Something Bonnie
We had a wonderful celebration at Sorn Castle as Polly and Rob tied the knot in a setting that could have come from a storybook. The ceremony was filled with heartfelt moments, but one of the most striking was their handfasting—done without rehearsal, yet with such grace and sincerity that it became a centerpiece of the day. There are so many memories I carry from that weekend: wandering the castle grounds under summer skies, sharing exquisite meals with both families, the charming parade of hats and fascinators (and Amy’s memorable moment of dramatically removing hers), walking Polly down the aisle, participating in the service, and later dancing and singing the night away. It truly was a jolly ole time, one of those rare days where joy fills every corner of your soul.
Two big moments stand out to me as I sit in the quiet now, with the music from those memories looping through my mind. The first was dancing with Polly to Shania Twain’s From This Moment On. We laughed more than we danced—though I wouldn’t trade that laughter for all the polished steps in the world. As we moved, I saw her in every stage of life: the laughing baby, the exuberant toddler, the imaginative child, the growing teen. It was as though time folded over itself and I was holding all those versions of her at once. And now, I rejoice that Rob’s laughter will join hers in all the memories yet to come, weaving his love into the fabric of our family.
The second moment was set to a much different rhythm, but just as powerful. As the DJ launched into a rock-infused version of Loch Lomond, something primal and joyful was released in all of us. The traditional lyrics—ones I’d learned as a simple childhood song—suddenly had a new energy. We pumped our fists, jumped wildly, and sang at the top of our lungs. It was unfiltered joy, but it was also something deeper: the convergence of so many life events that had filled that weekend. That moment captured the celebration, the sorrow, and the sacredness all at once.
Loch Lomond carries a history heavier than its melody first suggests. The song tells the story of two comrades—Jacobite soldiers—captured after the failed uprising that ended at the Battle of Culloden in 1746. One, sentenced to death, will take the “low road” back to Scotland—meaning the path of death—while the other, spared, takes the “high road” of the living. Their conversation speaks of loyalty, sacrifice, and the longing for home, even in the face of death.
Before the famous chorus lies a quieter sorrow: the condemned man’s memory of his “bonnie lass” left behind. This aching reflection turns the song into a tribute—not just to romantic love, but to all those parted by the cruelty of conflict. The loch, calm and eternal, becomes a sacred witness to both love and tragedy. It reminds us of the fragile beauty of life and love, and calls us to live fully in each moment, because tomorrow is never promised.
That evocative imagery stirred memories from my own past—late nights during my Army days, especially during Desert Storm. Under vast starry skies, soldiers would open their hearts, sharing stories of those they loved most. Amy and the girls often filled my tales, just as other soldiers spoke of sweethearts, spouses, children, and dreams. In the face of death, it’s love—not fear—that lingers, and those confessions made under desert moons remain some of the most intimate and sacred I’ve known.
Even as we celebrated Polly and Rob’s wedding, life—as it so often does—wove in its own unexpected chapters. Some of those were high road moments, like connecting with Rob’s brother James, who couldn’t be with us but shared in the joy via Facetime with his wife and their brand-new baby. A beautiful new life meeting the celebration of a new life together—such symmetry is rare and precious.
But there were also moments along the low road. I received news that my former ministry associate, Maggie Foreman, had passed away after a difficult journey with Alzheimer’s. Then a call came from Leona Logan, who shared that her beloved husband—and my dear friend—John had died peacefully beside her in his sleep. Listening to her grief reminded me again of that image from Loch Lomond: a sacred loch bearing silent witness to devotion and tragedy. In these moments, we can do little but stand beside those we love, honoring their losses and carrying their stories.
The weaving of celebration and sorrow reminded me of an eternal truth: one day, we must all take the low road. But God grants us blessings even in the midst of tragedy. We must cherish the bonnie banks and bonnie braes of our lives—the laughter, the shared meals, the dancing—because, for some, those moments never return. As the old Scottish saying goes, “The broken heart kens nae second spring.”
So I pray now for Polly and Rob—that they will spend many joyful days living life to the fullest, surrounded by the bonnie blessings of God. I am profoundly grateful to walk this journey on the high road with my true love, Amy, sharing in God’s abundance together. And I pray that as you travel your own high road, you do so without regrets, with Jesus as your companion and confidant. And when the time comes to take the low road, may you never walk it alone, but be held in the arms of Christ, led onward to life everlasting.
Until next time... Grace and peace.