We were comfortably lodged in the picturesque Catskill Mountains. The venue for our daughter’s wedding was magical. We could hear the water rippling in the river behind the lodge in this area known for its fly fishing. Wildflowers decorated the grassy knoll next to the hiking trails that beckoned us. A grassy lawn sprawled behind the lodge leading to a pond that doubled as a picnic spot in summer and an ice skating rink in winter.
The weather was splendid: clear blue skies with a hint of fall crispness.
Perfect.
Except for the day of the wedding.
That day, the forecast was for rain and cold temperatures.
Our daughter, Mary, texted us the week before we left for New York, warning us of the foreboding forecast. She had meticulously planned her dream for this outdoor wedding. The day before the event, the weather forecast was ideal—the day after was pleasant. But the day of the wedding was cold and rainy. Indeed, the weather forecast was splendid every day, including the week before and after, EXCEPT for the wedding day.
So Lori and I prayed for better weather.
Before we left, my brother told me I would have to be like Moses when he raised his hands at the Red Sea and the waters parted. “I don’t think I have that kind of power,” I rued.
At the rehearsal dinner, I had given up all hope. The rain percentage had increased, and our prayers seemed ineffective. “Such a lovely venue for such lousy weather,” I grumbled.
Then I met Gabby and Sydney.
Gabby and Sydney (Syd) are Mary’s colleagues. They have an effervescence that pops like the cork out of a Champagne bottle. Bubbling with positivity, they sang Mary’s praises for what an outstanding team leader she is (“I’d donate my last kidney for her,” Gabby declared). When I mentioned the stressful drive from New York City to the Catskills, they shrugged, then giggled, as if it had been an adventure at an amusement park.
“Syd is the driver,” Gabby said, leaning in like she was letting me in on a secret. “She drives like Mr. Magoo.”
“I focus only on what is right before me when I drive,” Syd defended herself, explaining her driving methodology.
“We’re like driving along,” Gabby elaborated, “and Syd has both hands gripping the wheel, shoulders hunched, oblivious to the possibility of danger. I’m like, Didn’t you see that squirrel dart in front of us? What about that deer over there and that driver that cut you off? And she just keeps rolling, snickering, ‘Oh well.'”
Gabby and Syd had breezed their way from the City to the Catskills on the wings of joy and excitement.
Then, I brought up the unpleasant weather forecast.
It didn’t faze them. “Some of the best weddings I’ve been to were in the rain,” Syd smiled. I asked her to repeat that, which she did, pausing and furrowing her brow as she carefully worded it. Gabby nodded in agreement.
I was anticipating disappointment; they were anticipating happiness. I was viewing the weather as a hindrance to a magnificent moment; they were viewing the weather as part of the magnificent moment. I was focusing on the negative, wishing for the positive; they were focusing on the positive, wishing only for the moment itself.
I had been praying but not trusting God to bless us on whatever kind of day it might be.
Listening to them, I felt a cloud of gloom lift within me. Yes, it would be a beautiful wedding, no matter the weather.
John Ruskin observed, “There is no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.”
It rained the day of the wedding.
And it was chilly.
But it was good weather, just a different kind of good weather. I was happy, joyous, and free in the raindrops.
And then (why was I surprised?) the rain stopped. Moments before I grasped my daughter’s hand, God did part the waters. Attendees put their umbrellas away.
And Mary and I walked hand in hand to the altar, on sunshine, even if it was only shining in our hearts, in a moment no cloud could darken.