A few years ago I was officiating a wedding about an hour north of Boston. Very nice, very formal. I planned to wear a nice suit as co-officiant alongside a local rabbi.
About an hour before the wedding I go to my suitcase to retrieve my suit, change, and make my way from the hotel room over to the venue itself. It is then that I discover I have packed the suit coat, a dress shirt and tie - but no suit pants. Only the blue jeans that I have on.
Immediately my heart began racing - this was a wedding! A Really. Nice. Wedding. And I was not just the friend of a friend kind of guest who could stand at the back and try and hide - I am front and center.
I frantically begin walking up and down the hotel hallways knowing most of the guests were here for the wedding. I am sizing up every guy I see to see if it looks like we wear about the same size suit. Truth be told, I was desperate enough to reach out to a complete stranger, ask for his suit and beg him to wear something else at the service since I’m the one co-officiating. We can switch back right after the service!
There’s no one in my suit-size ballpark.
It’s now 35 minutes until the service, and I decide that I so want to avoid wearing blue jeans. As the officiant that I am going to spend whatever money it takes to get a new suit.
My wife looks online and sees that our location has us a bit removed from commercial retail, but there is a Kohl’s eight miles away.
I sprint to the car and begin driving at, I confess, a dangerously fast speed around winding New England roads and then onto the highway. While doing this, I am on the phone with a Kohl’s employee:
“Can you pick out a formal looking suit in such a such a size and can you place that in the changing room as I need to change into it when I arrive. I need a belt too.”
I can tell she doesn’t entirely believe me.
“I’ll be there in 8 minutes. Promise.”
Eventually, she, too, promises that she will have the suit ready.
I park. I sprint into the store.
I run to the dressing rooms, and they have a suit ready (for some reason they chose one of those mafia pinstripe suits, but no matter - I had absolutely no time to be picky). I have it on in no time with my other clothes now crumbled under my arm as I race to the checkout where it turns out, of course, there is a line…
The people in front of me can see the sweat on my forehead and panicked demeanor (and, of course, the mafia suit). Kindly, they offer to have me go in front.
I explain that they have just done a huge favor and that I am trying to make this wedding that begins at the top of the hour. Then they learn I am actually co-officiating and one woman mutters the words everyone else in line is saying with their stunned stares: “oh my.”
Once at the register I discover I need to deal with the white plastic sensors that remain on the suit. One is on the back tail of the suit coat, and so I hop up on the counter and pull the tail toward the cashier so she can take it out.
I then jump down and notice the other sensor is at the bottom of my left pant leg so I offer a full hamstring stretch onto the register area. And she takes the sensor off.
I race back, and I arrive 3 minutes and about 30 seconds before the wedding is to begin. New suit, notes in hand, sweat pouring down my brow.
And nobody notices.
This particular rabbi was one of these guys who was a few years into his retirement, and honestly I think he had seen it all and done it all. So, instead of worrying about what may or may not happen with me…he had corralled the wedding party together and drawn them into a time of prayer over the couple, the service, their marriage.
To this day the couple has no idea about that backstory (oh, and the wedding itself went great).
Do you know what part of the story still bothers me today?
It’s the fact that after the wedding I packed up my new mafia suit, took it back home to Richmond, VA, and then promptly drove to my local Kohl’s to return the suit. At the time, I wanted to get my $109.99 back - and I really had only worn the suit a very short time (so I told myself to assuage the guilt).
But you know what? I really wish I had kept the suit!
Not that I have many opportunities to wear mafia-themed suits. But because the mafia-suit-story is a great story! A fun story. A memorable story. And how I wish I could pull out that suit from time to time to bring the story home all-the-more when I share it.
As a pastor, I do a lot of memorial services. And you know what families appreciate the most when it is time to bring the service together? They appreciate when there are a handful of truly good, funny, or otherwise true stories that can be shared about their loved ones.
Oppositely, there is nothing more heartbreaking than when there are very few - if any - stories that remain about a person. Unfortunately, it does happen on occasion. Of course, I know it’s not true. Every life is filled with countless stories! But too often we can let our lives slip by without taking note to observe them.
To tell them.
Even to memorialize them so that we might not forget.
Next time you have as story - tell it. Write it. Paint it. Sculpt it. Dance it. Act it. Just share it over dinner, but one way or another, put it out there. And also, keep an item or two that brings the story home all-the-more. I promise, you will treasure that item. And so will those around you - as well as those who will surround you in future days.