weddings

Time in a Bottle

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos
Greg Asimakoupoulos and his daughter Kristin

“If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I’d like to do is to save every day ‘til eternity passes away just to spend them with you…”

Timeless words, right? Ten years before I got married, I listened to that popular Jim Croce song on the radio while studying in my college dorm room. In 1972 the lyrics to Time in a Bottle were poignant, but at the time I had no idea how prophetic they would be in years to come.

Milestone moments in my life would accentuate the speed at which life goes by. Graduating from college, being called to my first congregation, getting married, having children, buying my first home, publishing my first book, burying my parents, becoming a grandparent. All these were sobering reminders of the speed at which life goes by. How I wanted to capture these never-to-be-repeated moments in a glass time capsule.

Speaking of time in a bottle. This weekend my firstborn daughter is getting married for the first time. The venue where the ceremony will take place is a glass and time museum in suburban Chicago. How ironic. The setting where a thousand timepieces are surrounded by dozens of antique stained-glass windows reminds me of that Jim Croce song. I can’t think of a more appropriate place to try and bottle a moment in time where my daughter and her husband will promise a lifetime of love.  

But the truth is, we can’t save time in a bottle. It slips through our fingers like melting snow. Or think of another “glass and time” visual. I’m thinking of an old-fashioned hourglass that pictures the passing of time in a relentless sort of way. Remember Days of Our Lives?  In the words from that vintage soap opera we are reminded of a never-to-be-forgotten truth: “Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.” We watch the top half of the hourglass become more and more empty and there isn’t anything we can do to slow the process, let alone stop it. Days pass. Moments flee. Time flies.

As I anticipate Kristin’s special day this weekend, I am mindful of what a friend once told me when I first became a parent. “Don’t blink!” he said. “You’ll be sorry if you do!” But I forgot. I blinked!

The first day Kristin went to preschool was a memorable one. The photo my wife took of me with our daughter captured the emotion of a day I’ll never forget. But I blinked. Sending my little girl off to camp for the first time was bittersweet. We missed her more than she missed us. I also blinked. The day she got her driver’s license was monumental. We celebrated as a family. But again, I blinked. Her first high school dance found me snapping photos of my beautiful daughter. But as I snapped, I blinked once more.

Before I knew it Wendy and I were driving to a college three hours from where we lived to deposit Kristin in her freshman dorm. “Where had the time years gone?” I asked myself as I blinked away tears driving the three hours home.

And now my baby is becoming a bride. It’s all so surreal. The past forty-two years of her life have been captured in family photo albums and home videos and countless memories that line the walls in the hallways of my mind. But those images are all ablur. Rewinding the past always seems to take place in fast-forward speed.

In Psalm 90 the Hebrew prophet Moses reflects on the fleeting nature of time. It is in that timeless poem where he asks the Lord on our behalf, “Teach us to number our days that we might gain a heart of wisdom.” In other words, we need Divine help to savor the moments of each new day in order not to waste them or take them for granted. Numbering our days is about as close as we can come to bottling time. And as Moses indicates, we need to be taught how to do that.

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A Charge to the Bride and Groom

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos
Greg recently officiated the wedding for Scotty Moore and Lauren Asimakoupoulos

This thing called love’s not hearts and doves.
It’s struggle, sweat and grime.
It’s hanging tough when life gets rough.
And so I wrote this rhyme.

I’ll say it slow. I hope you know.
This is no average day.
This is the time for love to shine
and so my friends I pray
that you will find the means to mine
the gold that’s buried deep.
You’ve got to dig. You can’t renege.
That’s how your vows you’ll keep.

For we’re inclined to clutch what’s mine
and seek what’s best for me.
But love that lives won’t take, but gives
like Christ on Calvary.

For in this life a man and wife
can see that joy and pain
each play a part to win the heart.
And so make this your aim…

Be quick to say, “I sought my way.
I’m sorry. Please forgive.”
With each new dawn, let tiffs be gone.
Show grace in how you live.

And if it seems you’ve lost your dreams,
ask God to give you more.
To aim for goals will fuel your souls
to reach for what’s in store.

And when there’s pain, don’t try to blame
each other for the cause.
Just recognize that life breeds sighs,
discouragement and blahs.

But in those times when lines don’t rhyme
and you’re reduced to tears,
confess your cares to God in prayer.
Acknowledge that He’s near.

So here you stand. Please understand.
These words aren’t just for you.
They’re for us all so we’ll recall
what makes true love stay true.

Father of the Bride

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos
Greg Asimakoupoulos and his soon-to-be-married daughter Lauren Star

Seventeen years ago I had the privilege of officiating the wedding of Coach Mike Holmgren’s youngest daughter. It was the natural culmination of a fifteen-year friendship with the Holmgren family.

Mike and his wife Kathy became personal friends when I was a pastor in Northern California. Shortly after he left the Forty-Niners organization to become head coach of the Green Bay Packers, our family moved to Illinois. My allegiance to the leader of The Pack in the heart of Bears Country found me cheering for the Packers. I was definitely in the minority on Sunday afternoons. As a result, I wore my Cheesehead discreetly.

After a handful of years and two Super Bowl appearances, Mike moved to Seattle to become head coach of the Seahawks. And in 2005 when I accepted a call to a church in suburban Seattle, I became the head coach’s lead pastor. And as you might expect, I also became a devoted 12. Amazingly, within a few months of our move to Washington State,  I was cheering for Mike and the Hawks in Super Bowl XL.

When Mike’s daughter approached me about coaching her and her fiancé through their premarital counseling, I was delighted. We huddled at our local Starbucks to review the plays I’ve discovered lead to a committed relationship. Over lattes, we planned their ceremony.

As the big day drew near, I pictured the Xs and Os that inevitably were going through Coach Mike’s head. I wanted to share something with my friend that would be meaningful. Because I had never been the father of the bride at that point, I could only imagine the emotions that were crowding his heart. Putting pen to paper, I came up with the following:

When you stand beside your daughter
and you hear the Wedding March,
I am guessing you’ll feel something
like a sliver in your heart.

Though you’re thrilled beyond description
that your baby’s now a bride,
you will have a strange sensation
like an itch deep down inside.

It’s a bittersweetish splinter
that you cannot tweezer out
cause it’s wedged and twisted sideways.
It’s what good grief’s all about.

It’s a shard that’s caused by memories
of those precious years you had
planting seeds of faith and wisdom
as her mentor, as her dad.

It’s a sliver that you’ll live with.
You’ll thank God that it is there
for it’s just one more reminder
what you’ve shared is really rare.

Within four years of handing the coach my little poem, it was my turn to walk my middle daughter down the aisle. I discovered that what I had imagined was going through the coach’s mind was spot-on. That was back in 2011, but I still remember the lump in my throat and the tear in my eye.

And this weekend I will once again have an opportunity to put into practice the advice I’ve given countless other fathers-of-the-bride. This time it’s my baby girl who will be pledging a lifetime of love to the man of her dreams. In anticipation of the center aisle stroll Lauren and I will be taking, I’ve reread the words I composed for Mike Holmgren seventeen years ago. And even though I’m the one who wrote them, they speak to me of the sacredness of what’s ahead.

Poetry is like that. There is something about rhyming words and phrases that capture what prose often can’t. The emotions that dance in the heart of a bride (and her father) on her wedding day are more easily described in word pictures. In the forty-five years I’ve been a pastor, I have used poetry to create such portraits of life’s sacred moments. The birth of a baby. The death of a parent. The completion of a degree. A couple’s engagement. Unexpected unemployment. A job promotion. A doctor’s dreaded diagnosis. Or even a coach’s Super Bowl victory (or defeat).

But for this weekend, I’m taking my own medicine and practicing what I’ve preached.

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In addition to each week’s post on this website, Greg Asimakoupoulos offers daily video devotionals on his YouTube channel. Here is a sample video. If you are interested in receiving these devotionals Monday through Friday, you can subscribe on Greg’s channel.