Never thought of this before. For a bride walking down the aisle at her wedding, accompanied not by her father, because he has died. What can make that walk of incredible value?
Am certain Fashion Police will look at the dress, the veil, the necklace, the engagement ring, the bouquet…you would guess…and probably be right.
But, for this bride. It’s a “WOW” moment, one whose value is so powerful measurement cannot happen. She was heart-broken her father couldn’t be with her. I don’t know the bride, but what she did tells me on a 1-10, her father’s no less than a 19.
The value is in her shoes! Yep. She had a picture of her father as part of her shoe. Oh my. So, walking down the aisle, her father was with her.
This is more than poignancy and a smile. Much more.
For it triggers for me, especially in remembering from the heart those in our life who impacted us more than pelting pop-corn. How can we remember them?
A few notes of personal nature. I have 2 crosses in my pocket. One remembers Reverend J. Vincent Crane who was the Camp Director when I was in the 8th grade. He took me aside, “Mark, I think you would make a fine minister. Here, put this in your pocket as a reminder.” I did. And I do. [Like a wedding vow.] The other is a small pocket cross made of horseshoe nails. Made by Robert Pruett, a member of the First Christian Church in San Marcos. It “messages” to me the value of church members, especially those whose fidelity to Christ and love for the church trumps [not an accidentally chosen verb] any difficulties…the daunting challenges facing church today.
I cannot see a towering Douglas Fir tree and not think of my father, Hank Miller. Because when I made my first pitch as a freshman for Jefferson High school, Portland, Oregon—April of 1955, Alberta Park, against Franklin High School, my father, immediately behind the first base line cyclone fence, stood to watch his son. In my heart he was taller than the tree. Dad was always with me…never absent. And he is today. Trees bring that to me.
I always remember my mother, Esther Schnell Miller, when something goes wrong. My mother was incapable—and she never switched to capable—to complain when life didn’t go well. Uncanny. Incredibly so. She never spelled wine with an “h.” Even when she crossed the street in a rainy, foggy morning on February 14, and was hit by a car, careening off the hood and windshield, lying on the street, still conscious, blood painting the street because of a compound fracture. A passer-by came up, “Ma’am? You all right?” Esther Schnell Miller responded, “Goodness. What a way to celebrate Valentine’s Day.” Go, woman!
So, wedding shoes. A picture of her father on each shoe. A way to never let go of blessings. A way to always hold dear those who cared for you and made and continue to make a difference in your life and the manner of your living.
Here’s the pict:
Now. Your turn. People in your life who give you strength and help you smile—a smile that reaches your eyes. And make it clear…you’ll be all right. All right, indeed.