Now, a Wedding

Three years ago, we helped Jonathan move into his new apartment in Atlanta. It was in the middle of a pandemic, and it had been an unusual spring: Jonathan's graduation was a virtual one, and he marched across the living room dressed in his cap and gown when his name was broadcast on the television screen; he signed a lease for an apartment he only toured virtually; and when we helped him move to Atlanta in May, the streets were mostly empty due to everyone working from home.

That day, as we unloaded the Penske truck at his apartment complex, I knew the time to say goodbye was quickly approaching. And I dreaded it. The world seemed so unsettled, and Jonathan would be facing it alone, in a new city, with a new job, in a new apartment. Nothing seemed safe, or certain, or easy.

But Time does not stop. It marches on, and we are forever perched between Yesterday and Tomorrow as we face the Now. There is vulnerability in the Now. Sometimes Now involves tears, stormy weather, and goodbye, while other times Now brings with it laughter, and sunshine, and hello.

I remember very clearly what it felt like to leave Jonathan in Atlanta, and I see now what a blessing these past three years have been. All those things that were scary, turned out to be wonderful: a new apartment! a new city to explore! a new job with benefits! new friends, acquaintances, coworkers! and a charming, smart, delightful fiancée, Caroline. 

As I type these words, Joe is packing up the van with suitcases, garment bags, and dress shoes. I have packed more for one weekend in Atlanta than I did for a two week trip to Italy. We will stop in Athens to pick up Timothy before continuing our journey to Atlanta where we will gather with family and friends. 

Because sometimes Now involves a wedding. And we will celebrate.