Stamped.

Imprints.

I had the privilege of attending a wedding reception last week. I was tired, burned out from work. Wasn’t sure I would even really enjoy the experience, but I went, and I’m glad I did. The bride was beautiful, in her mother’s vintage dress, her wavy auburn hair pinned up, veil cascading around her. The groom was handsome, tall, black tux, smiling. I watched from across the room as an older man with a box in his hand, a wrapped gift with a shiny silver bow, walked up to someone and talked to them.

A small thing.

But for some reason, watching this scene, I had a thought about gatherings of people. This man had an Andy-Griffith smile, clapping his friends on the back, making connections with people he maybe hadn’t seen for a while.

Everyone in the room was sharing the experience, getting imprinted with this set of feelings, expressions, connections. Stamped. On their souls. Stamped with the imprint of the smiling man, the lovely bride, the sound of the music, smell of the desserts, the vision of the glowing sunset on temple hill that faded away into the night as they all, one by one, got in their cars and drove away.

Magic.

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