May 9 – “Booger Mining”

I did a wedding this past weekend at the San Luis Hotel.  I actually have another one this weekend, too.   The season for wedded bliss has begun.    I knew this one was going to be fun when we got together for rehearsal on Friday.  They had not one, but five children listed in the wedding party.  The ring bearer was the tallest of the boys.  No idea how old he was, but he was very businesslike in his approach to his task.  The flower girl couldn't have been more than three years old.  Cute as a button but very shy.    The junior bridesmaid looked to be about eight years old.  Her job was to help the two junior groomsmen to get down the aisle and to their proper places, then get them back out again after the ceremony.  The boys were obviously younger than she was, maybe six and five years old at the most.  The boys were fairly compliant with the adults giving the instructions.  Not so much with their female counterpart.  They finally did OK with getting on either side of her, although they clearly didn't like being split up.  And they couldn't quite get the hang of offering an elbow for her to take.  She did her best, though, to help them on that one.  With a frustrated sigh she grabbed each boy's hand and almost dragged them down the aisle.  The end would justify the means must have been her motto.  She wasn't quite as "instructive" during the wedding itself, and the fact that she was dressed up and quite feminine looking seemed to tone her down a bit.    My favorite part of the ceremony involved the flower girl, though.  It took a lot of coaxing from her Mom and Dad to even get her down the aisle.  She ended up agreeing to hold hands with the ring bearer, who was up for anything.  And once she made it to the front she recognized the maid of honor and joined her up on a step so everyone could see her clearly.  So far so good.  The photographers took a picture or two, as they had of each attendant.  They had two photographers clicking pictures throughout the whole ceremony.  Didn't bother me, but they seemed to be working overtime.  Just as the picture takers turned away to await the bride's entrance, the flower girl realized something.  She had an errant booger that needed to be extracted.  And the excavation began.   Now, getting down to the source of a particularly irritating booger can sometimes take awhile, as any guy can tell you, no matter what his age.  They get hung up on some obstacle or another down in there, often making it necessary to pull out and begin again, perhaps from a different angle of approach or with a different finger.  Sometimes it even takes switching hands entirely.  Everyone knows that a finger of your less dominant hand is probably just a tiny fraction smaller than that of your strong one, thus making it a little bit more capable of maneuvering through the cavernous wastelands that hold captive the treasured booger you seek – and simply must have.  That's another thing about this time-honored practice.  Once you begin it is next to impossible to stop.  You have identified the goal.  You know the process.  It's just a matter of time before you achieve victory.  It does no good to stop someone once the digging has begun.   A forced retreat only means that the digging must begin anew, usually from the beginning rather than from where it left off.  And the rewards for success are limitless.  Imagine the possibilities.  Remember your own personal favorite?  Did it require a certain degree of talent, like positioning it on one finger, lining up the shot, and flicking it with another finger onto an unsuspecting passerby?  Or perhaps you preferred the more secretive approach, quietly finding a little-used portion of your wardrobe and depositing the bounty there – under your arm, or maybe behind the knee of your blue jeans.  Of course there's always the tried and true sustenance method.  Boogers always did serve the same tension-relieving purpose as chewing gum.  Granted the flavor wasn't always there, but they lasted a long time if carefully placed between the teeth and gums.  And that one was always guaranteed to garner attention from female onlookers.  Ah, but I digress into the forgotten joys of childhood.   The flower girl.  Before the photographers could focus on their next shot she began her own personal mining project.  The entire front row reacted almost as one, some with gasps, others with muffled giggles.  The girl's Mom saw immediately and leapt to her feet, about half-way back.  She started waving frantically to get the girl's attention.  The maid of honor finally saw her, but obviously had no idea what she wanted.  So the Mom began a hilarious game of charades in an effort to communicate.  That movement caught the eye of the photographers – both of them.  And fortunately (or not) they understood almost immediately what she was signing.  Both of them turned toward the front of the room, forgetting for a moment the approach of the bride.  Flashes.  Clicks.  Movements into different positions.  They must have taken a hundred pictures in less than five seconds, all of the little girl who was minding her own business, picking her own nose, staying quiet as she had been instructed.    Sadly, I don't think she was ever completely successful in her search for the elusive prize that day.  It's a difficult business, mining.  By the end of the ceremony she had drifted back to sit with her Mom and Dad.  She never made it for the end of the ceremony photo session.  But I think they will have a few of her.   Proverbs 2:1-5 says, "My son, if you accept my words and store up my commands within you, turning your ear to wisdom and applying your heart to understanding, and if you call out for insight and cry aloud for understanding, and if you look for it as for silver and search for it as for hidden treasure, then you will understand the fear of the Lord and find the knowledge of God."   Father, thank you for the simple treasures you have hidden in the easy places for us to discover every day.  Amen.