she trusted him.
A momentary silence washed over both of them after she finished.
“That’s very special,” he said.
She laughed tentatively. “Thank you?”
“No, really.” He became quiet for a few seconds, making his mouth small as if he were thinking deeply. “I can’t say that I’ve had the same experience, but it’s very similar.”
“Really?”
“But it would take some time to explain, and our food will get progressively colder.”
She looked down at her plate of salmon and asparagus, two foods she wasn’t particularly fond of. “I’m all right with that.”
He smiled. “Don’t call me crazy.”
“I wouldn’t think of it.”

He told his story slowly, pausing every so often, as if he were afraid that she would stop him at some point and make him swallow back all the ridiculous words he had just said.
He had been working in his office, day in and day out, following the same routines until he started to feel a deep sense of dread wash growing within him. He was increasingly more bitter, then empty, then depressed, to the point where he had trouble sleeping at night and focusing during the day.
“It was hell,” he admitted. “I took sleeping pills before going to bed and anti-depressants during the day to keep myself alert. But I would sit at my desk and feel just as unfocused and tired, and I got to the point where I asked myself, what do I live for?” He took a bite out of his dessert. “Or more appropriately, who do I live for? Why did I have to make sure not a hair or a pen mark was out of place?”
He then overdosed on sleeping pills by accident one night, having forgotten how many he had taken, and he was rushed to the emergency room. He lay calmly in the hospital bed, still unable to sleep – this time, from thinking too much.
“I returned to work two days later, unable to stay at home, and I stared at my computer screen for a good hour.” He pushed around his fork on his plate. “And then I heard something. I heard a voice.”
She stopped breathing for a second. “A voice?” she whispered.
“It was my voice.” He blinked very slowly. “But not my words.”
“Saying what?”
“I told myself to stop living this way. That there was a different way. That I needed to stop hurting myself and trying to put up a façade that everything was okay when it wasn’t. That I didn’t have to do this life alone.” He laughed with short breaths, as if slowly letting out a big breath that he had been holding. “I suddenly remembered talking to Thomas about this God character in his life before, and I called him up and I found myself walking into a sanctuary a few weeks later.”
“Do you think God was talking to you through your own thoughts?”
“Maybe.” He finished the last piece of his cake. “That’s what I’m here to find out, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know what He wants from me, or what He has planned for me, but I think what’s comforting is that I don’t have to rebuild myself on my own – someone else can do it for me without me feeling powerless or degraded. It’s the closest to perfection I’ll ever get.”
“You don’t mind knowing the actual end result?”
“For once, not really. I’m tired of trying to be in control – I can only hope that I’m being auto-piloted towards a good place. I pray extra hard.”

The Sunday after the wedding, she looked for Neil in the fellowship area, but failed to find him. She walked back into the chapel to go about her normal clean-up routine, then had a moment of déjà vu as she saw a familiar sight of a man in a suit praying fervently. It was Neil.

She waited for him to finish, then approached him as he got up.
“Hi.”
“Hello,” he replied. “Done?” He gestured to the stage.
“Almost.”
“What are you doing afterwards?”
“Driving home?”
“Do you mind grabbing coffee? The one here is always burnt.”

The conversation was long. She felt the cashier’s eyes bear into the back of her head as he waited for the two of them to leave. But they continued.
“There’s a reason for everything,” he said. “There’s a reason for why we were meant to run into each other and share our experiences like this. There’s a reason why we’ve had experiences like this in the first place. There’s a reason for our struggles and successes, a reason for our existence.”
“Sure. I guess so.”
“But now the question is, are you ready to find out why?”

© 2009. Sarah R.