Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: BRIDE (02/25/21)
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TITLE: Beautiful Dreamer | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
03/02/21 -
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Last Saturday I’d walked my father down the aisle. If only he was in a tux instead of a cedar chest. Covid had no boundaries. Three years ago, almost to the day, I’d walked my mother down that same aisle. Cancer claimed another. No matter how many walks I’d done for charity it didn’t stop the inevitable.
All week I’d considered postponing this moment. The dress no longer fountained with a train of joy. The bodice didn’t fit right. The straps were too thin. There was too much skin. Makeup wasn’t covering the puffy eyes or the deep sadness in my forced smile.
The strains of Pachelbel’s Canon by the trio of violins and the bass tugged at my soul to stretch for a little joy on behave of my beloved. The words sauntered through my mind. “You are my love, my life, my best chance to live free… my eyes when I watch the sun setting over the sea. My lungs when the cool breezed blows softly into me. You are my ears when I listen to Canon in D.”
The German Baroque composer reached all the way from 1680 to today and yet I wince at the thought of posing for photo after photo. Those images would settle in an album for future generations to gaze on and my pasted smile would deny to them the honest glance at the sorrow inside.
And what about my one true love? He mingles freely below, smile hidden behind a Covid mask. Without him I’d be alone in the world. Yet, is it fair to saddle him with a despondent mate who may not yield to his amorous advances? Could I be the devoted, adoring, affectionate, tenderhearted person he longed for me to be?
The picture of Jesus knocking at the door catches my eye. It is slightly askew hanging over the counter where bottles of water sit. How would he deal with a hesitant bride? A wounded, lonely, despondent, confused partner. I straighten the picture and uncap a bottle. The water is soothing.
It’s been a year since our church has been permitted to meet. We’re kind of like a wounded, lonely, despondent and confused bride. We are feeling the losses – wondering how we’ll handle the affection of the body as we come back together.
At the window again, my beloved looks up and waves. I shrink back – suddenly shy. I’m supposed to be hidden away – a surprise until that moment of unveiling. But what kind of surprise will I be? Sometimes I feel like a fraud – not at all what the mirror or the photographer portrays.
Pachobel rises again. “My happiness you were, you are and always you will be...When you laugh, when you sing, when you cry and when you dream. When you are near or when you are far, you always will be, always were and always are, mi cario, my soul mate,”
A knock on the door. My bridesmaid slips me a note. It’s from him. “How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful!” (Song of Songs 1:15 NIV).
Maybe I can rise above this doubt. Maybe I can be who he believes me to be. I turn to Jesus. His eyes see me as I am. And still he knocks. The door opens and I take my first steps toward the future.
The violins soar. “You are and always will you be mine. My sweetest sweet, my dearest dear, my only trust and hope after God and my freedom of all fears. Always my Love, no matter how far or how near. The oceans so vast as far as one can see under the sky so blue and beyond all the mountains' highest peaks. So far, deep and long my love for you, so strong and lasting, so real and true.”
For now, there is only this moment. With a nod to Jesus, I take my flowers and head for the main aisle.
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