"Her Mother and I Do"

On September 20th, Megan and Ryan celebrated their five-year anniversary. This VERY long post is dedicated to them.

"Her Mother and I Do"
A father's reflections on that long walk down the aisle

We stood side by side at the back of the church, I in my rented tux and she in bridal white, waiting for the doors to swing open and the pipe organ to signal our entrance.

As father of the bride, my duties that morning were pretty simple: get dressed, escort my daughter down the aisle, give her away to the new number-one man in her life, answer one question from the pastor and sit down. What made it complicated were all of the thoughts swirling around in my head. Where did the time go? Had I been a good father? What's it going to be like afterwards? (Time to cue the "Fiddler on the Roof" music: "Where is the little girl I carried? Where is the little boy at play?" Wow. That song was spot on.)

They say that on her wedding day, every bride is the most beautiful woman in the world. Maybe so, but whoever coined that phrase hadn't seen my daughter. I figured she had a lock on first place, and ever other bride that day would have to duke it out for second. And how'd I end up with such a beautiful daughter anyway? Well, that one I could answer: I married her mom. Hey, no false modesty here. My friends ask me that same question... and give me that same answer.

I gazed at her with a mixture of admiration, pride and sheer wonder. My mind raced back to the day she was born. Funny, I mused, the first outfit she ever wore was pure white, too. A cotton shirt, courtesy of the Stanford University Medical Center. Then I realized: that day and this one were bookends – identical mirror images. 22 year ago, I was given a priceless treasure; today I would give it away.

_____________________

The first time I held her, I knew I was in way over my head. Not long before that, she didn't even exist, and now, here she was, a living, breathing person. "Didn't even exist"... that thought alone was enough to make my head swim. And here's the thought that drowned me: I'm responsible for her. God made her, and now he's given her to me... to love, protect, provide for and raise.

Imagine standing next to Rembrandt painting one of his masterpieces. Imagine him handing you his palette and brush and saying, "Here. You paint for a while. But don't worry. I'll be here to guide you." That just barely begins to describe the inadequacy I felt. "Don't worry"? He got to be kidding. 22 years later, standing there all spiffed up in my tux, I certainly looked in control. But I still felt inadequate. Maybe that's how fathers are supposed to feel, lest we start giving ourselves too much credit.

As she grew, she opened up a whole new world to me... or rather reopened it. Case in point: along a walking path near our house grew a row of trees that in the fall turned flaming yellow, red and purple. Not long after she learned to walk, when the weather was brisk, and the leaves were turning, we would walk along that path, just the two of us, staring at the colors, tracing the veins in the leaves, watching the sun shimmering on a spider's web, bending over to peer at our reflections in a puddle of water. It's sad but true that by the time we become adults, most of us lose that childlike sense of wonder. I know I did. She gave it back to me.

Our nature walks inspired me to get back into photography. One spring afternoon, the two of us were outside our apartment. She began exploring, smelling flowers, picking up pebbles, watching a snail crawl along. Looking through the viewfinder of my camera, my eye followed her around. Suddenly I realized that I wasn't part of that picture. Oh sure, I was there, but I was watching from the sidelines. The truth of the moment washed over me: it was her life, not mine. To be part of her life was not my right; it was my choice. I snapped a photo that is still one of my favorites.

That wasn't the first or the last lesson I learned from her. When she was about four, the two of us were driving back home from the duck pond, a favorite hangout of ours. We passed my office, which I pointed out to her. She asked, "What do you do at work, Daddy?" The question was simple enough, but I struggled to form an answer. How do you describe marketing to a four-year-old? I did my best to explain, using the familiar McDonalds ads on TV as an example. Like McDonalds, I try to encourage people to buy my company's products. "Do you understand?" I asked with some anticipation. "Yes," she said, matter-of-factly, "You get people to buy things they don't want." Well, not exactly. Well... sorta. As I reflected on the excesses of my profession, I realized she was closer to the truth than I wanted to admit. Note to self: don't just watch what you do, watch how you do it and why. Because she's watching, too.

My mind fast-forwarded to middle school. As we watched her growing from a little girl into a young lady, my wife commented, "He's out there." "Who?" I asked. "Well," she replied, "Assuming that marriage is in her future, her husband's out there right now." Of course, she was right. We wondered what he looked like, what his interests were, when and how they would meet. We began to pray for our unknown son-in-law. That God would guide his life, grow his faith, protect him from bad influences and surround him with good ones.

Eventually we met this mystery man. It was the summer between her junior and senior year at UC Davis, and she was living at home, working as a summer intern at our church. One Sunday afternoon, we had a bunch of her college friends, including him, over for a barbecue. A few hours later, he and I found ourselves on the patio, just the two of us. The conversation turned to a former boyfriend who hadn't passed the "Dad test." "Where'd he miss the mark?" he asked. A straight shooter. That's good.

We both knew he was lobbing me a softball. Knowing that a father would be a fool to pass up an opportunity like this, I determined to swing for the fence. "He didn't respect her," I said bluntly. "He didn't treasure her. If you ever have a daughter someday, you'll know what I mean." Thanks, I needed to say that. And I think he wanted to hear me say it, too. I liked this guy.

That summer, we watched as their friendship led to dating, which led to a deepening love and commitment. One evening, my wife and I realized: he's the one. After all these years of praying, God had given us the answer. We figured it would just be a matter of time before he asked us for her hand.

A few weeks later, the opportunity came: he asked my wife and me to lunch. Just the three of us. Hmm. His treat. Double hmmm. Well, alright. We knew what was coming. That night, my wife told me what I already knew, "Tomorrow, our lives are changing forever." Funny... even when you know something's coming, it still pulls you up short when it finally comes.

The next day at lunch, we made small talk over burgers, and then he began to speak. About how they had met, how their friendship had grown, and how it had grown beyond friendship. Well, well, I thought, he sounds even more nervous than I am. OK, then, I'll just let him talk. I figured if this wasn't the last time I would be in the driver's seat regarding my daughter, it was pretty close to it. As we sensed the punch line coming, my wife and I smiled. When he finally asked "the question," we grinned.

He noted our smiling silence. "May I take that as a 'yes'?" he asked. I nodded. "Yes," I assured him. "Definitely, yes." My wife explained, "For the past 10 years we've been praying for you. But until now, we didn't know that it was... you." Knowing that you're an answer to someone's prayers could give a guy a swelled head. But he took it in stride. Good man, I thought. Yep, I really liked this guy.

_____________________

The pulse of the pipe organ yanked me back to the present. That's our cue. Big breath, Dave. The church doors swung wide, and we entered the sanctuary.

A few steps into our walk, she whispered to me, "Dad... slow down." Of course. This was her moment, and she wanted to – she deserved to – enjoy it to the fullest. My eyes flashed around to friends and family, some of whom we hadn't seen in years, who'd come to be part of this special day. Each of them had poured a little bit of themselves into these two young lives, and gratitude washed over me. Trying to hold a smile, my mouth began to quiver. Relax, Dave, don't lose it now.

As we approached the front of the church, I turned my gaze forward. There he stood, looking every bit the dashing groom. Happy, nervous, hopeful, full of anticipation, and struggling to catch his breath at the sight of the most beautiful girl in the whole world. Do you realize how lucky you are? I asked him silently. Do you?

We reached our destination. Time for the big exchange. I paused, lifted back her veil, kissed her on the cheek and whispered, "I love you." She whispered back, "I love you too, Daddy."

I'd been told, half-jokingly, that giving your daughter away in marriage was like taking a Stradivarius violin to the zoo and handing it to a gorilla. I smiled at the analogy, then smiled again, because at that moment, it just didn't apply. Not because there wasn't some truth to it, but because there was a bigger truth, a better truth, that applied even more. That truth is this: God gives a father a daughter only for a season. And there will come a time when you must decrease while another man increases. And it will be hard to let go, and it will be bittersweet at times. But because that's how God has ordained it, and because we know that's the way it has to be, there's something about it that's undeniably right and good. A father can take comfort in that. I know I did that day.

There they stood, side by side, just like she and I had only minutes before. And they would be side by side from now on. I stepped back and waited for the pastor to signal my final assignment.
"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" he asked.

I realized that this chapter in my fathering was over. Despite countless missteps, despite my doubts and inadequacies, I'd finished the journey. I'd taken the life that God had given to me, and had done my flawed best to fulfill my promise to Him and to her. And now, here she stood, radiant, a young woman full of life and faith and hope.

It felt like I was tying a bow on the gift that God had given me 22 years before, and now I was giving it back to him. For a father of a daughter, I figured it just doesn't get any better than this.

I smiled and answered, "Her mother and I do."