I feel like I want to start this story by telling you about going cocktail dress shopping in downtown Vancouver on Tuesday, when I had to move a meeting, and buying not one, but two cocktail dresses, including the last one in 20 minutes. I literally ran into the Bay in downtown Vancouver, found a sales woman, told her I needed a size 12 dress in black and I was going to stand in a fitting room and she could bring things to me.
Or I could tell you about dashing into a bathroom in Winnipeg 15 minutes before my flight today started boarding, and slamming the stall door shut and practically tearing off my clothes, throwing an expensive suit on the filthy floor while I shimmied into the same cocktail dress. I could tell you about taking up half the counter in the bathroom and how I didn’t give a damn, while I touched up my make up. I could tell you about sprinting through the Winnipeg airport in 4 inch stiletto’s, my trench coat flying out behind me, almost bowling over little old ladies, yelling sorry as I kept running. I could tell you how I threw my luggage at Mr. Spit and I threw money at the parking machine and I just kept checking my watch.
My best friend is getting married tomorrow. Her rehearsal dinner was tonight. It started 20 minutes after my flight landed. I was 15 minutes late. I could tell you all of that, but the truth is what I am telling you is that I would have bought a million cocktail dresses, and I would have run from Winnipeg to Edmonton. I would have flown the damn plane myself, driven through a million parking barriers and run over any little old lady that dared stand between her and I. There was no possibility of me not being there.
You see, this wedding? This romance? This love? The fact that Sky and Timby have a step father? The fact that she has a partner, the fact that we were there at all is the single greatest testament to resilience and courage and faith and hope and mercy that I can point you at.
It’s about magic. It’s about the moment that we tied ourselves to each other in a ritual of blessing and recited a word and I picked sunrise.
I kept thinking of that verse, the one that says joy comes in the morning. I thought of the long dark hours of the night, the times when it just hurt every moment of every day. I thought of my insistence 5 years ago that there was better out there and she had to go and find it. I thought of the moment that she walked away, and the moments afterwards, the children who stayed with us evenings and weekends while she got her feet under her. I thought of the false starts and the times that she displayed more courage than I would have thought could be contained in a single woman; how she got knocked down, how she took blows on the chin and how there were times my heart ripped to watch her struggle and I could do nothing more than affirm that there was better out there and she was on her way to find it. I believed in her and I believed in her right to goodness and mercy all the days of her life. When it was hard going, as it often was, all I could tell her was that. That I believed in more for her and the children.
I will set my alarm and I will get up early tomorrow and I will make muffins to feed people, and I will drive to the house and I will do whatever tasks they put in front of me. I will work tomorrow until the moment I drive home, throw on a dress and a cardigan and drive back with Mr. Spit to see them pledge their troth.
Tomorrow – before everything starts, dearest friend of mine, piece of my heart, I will stand on my front porch and I will face east and I will watch a sunrise, and I will whisper my prayers for you, as I always have.
I will thank God, the universe and everything with every little bit of my body. I will pour gratitude and joy into the sunrise.
Tomorrow of all days, joy comes with the morning.