The Mother of the Bride

Maybe Elijah's spirit isn't just for the dead

Photo: 4CertainEvents

A few Decembers ago, several friends and I traveled down to Arizona for the wedding of our friend Mariah. We had all met while volunteering in a summer theater program in Illinois the previous summer.

That trip was notable for two reasons: one, I got my first speeding ticket; and two, I met Mariah’s mom, Julie.

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Mariah’s wedding was perfect: everything happened on time, the venue was beautifully decorated, and I even boogied on the dance floor for a few songs (there’s video evidence of that somewhere). After a sparkler sendoff, the merry couple went on their way, and my friend group hung around to help the family tear down the decorations.

Transforming the ornate winter wonderland back into a plain church auditorium seemed like it would be daunting task. There were faux fir trees to collapse, gossamer to roll away, lights to unstring, and more. Luckily, we had an organized leader directing the entire process: Julie, the mother of the bride.

Julie had changed out of her dress and back into her jeans, and following her charge, we got to work. The clean-up was just as fun as the reception. Music was playing, uncles were cracking jokes, and little kids were running all around. Julie was in good spirits the entire night, and even though the breakdown process took several hours, she was never rushed, anxious, or demanding. We had a lighthearted evening, and the work didn’t feel like work at all.

Finally, long after dark, the clean-up was finished, and we all drove over to Julie’s house. On top of all the responsibilities she had undertaken that day, she had also offered her home for me and my friends to spend the night. We helped unload the decorations into the garage and the leftover refreshments into the kitchen. It was snowy outside and we made multiple trips in and out of the cold to get all the cars unloaded. We brought our luggage into a spare room, took off our shoes, and then… finally, finally, after hours of partying, cleaning, and unloading, we were finished. It was midnight.

Julie should have been exhausted. It was the wedding day of her oldest daughter. She had decorated the venue, pampered the bride, attended the marriage, hosted the reception, and torn down the venue, all in a single day. All the while, she had spoken to everyone with love and an upbeat countenance, never conveying any type of stress. She had greeted relatives and new acquaintances all evening, directed a group of rag-tag young adults in a cleanup, mothered her tired younger children who needed attention, and still, had maintained a good attitude the entire day, well into the night.

And so, at midnight on one of the most exhausting days of Julie’s life, the mother of the bride entered her home, set her things down, brought us all bedding, and then…

She sat in the living room to chat.

And it wasn't just small talk. We talked.

For hours.

Spread around the warmth of her living room fireplace, my friends and I talked with the mother of the bride about life, love, hardships, parenting, careers, and everything else that comes up in one of those deep conversations you have when you know someone is really listening to you. Julie’s middle daughter sat with us too while Julie stroked her hair and tenderly explained some of her daughter’s life questions and asked for our advice.

That evening, Julie set aside all the stresses of the day—the snowy roads that the newlyweds were driving on, the leftover food spoiling on the counter, the responsibilities at church the next morning—and just chatted with her daughter’s friends, a group of young adults she had met only a few hours before.

It was early in the morning when we all finally went to sleep. Julie wasn’t in a rush to send us to bed.

I decided to sleep on the couch next to the crackling fireplace. From my makeshift bed in the middle of the house, I could hear as Julie got up several times in the middle of the night to attend to her youngest daughter, who was feeling sick.

At some point during all that, someone tip-toed up to the couch and laid an extra blanket over me while I slept.

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The very last verse of the Old Testament describes how Elijah—or at least his influence—will “turn the heart of the fathers to the children.”¹

In my faith tradition, we like to interpret this primarily as the spiritual longing to connect to our ancestors. But what if Elijah’s spirit also inspires us to be good parents and good children?

I’m just thinking about Julie’s refined abilities to mother her own children and the friends of her children. (And probably a lot of other people.) Isn’t that an example of the heart of the “fathers” (read: “and mothers”) being turned to the children, through Elijah’s influence?

At the very least, it’s an example of love borne though the influence of the Savior, Jesus Christ.

And so I think about how Julie is the epitome of a Christlike woman, who “riseth also while it is yet night,” who “is not afraid of the snow for her household,” who “openeth her mouth with wisdom,” and in whose “tongue is the law of kindness.”²

And I have to agree again, once more, that this mother of the bride—along with my own mother and my own sister—warrants the laud offered by the very last Proverb:

“Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all.”³

1. Malachi 4:6

2. Proverbs 31:15, 21, 26

3. Proverbs 31:29