On the Occasion of My Sister’s Wedding

Yesterday my sister married the love of her life in Kitwe, Zambia. Cheyenne, the oldest among my three younger sisters, had first met Willem on a mission trip to Zambia two years ago where she served the Lord and others in her vocation as a chef.

Even back then, my sister rightly recognized that this trip would be the fulfillment of a childhood dream, an adventure long in the making. Though, who among us could have anticipated such a turn of events? Well, maybe I had my suspicions, as all big brothers do—slight as they may have been at the time. All the same, while the adventure for Cheyenne may have begun in Africa, it by no means has ended there.

Unfortunately, Elaina and I are not in Kitwe, Zambia. Bound by the constraints of time, many thousands of miles, and the nigh-draconian attendance policies at my school, we were unable to make the journey from Canada to Zambia for Cheyenne and Willem’s wedding. Nonetheless, Elaina and I are joyfully looking forward to seeing and celebrating with them once the equally draconian process of acquiring a visa for Willem is complete and they find themselves back in Canada.

Well—back for Cheyenne, but a new home entirely for her husband, Willem. To my knowledge, Willem has never left Zambia and so life in Canada will be quite the adjustment for him: the joys of highway 401 at rush-hour, the excitement of ‘rolling-up-the-rim’ at Tim Horton’s just to be told—again— to ‘Please Play Again’, and of course, fighting off polar bears in the morning as you de-ice your car. He’s going to love it here!

My mother, however, was in Zambia for my sister’s wedding. It was she who suggested that Elaina and I write up a short speech that she could then share at Cheyenne and Willem’s reception in our stead. My sister has a printed copy of this speech for her own memory, but I feet it necessary to share my thoughts here as well. Perhaps for my own sake above all, I share these words as a remembrance of the fact that we—my siblings and I—are no longer the kids we once were; that seasons come and seasons go, but thanks be to the Lord that the most important things yet remain and forever will. Indeed, in the best of days and the worst of days, I take refuge in the tremendous reality that the best is yet to come for all of us who are in the Lord Jesus Christ, “to all who have loved His appearing” (1 Timothy 4:8).

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Words have profound weight behind them. Words are able to build up, and to break down; to encourage, as well as discourage; with words we begin relationships, mend them, and end them. And yet, for all their power and beauty, sometimes words just seem to fall short—here I am, writing these words many thousands of miles away, and I don’t quite know what to say.

As you well know, Cheyenne,—and doubtless she’s already told you this, Willem—Tata’s favorite passage of Scripture came from Ecclesiastes chapter three. Here are a select few verses from the passage he cherished most: “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die… a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance…” (verses 1, 2, and 4).

Over the years, we have, all of us, done our fair share of weeping and mourning, but that is not how this day is to be remembered: today is to be filled with laughter and dancing, and strive to remember it this way, for the day slips away all too quickly if you allow it. Though, as it is with even the best of days, there is sorrow mixed in with the joy; tears from both laughing and weeping. On days like today, it is only natural—only human—to mourn for those empty chairs around us. But as Christians, our prayer is ever this: Lord, hasten the day when death is undone, and every empty chair is filled once more, never again to go empty.

Just as the warmth of spring cannot be enjoyed without first having endured the slush and bitter cold of winter (you’ll see soon enough what we mean, Willem), in order for any season of life to begin another must come to a close. As I reflect on the seasons of life that you and I have shared together, Cheyenne, a few moments of sweetness come to mind: playing video games together in our teenage years (or rather, you watching me play video games); baking and cooking up a storm in the kitchen (and stealing ingredients from the cousins’ house next door when we ran out of anything); playfully teasing Mama for being unable to differentiate between the words pool and pole (sorry, Mama).

But above all, and I speak for both Elaina and I when I write these words, our great joy in knowing you as a sister has been witnessing your love for the Lord through the many seasons of life that He has brought you in and out of, leading you now to this new season—one of laughter, dancing, love, and joy. 

I think it’s only right, in a way, to mourn these dear seasons of life that have come and gone; for they were sweet indeed, and we should, as the saying goes, not cry because these years are gone, but rather smile that they happened at all. Though you and I are no longer children like we once were, I am thankful that we remain sweet friends. And though I cannot be there with you in person, I feel the need to thank you for your many years of faithful love and friendship towards me, for these have been one of God’s great gifts in my life. And as you embark on this next journey with this new best friend, with Willem, just try your best to remember that your old friends will always be there for you—and above all, ever remember Him, the Lord Jesus Christ, who is your best, dearest, and oldest Friend, no matter what season of life you and Willem may find yourselves in.

Love,

Josh & Elaina

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Photo by Martin Fennema, Unsplash