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Gordon C Lang

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Drippings of the Honeycomb
by Gordon C Lang   

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Publisher:  Westbow Press Type: 


Copyright:  Sept 14, 2011 ISBN-13:  9781449721121

A collection of personal experiences, meditational moments, and scriptural teachings.

Drippings of the Honeycomb


Father of the Bride

As I stand here today, I see a picture of hope and beauty, of love in full bloom, and unashamed joy. I am awe-struck as I consider this moment, as well as its future ramifications. As I attempt to collect my thoughts, my mind is bombarded with a collage of scenes from our joyous past, but, of the many pictures that flash through my mind, three of them in particular catch my attention.
In the first scene, I stand in a sterile hospital waiting room. The clock on the wall indicates that it is early morning, and the weariness in my bones tells me that I haven’t slept in a while. I can still hear the screaming of the sirens, and see the flashing lights as I turned in the front seat of the ambulance to offer an encouraging word to your mother. Unable to perform the necessary Caesarian birth in the small local hospital the doctor has referred us to the regional hospital in a larger city. The last time I saw your mother was less than an hour ago as she was quickly escorted on a gurney in the direction of the operating room. Now I wait, with a sense of foreboding, as a nurse backs through the swinging doors that separate the waiting room from the rest of the busy early-morning hospital. In her arms she cuddles a little bundle wrapped in a soft white blanket. “Mr. Lang,” she addresses me, “do you want to see your little girl?” I hold out expectant arms as she carefully places the little package there for me to admire. Soft, dark hair covers her delicate head, her nose is slightly wrinkled, and as she hesitantly opens her long-lashed eyes, I notice they are a bluish gray – not unlike her mother’s. I blink back tears of joy as I consider the potential of this little life, and wonder if I have what it takes to be a “father”. She starts to whimper, now, and the nurse instinctively reaches to retrieve her from my grasp. “I’ll take her back to her mother now,” she advises quietly, then, as an afterthought, “so, what’s her name?”
“Her name is Deborah Kathleen”, I reply without hesitation – the title we had pre-chosen in the event of your being our first daughter. “Good morning, Deborah Kathleen,” I whisper to the retreating form as she disappears through the swinging doors. On the face of the closed doors, now, another scene appears, - another set of doors. These are red-colored, made of heavy wood. As I approach the doors, I am aware of a little hand that clasps gently, but firmly, to mine. A curly-haired little girl, dressed in a light pink jacket accompanies me inside the large red double-doors. Clearly hesitant at the strange surroundings, she asks, “Where are we Daddy?”
“This is ‘school’”, I reply. She is clearly satisfied with the answer, and excited to get on with the day. We approach the registrar’s desk, just inside the double doors, and, after giving the appropriate information, we are directed to the room at the end of the hallway. Any sense of hesitancy is lost, as she greets other children of the small community. I re-introduce myself to the young teacher, and agree that I will return at noon. Turning to leave, I notice the little girl, already engrossed in conversation with other classmates, and with a slight wave of mutual acknowledgement, I take my leave to return to work.
Just before driving out of sight of the building, I turn once more for one last look at the place I have left “my little girl”. But, in the manner of dreams and musings now, the building has changed somewhat drastically. Rather than being in front of the big red doors, she stands on the elevated porch of a slightly larger building, surrounded by three young ladies with whom she has recently become acquainted. A lady, now, in her own right, she has decided to supplement her post secondary education with a few years of Bible School, while waiting to see where the Lord will guide her life. Slightly unwilling, I sense the need to “let go” of her and “let God” now direct her path.
And today is certainly evidence that He has done just that. Today, I give you to the young man I have come to love and respect as a son. In the sight of these witnesses, you have mutually vowed to love and honor each other. I wish you every success, and happiness beyond measure. I pray that, as a couple, you will experience God’s richest blessings. You have been a source of joy and blessing to your mother and me throughout the years, and if you continue as such to the one to whom you have pledged your love, he will be a man who is richly blessed beyond his wildest expectations. Wherever life may take you from this day, my greatest prayer is that the Lord will bless you, and keep you. May He cause His face to shine upon you, and give you peace. And though you may be joined to your husband from this day forward, I assure you that, in my heart, you will always be “my little girl”.

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