In the corner of our bedroom sits a large black umbrella. Though now over twenty years old, it has never been used…and most assuredly will never be. In fact, it’s only been held once: on a clear and sunny Texas summer afternoon. Sadly, this umbrella will never serve the purpose for which it was manufactured.
It will, however, serve the purpose for which it was intended. Namely, reminding us what marriage should be.
You see, on that July afternoon – Saturday, July 31, 1993, to be exact – my dad walked me down the aisle of Scofield Memorial Church in Dallas. There was no umbrella. He was asked, Who gives this woman to be married to this man? And still, no umbrella . In a clear and unwavering voice, he responded with probably the most difficult five words he’d ever spoken, Her mother and I do. His hands, void of an umbrella, let go of mine so that Matt’s could take their rightful place.
And suddenly, there he was, onstage, with an umbrella.
Her mother and I do, he began. Five simple words, but with a depth of meaning – and here, for the first time, his voice faltered. Cracked. Wavered, just a bit. A slight pause while he regained his composure. – that I’d like to explain a bit. And if you’ll allow me the wisdom of over 30 years of marriage, I’ll share some advice with you. To do that, I thought of my trusty umbrella.
As he spoke, it became clear that for the first 2 1/2 decades of my life, my dad had been my umbrella-bearer: my shelter, my protector, my safe haven from the storms of life. He held that umbrella for me during times of blazing sun as well as pouring rain. He ensured that as long as I remained close to him, I was protected. I was safe.
One final thing about umbrellas is that they only come with one handle. As of today, my hand lets go of it so that yours, Matt, can take hold. I think an umbrella would be an awkward thing for you to take on your honeymoon, so I’ll just hold on to it for a bit longer, but it will be waiting for you when you return…
And in that instant, our world changed completely. My dad was, of course, right. About the umbrella, about the handle, about it being awkward to take on our honeymoon…but especially about it being here when we returned. When we arrived home, there it was. In our apartment, nestled against the wall in the living room. Waiting.
Since that day, you, Matt, have been my umbrella-bearer. You have been the one to offer protection, safety, and tender care during the storms of life. You have been the one I’ve run to when the clouds form and rain begins to fall. You have been the one to provide relief when life blazes with white-hot intensity, and my mind and my nerves are frazzled and weary.
Sometimes, the winds blow. Your strength to hold that umbrella steady strengthens me.
Sometimes, the lightning flashes and the thunder booms. Your fearlessness to hold that umbrella firmly gives me courage.
Sometimes, the snow and ice pelt and sting. Your faithfulness to hold that umbrella willingly inspires me.
Sometimes, the gentle rains fall. Your thoughtfulness to hold that umbrella gladly encourages me.
Sometimes, the sunshine blazes. Your forethought to hold that umbrella patiently comforts me.
May God bless you as you use this umbrella for the care and protection of this lovely woman. His final words to you. He shook your hand, you said, Thank you, and he sat down. It was over. His responsibility – as father of the bride, but also as my umbrella-bearer – was complete. Your responsibility – as my husband, my new umbrella-bearer – had just begun.
And if I’m honest, there have been times when perhaps you’ve raised that umbrella too hastily. There have been moments when – as cautioned – you’ve been tempted to rush to my aid when perhaps you shouldn’t. To be fair, there have been times when I’ve resisted your encouragement to come under the umbrella, defiantly asserting my own opinions and ideas rather than listening to reason and responding to your loving concern. But as time has passed, we’ve learned, through experience, how to get the best use out of the umbrella, when it’s needed and when it’s not, and how to raise and lower it carefully so as not to inflict harm or hurt.
So thank you, Matt, for being my umbrella-bearer these past two decades. It’s not always easy to share space under its canopy, but there’s no one I’d rather have holding the handle than you.