Last weekend I stepped way out of my comfort zone and into a moss-green bridesmaid’s dress for the sake of my sweet friend, Angela. I felt more like the Queen Mum than a princess, and I had some great trepidation about making it down the aisle and up the three steps to the platform without embarrassing myself and everyone related to me.

But, God (and Heather the Wedding-Planner-Extraordinaire) were looking out for me. My escort was a strong young man with a steady stride. He is also a son-of-my-heart from the days when we lived as house parents for our Bible college. Taking his arm put me perfectly at ease. And although I didn’t glide elegantly down the aisle like the younger bridesmaids, I did only trip on my skirt once.
I was worn to a frazzle by the time I got home. All that curling and spraying and painting and puffing was exhausting. But it was so worth it. When Angela came glowing down the aisle and dazzled her handsome groom, I wanted to shout “hallelujah” and dance a little jig. Fortunately, the corset prevented such a display.