This past weekend I went to a friend's wedding reception. It was lovely and, like the Grinch, my small heart grew three sizes that day.
The bride is 51. The groom is 53. It's the first marriage for each, and I think that's because God was saving them for one another.
Of all my friends, she is by far the most successful. She has worked hard on her career and is very, very good at what she does. Unfortunately some age-appropriate men have found her power and salary intimidating.
Yesterday, as I watched the bride and her groom move from table to table at the reception, with him gazing at her as though he had found the Jewel of the Nile, I almost cried. He's not the kind of man she used to dream about -- he's no taller than she is, he's balding, he's quite happy as a middle manager -- but he is the man who has fulfilled all her dreams. Even more than the Cubs sweep of the Sox, her happiness gave me reason to celebrate.
