Quite out of the blue, whilst sitting in my car in the Albertsons parking lot, I casually mentioned to God that I would like to meet my husband at church.
It’s not as if I had been pining away for marriage, mind you. As a matter of fact, I had quite made peace with the fact I’d never marry. And church? For years I scoffed at the thought of meeting a guy at church. We’re small in number and eclectic in personality. There’s no way.
Little did I know . . .
A few months earlier a fellow started attending our church, simply because it shared the name of his hometown congregation. Of course, I paid him no mind until he stood directly in my line of sight, playing the guitar. Even then, my thoughts did not stray from the strength of his talent.
Even when my mom, ever hopeful, suggested he was kinda cute–I wrinkled my nose and shook my head. “He’s much too serious,” I said.
And when he called a few weeks later, asking if I’d be interested in joining him for dinner, I agreed–fully expecting to chalk it up as yet another first date on my ever expanding list.
Then I sat next to him, and everything changed.
We chatted about a myriad of things: how we come from vastly different backgrounds (he was the jock in high school, I was the nerd; he played in a rock band in his twenties, I toyed with the idea of becoming an ordained minister); how we share a love of books and travel; how we don’t have it all figured out, but we’d certainly like to try.
Now here we are, husband and wife. His presence is as natural as breath. His touch is soothing. His insatiable curiosity, inspires me. He makes me laugh, everyday; he displays his love in a thousand little ways.
And he’s my first (and only) sweetheart for Valentine’s Day.
Forty-three years I celebrated with nary a date. I may have called it quits with a fellow right before, or started dating him right after, but I never managed to have one around for the actual day. It served as annoyance in my younger years; now I see it as perfection for my sentimental heart.
So you see, sometimes you think you’re offering God a brilliant idea; when really, He’s had it planned all along. Sometimes He pens a love story greater than anything you could have hoped or imagined; and sometimes, the one you love, proves worth the wait . . .
Well, hello there–and Happy Friday!
How’d your week fare?
I sniffled my way through. Which means I’ve been sick roughly 5,000 times within the last year. But all misery aside, I also began to ponder Valentine’s Day shenanigans.
You know, the older I get the more thankful I am this unofficial holiday has remained near and dear to my heart. I’ve my mama to thank for that. She always made it special. In doing so, she made it clear that love, in and of itself, is worthy of celebration.
It’s a point driven home this week as we bid farewell to yet another loved one. After a courageous battle with cancer, our cousin left this world for digs much more glorious. As taps played in all its melancholy splendor, between sniffing and frantically wiping away tears, I thought of his reunions . . . how we were saying goodbye (for now), but he was saying hello once more: to his mom and dad; grandpa Vern; grandma Mae.
For now we see indistinctly, as in a mirror, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I will know fully, as I am fully known. Now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love. (1 Corinthians 13:12&13)
The greatest of these; if anything is deserving of celebration, surely it’s that. So if we have them–family, friends, pets, sweethearts–we most assuredly should love on them.
Here’s hoping you get the party started early in the days ahead . . .