“Would you care for a butterflied shrimp?” the waiter asked as I stood at the edge of Lake Tahoe, taking in the beautiful surroundings my cousin and her fiancee had picked for their destination wedding. It was there, out in the fresh air nearly 5,000 feet above sea level, that my husband and I enjoyed gourmet finger foods with family and friends as a photographer snapped photos of the wedding party nearby.

I looked around and smiled. A light breeze, coming off the water, moved fall leaves about the lawn. Self-branded musician, “Mr. Tahoe,” serenaded the crowd with his acoustic guitar and a voice that reminded me of balladeer, James Croce, who died at the prime of his career in a 1973 plane crash.

I thought back on my own wedding 28 years ago. We were fresh faced and idealistic. Having just finished college, we were poised to take on the world. A few of the same faces who gifted us with their presence back then mingled among us during this wedding weekend. Yet, our graying manes, receding hairlines, and thicker middles quietly speak to the years that have passed. As do those not present this time around and the stories each one of us tell about our lives.

Like so many American families, we are scattered around the nation. Some of us had not seen each other in over two decades. We have morphed into middle age without each other’s comfort and companionship. In those intervening years we have been touched with remarkable joys as well as sorrows brought on by divorce, mental illness, broken relationships, ill health, death, and economic woes. But we are also a family that values love, forgiveness, family ties, celebration, and various forms of faith.

So together we took in the beauty that is Lake Tahoe and got reacquainted. We drank wine and celebrated beautifully prepared food. We shared photos and stories. We laughed and cried. And we tossed our dress shoes under the beautifully adorned tables inside the reception hall and danced like there was no tomorrow.

It had been 25 years since I had seen one particular cousin, adopted at age 5 by an aunt and uncle. While I looked into the face of this man, now in his 40s, I would not have recognized him had we not been reintroduced. But this weekend gifted me with the chance to recall memories of an inquisitive young boy, bounding up my family’s walkway to our home for the very first time. When I remarked about my memory of our first meeting, he reminded me that much has happened in those intervening years. A marriage. Divorce. Partial disability from a motorcycle accident.

“But something has not changed.” he insisted. “I still believe in Jesus Christ. I accepted Him as my Lord and Savior at a church camp. But you started it all one day in my bedroom when you were in high school and I was in middle school. You told me about your relationship with God and how I could have one too.”

Thrill and shock filled my being. His revelation was cause for great celebration yet I was stunned, for I could vividly recalled our first meeting but have no memory of that conversation.

It was out on that parquet dance floor that the words of Rick Warren, author of the best-selling book, “The Purpose-Driven Life,” came back to me: It’s not about you! I realized that because it is ALL about God — His love, His plans, His timing, and His method of speaking to my cousin — it is a gift to learn that some conversations may have eternal significance in spite of a lapse in our memories.

So, I’m celebrating.