House on the Rock

Everyone always says you don’t remember your wedding day, and many parts of that are true. It is an emotional blur of beautiful moments, anxious awaiting, standing behind wooden doors in preparation for the aisle walk that changes everything. Much of the day I don’t remember, except for what I’ve relived through pictures. But there is one God-gifted, beautiful moment that I will never, ever forget:

We were at the Bannon’s barn. My soon-to-be husband was in a grassy knoll just over the hill, waiting with sweaty palms for the long-awaited first look. While weeds were plucked and our photographer got settled, I stood in the driveway. I took in a deep breath, recounting the near-perfection of that day. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw my mom beaming behind me. Her tan skin radiated a perfect olive glow against wavy light-blonde hair. Her eyes were bursting like diamonds – a gorgeous green laid upon a backdrop of crystal white. There is no other way to describe her — she was radiant.

My eyes welled with tears and I could not hold back from hugging her. I couldn’t stop looking at her, and I remember thinking, “I never want to forget this view.” And I couldn’t if I tried! For weeks and months to follow, that image of my mom stayed with me. To this day, it is every bit as clear in my mind as the moment it occurred. When I think back to our wedding, of course I remember the love of my husband, the vows and the nachos, the rhyming riddles told by punny pastors. But without question, one of the memories that stands out the most? Seeing my mom. Flawless, faith-filled. Gleaming with joy. Leaning against a barn door with a warmth that lit up the room. Radiant. 

That day was the culmination of her many sleepless nights over my teenage tomfoolery, tearful prayers on bended knee, begging God to bring me out of rebellious stages, praying I would find a husband who loved Jesus more than life. She glowed with the joyful confidence that God had provided perfectly. Mom prayed me through every step of the journey, and as she remembered all He had brought us through, she was radiant.

Then, I picture her seven days into treatment for cancer on her brain. She had stood in the boxing ring of bad news, taking hit after hit from doctor after doctor. But when I looked at my mom, when I saw her in pictures or walked in the front door to embrace her in person, she. was. radiant. There was a glow about her that didn’t make sense. She was being battered by a cancer they couldn’t even detect, and she looked flawless. Faith-filled, gleaming with joy. Leaning against that metaphorical boxing ring with peace, warmth. Radiance. 

I picture her slowly waking up from silent seizures and a stroke — paralyzed on her left side, hooked up to tubes and wires, barely able to speak. But man, she could smile. She often looked heavenward — her faith glow unfading, and again, there was no other way to describe her. Nothing but radiant.

How is this possible? Psalm 34:5 might tell us: “Those who look to the Lord are radiant. Their faces are never covered with shame.” 

And oh how she looked to the Lord. When we were weeping around her hospital bed, face-down-praying for God to hold us, she looked up. And she shone like she sun. When we crumbled or feared or felt tempted to despair, she reminded us to look up. She glowed with a joyful confidence that God would provide perfectly. Just like on my wedding day, she remembered all He had brought us through, and it made her radiant. 

I think it is no coincidence that earthly weddings are a picture of what comes after this life. In the same way Mom watched me prepare to embrace my groom, there is a sense in which we are also preparing to meet the groom — the bridegroom, Jesus, who dresses us in White by the cleansing of His blood. The storms of this life remind us that this life is a tiny, minuscule blip for every single one of us! But there is a Savior who gave His life so that we could be with Him forever. Who has prepared a place for us. Who is anxiously awaiting the eternal feast where death is no more. And it is because of that future that we, like Mom, can be radiant.