The role of godparent is rather out of fashion these days. Some carry the title but do little to bring it to life. Many – myself included – grow up without any adults designated to supplement what their parents can offer by way of supporting personal and spiritual development.

I said yes without hesitation when asked to be godmother to Ava, and later, to her brother Bennett. My relationship with them is one of the great joys of my life. And so I was deeply touched when I was contacted by a mom a few weeks ago who wanted a ceremony to honor the relationship between her four year-old son and his godparents.

Like so many without a formal Christian practice, they had not baptized their son at his birth; they felt no need to cleanse him of any sin. But they missed not having had a formal “Welcome to your family; we are your people” ritual. They’d looked on line for godparent ceremonies but none of them seemed quite right. When they found my website, they fell in love with the idea of a customized ceremony.

They were coming to Portland for a big vegan convention, the four-year-old, his parents, and his godparents, who lived on the other side of the country. We met at a park I suggested not far from the convention center, with a fabulous pre-schooler play area. Once the guest of honor had gotten some of his yayas out, we gathered under the historic cupola of the park’s bandstand.

I cast a circle of protection around the fivesome, using dry quinoa to honor their connection to the plant world. I lent my singing bowl to the boy to ring out greetings to all living beings and the ancestors who’d come before us. I said a few words about why we were there. And then I read a beautiful blessing by John O’Donohue, who always seems to have the right words for any occasion.

We then began our animal dance. Our four-year-old named his favorite animal – the elephant – and showed us the sound an elephant makes. We wished for him the memory of the elephant (who never forgets) and went round the circle greeting him with his elephant noise. Each adult then shared an animal whose attributes they wish for the boy, embodying each animal in turn: monkey, owl, bear, horse, and back to elephant. We had a great time taking these animals around the circle again and again.

We followed the animal blessings with a water blessing. Using rosewater, each adult anointed first the boy’s head, his forehead, heart, hands, and feet while sharing a blessing specific to those parts.

The boy and his godparents exchanged symbolic gifts and we closed our time together with one final animal dance before thanking the larger world of spirits and animals for giving us life and blessing us so richly.

Couples who engage me to marry them know that a wedding is more than a party. When you set aside the details of décor and DJs, it comes down to this: what are the two of you committing to? Here are five questions to help you make your wedding ceremony a perfect expression of who you are and what you mean to each other.

1.  What does marriage mean to you?
I’ve been married three times – all to the same woman. Like many same-sex couples, we created a commitment ceremony back before legal weddings were conceivable. We married legally in those few weeks before Oregon's Measure 36 declared us “null and void”. By the time of this spring's historic ruling, we already felt like an old married couple.

For some, the opportunity to marry is primarily a formality. Having long committed to each other, these couples want a simple way to confirm their legal status. For others, planning a thoughtful ceremony represents a do-over to the hurried, cookie cutter wedding conducted during the brief window in 2004. And then there are the newly-paired lovebirds.

What about you? Is your wedding threshold at the beginning of your journey together? Or a celebration of many years of road-tested commitment? Will it be a renewal of vows you’ve made to each other before, or a chance to newly consider the question of what you’re pledging to each other?

2. Who will marry you?
Clergy and judge used to be your only options and they still suit many of us. Others have a best friend do the honors. Wedding Celebrants like me are secular ceremony experts who can help you create a ceremony as unique as the two of you, customizing every word to reflect your love story, your values, your community. Do you want someone to simply officiate the ceremony or to work with you as a creative partner? Do you thrive on the risks and rewards of a DIY approach or do you want the support of a professional with countless weddings-worth of experience?

3. What will you pledge to each other?
Vows are often the last thing a couple gets to after wrangling over guest lists and catering menus. But these promises, likely the most intimate words you’ll speak in public, are truly the heart of the matter. You can each write your own, revealing them at the altar, or write them together (there’s no better values clarification exercise). You can get some great examples off the web or from your Celebrant. Give yourselves plenty of time and see what you can learn about each other through the process!

4. Will you involve your community?
If you’re inviting more than the two-witness minimum, it’s because the presence of your community means something to you. How will you express that? A few special people might recite a reading, offer a piece of music. The wisdom of those whose relationships you respect can be written on ribbons that encircle you, to be consulted later when the going gets tough. Everyone can be involved through a ring warming or a community pledge of support. Get creative and find a ritual of connection that reflects you and your peeps.

5. How will you include those not present?
Weddings are one of those times when those not present can be felt as deeply as those in the room. Whether deceased, estranged or unsupportive, or unable to attend due to illness or other circumstance, there may be missing loved ones who are on your minds. Find a way to honor their absence, even if privately. More public acknowledgement can take the form of an empty chair, a memory candle, a photo displayed discreetly.

Here’s to a heart-felt celebration of what really matters, expressed through a ceremony as unique as you.

Reprinted from PQ Monthly.

Read more stories:

• I Now Pronounce You: My latest (and final?) marriage ceremony with Amber
  
• My Big (Null & Void) Gay Wedding: Our White Salmon and Lucky Lab ceremonies.
  
• Yes, I'll Marry You: A whirlwind tour through my 26 years of activism for LGBT equality.
  
• The Perfect Bookend to a Long Chapter: Kelly and Dolores sharing their role in history with their children.
  
• Old Married Couple Legally Weds: Another couple navigates the question of how to cross the new legal threshold for the marriage they'd already celebrated.
  

By Pat Schweibert
Reprinted with permission from Grief Watch

My friend died last week. 59 years old is too young to die. Not being able to see her almost-13-year-old son grow up is also unfair. But she died anyway. There was no stopping death. 

She had held ovarian cancer at bay for five years with chemotherapy, radiation, meditation and by becoming friends with what some call the enemy. There had been a sigh of relief when the doctors claimed her cancer was in remission after almost two years of treatment. She joined the worried well club assuming it was only a matter of time before she’d be thrown into rounds of chemo again. But she always appeared cheerful, never showing any concern or regret for what lay ahead.

I was in awe of how she danced her way through the unchartered territory of dying, considering foremost how this would affect her son and vowing to live each day with as much joy as she could pack into it.  She knew this was the final lesson she would teach him and she didn’t want him to be afraid of this part of life.

She was the primary parent, though she had never planned to raise a child. But from the moment he was put into her arms minutes after birth she was hooked, and fell in love with him, and never gave her intentions for a childfree lifestyle a second thought. 

Fast forward to the most recent two months. One final round of chemotherapy helped relieve her growing belly and the associated discomfort, but the constant nausea and vomiting continued to diminish her quality of life. TPN (total parental nutrition) helped give her some nourishment but because of an inoperable bowel obstruction that prevented any bowel movements for almost two months, vomiting was her only way of emptying her GI tract. 

She had been in the hospital for three weeks with only a few days during that time when she was able to return home.  She called me from the hospital to report that there was no more that could be done to stop the cancer. Her oncologist suggested hospice to assist her in her final days. She appeared gravely ill as she lay in her hospital bed while we talked about what might come next.

Upon returning home she looked like the energizer bunny making her way around the house getting things in order, showing her partner how to manage their finances that she had always handled. She looked different from the person who lay in the hospital only a few days before. Her spirits were high. Her color was improved. Her vomiting only interrupted her activity once or twice a day. She was a woman with a mission. One could guess there might have been some divine intervention going on here.

There were still a few things she wanted to do before she died. She made plans to celebrate their son’s 13th birthday a few weeks early. She knew that if she were still alive on his actual birthday, she would be too weak to enjoy it so she moved it up, with his permission, so that she could be part of the fun.   

She wanted to officially marry her lover of 22 years and she wanted the two of them to take a road trip to Port Townsend, Washington. She knew it was important for her son to see his two moms officially married now that same gender marriages were legal in Oregon, even though the two of them had shared a holy union many years previously.  A handful of close friends gathered ten days before she died to witness her son escort her to her waiting partner so that the two of them could repeat the same vows they had spoken to each other many years before.

And that road trip was just for the two of them so they could look back and remember and say thank you to each other for the lives they shared. She was very clear about what she was doing and why. With great effort she paced herself so she could be totally present during the few hours a day she was awake.

When she got home from the 1½ day road trip she said, "I have only one more thing I need to do.  I need to die."

She had told me a few weeks before that she wanted to die soon because she wanted to give her son time to grieve before returning to school.  I laughed with her as we tried to imagine him getting all of his grieving done in a little over a month.  All I could think was that this was the most loving thing a mother could want to do—to set aside her fading life so that her son could get on with his.  She was always so pragmatic in the rest of her life, why not now also?

She had decided to stop the TPN even before the hospice nurse suggested it was doing her more harm than good.  When I asked how long she might live without that nourishment the nurse offered a guesstimate of about a week. A deep sigh came from my friend. I asked what the sigh meant. She replied. “A week seems like a long time.” I had assumed she was going to say, “A week seems like a short time.”

What she knew was that she didn’t want to just hang on. That was not her style. She was already tired of being too tired to do anything. She no longer had the stamina to keep up with her family. “No way to live,” she would say. And she didn’t want her son to see her linger. 

Ten days after getting married, seven days after a fabulous 13th birthday party, five days after taking a road trip to say I love you, and four grace-filled days after stopping TPN, she died.

We sang to her and prayed for her and wished her well on her next journey. Her son came and kissed her goodbye and I saw her mouth the words, “I love you.” 

We watched her breathing. And then it stopped. Where she was going, she no longer needed breath. And she gave birth to her soul.

After we bathed her and dressed her in the clothes she had worn on her wedding day just 10 days earlier, we sat without speaking, grateful for her journey that she shared with us that removed any fear of death from us. And we were given the most precious gift. The silence in the room was unlike any quiet moment you could experience in a different time. This silence that filled the space was full of life. Was it a gift from her or were we sitting in the presence of the Holy One? Whatever it was, it was PEACE.

Pregnant with her fourth child, Kate knew she didn't want a traditional, consumer-oriented baby shower. She'd experienced the support of a mama blessing ceremony with prior births. But this time, she knew it was about more than her impending labor. This was about the threshold the whole family was about to cross: her twin "big girls" and the toddler who would no longer be the baby. 

Kate told me she wanted the focus of her ceremony to be on "preparing and supporting me for the labor and birth, as well as preparing the girls/family for the changing roles and family environment. Not so much about the baby herself, but more about creating a special space in the family for her and honoring each family member for the role they'll play in that. Celebrating and affirming our strength: mine, as capable of labor and birth, and the family's, as capable of welcoming the baby and adapting to the changes she'll bring with grace and love."  

To create a ceremony of support for Kate and her girls, I reached out to friends she and I had made through the PDX Death Café (which is how we met - Kate was the very first person to contact me when I created our local Facebook page to launch the Café). 

One offered his spectacular wonderland of a back yard as our venue. One created customizable prayer flags to carry our blessings into the birthing room. One fashioned flowers into crowns for our guests of honor. And to bring the magic of song into our gathering, I asked the Threshold Choir to participate.

As we gathered on a glorious summer afternoon, guests greeted each other and decorated prayer flags. Everyone had been asked to bring a candle as an offering for the birthing room; we placed them in the palatial gazebo that awaited Kate and her daughters. 

We formed a circle of welcome where we affirmed our intentions for the ceremony and connected through the first Threshold song ~ Gather Us together (Spirit of Harmony). We then crowned each of our beautiful honorees with a wreath of flowers. Kate had hoped her daughters would feel appreciated, comfortable, and included. To me, they looked magnificently composed and radiant. Our singers held them in the moment with Light Flows (through the heart of my love to you).

It was now time for the family passage ritual. We formed two lines, facing each other, a human passageway leading into the sanctuary of the gazebo. As Kate and her girls stood at the entrance to the passageway, our singers led a Meditation on Breath (when I breathe in I breathe in Peace, when I breathe out I breathe out Love).

Then, one at a time, our guests of honor slowly walked through the passageway, symbolizing the threshold of their family change, as we whispered words of support, encouragement, and blessing. 

Once Kate and the girls were settled in the gazebo we gathered around them to present our gifts of light (the candles) and love (in the form of ceramic hearts). We shared John O’Donohue’s Blessing for a Mother-to-Be and the song May Only Love Surround You.

"Supported, relaxed, joyfully reverent" is how Kate had hoped to feel during the ceremony. Soon we would emerge from the cocoon of the gazebo to feast on delectable food (the big girls supplied the cupcakes), to enjoy the koi pond and the chickens and each others' company. but first, a closing song: Sim Shalom (grant peace, goodness and blessing).