It was a magical day. The kind that, I anticipate, will happen only once in my lifetime.
We left the temple in Dave's car--my mom handing me our picnic basket with our lunch, but cautioning me that, since it was warm, we might want to stop at McDonalds in the next small town instead. We laughed about it, and then we did. A husband and wife of two hours, going through the drive through. I ordered a chicken sandwich.
We had a beautiful afternoon, followed by the perfect evening. We had our reception in the backyard of a good friend who had been one of my mentors growing up. She had a stream running through her yard and, when I was only 16, had asked a bunch of us girls to come and help us line it with stones. Three of us came, and she told each of us that we were welcome to have our receptions there--someday.
It was the perfect setting--a stretching back lawn that was a deep velvet green, overlooking fields that highlighted the mountains of my childhood. I remember my younger brother standing at the back fence, stroking a gentle horse that had wandered over. I remember Dave's nieces and nephews running up and down along the stream. The sound of people laughing as the sun sank and the light taking on a golden tint that makes the whole world shimmer.
We had always anticipated a first dance, as a couple, but had never chosen a song. The owner put on the theme song from the old Romeo and Juliet movie, "A Time for Us." We danced. Then Dave danced with his mom, and I danced with my dad. I can't say the word "perfect" too many times in connection with it. It was perfect. But I was growing weary. In the pictures from the reception, you can see me wilting just a bit. I didn't feel so well.
We made our big exit, through rows of friends and family throwing handfuls of rice, and jumped in the car that was draped in tulle. As we pulled out, I caught a glimpse of my brother, Ben's, face. He had huge tears in his eyes.
There is something no one ever warns you about, when they talk about getting married. They don't talk about how things will change with the siblings that you're close to--the ones that you call and talk to. The ones that you have twenty years of inside jokes with. They will always be your siblings, and you may always be close, but marriage does change things. I knew, as I looked at my handsome younger brother, standing there in that perfect evening, that both he and I knew that it would never be just the two of us, laying in a tent, laughing our heads off and reciting movie quotes, ever again. It hit me suddenly, and I started to bawl.
We drove away from the reception, me sobbing, and Dave looking confused. I cried all the way to the bed and breakfast. Dave turned off the car, where he said "Um. I guess we'll sit here until you're done crying." (I'm sure people would not have believed the reason the bride was sitting in the car bawling was because she was missing her brother, but I swear it's true.) I pulled it together. Dave turned to open the door and realized he'd made a tactical error. As we'd jumped in the car, he'd locked the doors.
This was a 1987 Quantum. There were no power locks. And this particular car was missing the knobs that allow you to pull up and unlock the doors.
Here is Dave in his tux. Here is me in my wedding dress. And we are locked in the car. There is only one thing to do: Dave climbed out of the sunroof. (My hero.)
For any newly married couple--there is a lot of "wedding night" anticipation, but does any bride, really, expect that her McDonald's chicken sandwich is going to come back to haunt her with a vengeance?? I sure didn't.
It sure did.
My most vivid memory of that night is being curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor, stroking the blessed cold tile, and paying homage to the porcelain throne. I couldn't believe my luck. All pride, and beauty, went out the window. This was a crash course in marriage if ever there was one, and Dave passed with flying colors. He offered to hold my hair, asked if there was anything he could do, and went downstairs to have his eggs benedict. Alone. On his honeymoon.
The proprietor's wife, noticing his absent bride, inquired politely and sent him back upstairs with some pills filled with cayenne pepper. She swore they would do the trick.
All hail cayenne pepper.
Monday morning we were off for our four day cruise off the coast of California and day at Disneyland--and the rest of our lives.
It was the beginning of our happily ever after, which has included lots of roads and highways across many states. Various trips to different emergency rooms. Most importantly, it has welcomed three new characters. It continues to amaze me. And every once in awhile, I look over at Dave, and he looks over at me and smile, and I know--I'm home.
**
Epilogue
*My beautiful strand of pearls was flushed down the toilet in 2007. May they rest in peace.
*I wear my gold engagement band every March, to celebrate our engage-iversary.
*Dave's wedding gift to me was a beautiful album containing all of our letters and e-mails, his journal entries, and his letters to his parents. Best wedding gift ever.
*The watch lasted until a trip to Africa this year, when it fell and cracked. So much for time. On to eternity. *grin*
Showing posts with label love story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love story. Show all posts
Friday, April 10, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Day 123: Fields of Gold, Chapter 31
There are really no words to describe how I felt that day. There were too many. They were too varied. For some--there are no words.
So I did the only thing I could. I made a video montage.
I love these pictures.
I love the memories of this day.
I love that man that I married. I love that he looks exactly the same today as he did then--while I look...um...not exactly the same.
I hope you enjoy--I'll be back with my final chapter, and a prologue to answer some questions, tomorrow.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Day 122: Fields of Gold, Chapter 30
As I approached the entrance of the temple, I could see Dave standing and looking down at me. I was so glad he was there. Suddenly, everything felt more real to me.
I had quite the entourage with me, carrying my dress and all the accouterments of bridal paraphernalia. I walked up to Dave and he gave me a nervous hug. Someone snapped a picture. We both laughed. I hugged his mom, who lovingly put her arm around me as we walked in the doors.
Walking into a Latter-day Saint temple is a supremely peaceful experience. They are remarkably quiet places, and each one has their own personality. One of the things that Dave and I both loved about the Manti Temple, and why we had chosen to be married there, was because it feels very warm and welcoming, in a country kind of a way. No one is hurried or rushed. Everyone smiles a lot. They pulled me over to one side and took all my things, placing a small sticker on each item with the number "17" on them. There were 25 weddings in the Manti Temple that day, and we were number 17. (I later found out that in the Salt Lake Temple, there were 96 weddings that day.)
Dave and I were escorted down the wide hall and into a small office where we signed our certificate and answered a few questions, and then we went our separate ways to get ready.
In the Manti Temple there is a special room called the Bride's Room. It is not large, but has been lovingly decorated. There are four small vanities with mirrors and a delicate chandelier. Attached to this room is another small room with a wall entirely lined with mirrors. I entered the bride's room and my mom, sister, and an attendant from the temple helped me to put on my dress and fix my hair just so. There were two other brides in the bride's room--one just married, and one waiting to be married like me. We laughed and congratulated each other.
Once I was all dressed, I remember standing in front of all the mirrors. My mom was on one side and my sister on the other. I think it was the only time, in my life, when I would have completely believed that I was beautiful. Everything that I was feeling inside matched how I appeared outside. I have never been happier.
My attendant reappeared and I went with her to meet Dave. I remember the gentle rustling of my wedding dress as I came into the hall where he sat waiting. He looked nervous and young. I could tell that he was missing his father. He stood up and took my hand, and then dropped it after we'd only walked a few feet. He kept stepping on my dress, standing that close. We laughed a little, and it seemed to ridiculous, at that moment, to be wearing such a thing.
We entered the room where we would be married, called a sealing room, and spoke briefly with the man who would officiate. He gave us an encouraging smile, and then our guests began to enter. They were all perfectly quiet, and they filled the room and even lined the walls. Dave and I were seated on a small love seat, with his mom seated at Dave's left and my mom seated at my right.
The officiator welcomed everyone to our wedding, and then spoke for just a couple minutes. He gave us a few little pieces of advice, which I have always tried to remember: always be honest, use a soft voice, pray together, and respect each other. As he spoke, I kept my mind and eyes focused on him. Dave, meanwhile, was clutching my hand ever tighter--he wanted me to look at him. I knew if I looked at him, I would start to cry, and I didn't want to miss anything important.
I remember everything seemed to be in a haze--I wanted to hurry up and be married. I wanted every minute to last forever. I could see everyone smiling, but also how many were choking back tears because Dave's dad wasn't there. I looked up at Dave, and he looked down at me. We were both crying.
Soon, we arrived at the actual marriage. I listened carefully, trying to make sure that I didn't miss a moment of it. Almost in one breath it seemed, and we were husband and wife. It was then that I fully, intently looked into Dave's eyes. He kissed the bride. Our friends and family grinned and laughed.
Standing together, we exchanged rings. Dave had mine engraved, and it said simply, "You're home."
I had quite the entourage with me, carrying my dress and all the accouterments of bridal paraphernalia. I walked up to Dave and he gave me a nervous hug. Someone snapped a picture. We both laughed. I hugged his mom, who lovingly put her arm around me as we walked in the doors.
Walking into a Latter-day Saint temple is a supremely peaceful experience. They are remarkably quiet places, and each one has their own personality. One of the things that Dave and I both loved about the Manti Temple, and why we had chosen to be married there, was because it feels very warm and welcoming, in a country kind of a way. No one is hurried or rushed. Everyone smiles a lot. They pulled me over to one side and took all my things, placing a small sticker on each item with the number "17" on them. There were 25 weddings in the Manti Temple that day, and we were number 17. (I later found out that in the Salt Lake Temple, there were 96 weddings that day.)
Dave and I were escorted down the wide hall and into a small office where we signed our certificate and answered a few questions, and then we went our separate ways to get ready.
In the Manti Temple there is a special room called the Bride's Room. It is not large, but has been lovingly decorated. There are four small vanities with mirrors and a delicate chandelier. Attached to this room is another small room with a wall entirely lined with mirrors. I entered the bride's room and my mom, sister, and an attendant from the temple helped me to put on my dress and fix my hair just so. There were two other brides in the bride's room--one just married, and one waiting to be married like me. We laughed and congratulated each other.
Once I was all dressed, I remember standing in front of all the mirrors. My mom was on one side and my sister on the other. I think it was the only time, in my life, when I would have completely believed that I was beautiful. Everything that I was feeling inside matched how I appeared outside. I have never been happier.
My attendant reappeared and I went with her to meet Dave. I remember the gentle rustling of my wedding dress as I came into the hall where he sat waiting. He looked nervous and young. I could tell that he was missing his father. He stood up and took my hand, and then dropped it after we'd only walked a few feet. He kept stepping on my dress, standing that close. We laughed a little, and it seemed to ridiculous, at that moment, to be wearing such a thing.
We entered the room where we would be married, called a sealing room, and spoke briefly with the man who would officiate. He gave us an encouraging smile, and then our guests began to enter. They were all perfectly quiet, and they filled the room and even lined the walls. Dave and I were seated on a small love seat, with his mom seated at Dave's left and my mom seated at my right.
The officiator welcomed everyone to our wedding, and then spoke for just a couple minutes. He gave us a few little pieces of advice, which I have always tried to remember: always be honest, use a soft voice, pray together, and respect each other. As he spoke, I kept my mind and eyes focused on him. Dave, meanwhile, was clutching my hand ever tighter--he wanted me to look at him. I knew if I looked at him, I would start to cry, and I didn't want to miss anything important.
I remember everything seemed to be in a haze--I wanted to hurry up and be married. I wanted every minute to last forever. I could see everyone smiling, but also how many were choking back tears because Dave's dad wasn't there. I looked up at Dave, and he looked down at me. We were both crying.
Soon, we arrived at the actual marriage. I listened carefully, trying to make sure that I didn't miss a moment of it. Almost in one breath it seemed, and we were husband and wife. It was then that I fully, intently looked into Dave's eyes. He kissed the bride. Our friends and family grinned and laughed.
Standing together, we exchanged rings. Dave had mine engraved, and it said simply, "You're home."
Day 121: Fields of Gold
While I'm writing--here is the last picture of Dave and I *before* we got married.... :)Monday, April 6, 2009
Day 120: Fields of Gold, Chapter 29
There is no way to describe what it is like to open your eyes and realize that it's your wedding day.
That Saturday morning, I woke up to my mom's soft call. My dearest friend, Desaray, was laying next to me. She had stayed the night before, letting me talk. Letting me process. I will be forever grateful to her for the gift of her company that night.
I opened my eyes and could see the early morning sunlight coming through the curtains of my window. I looked at my ceiling fan, covered with tiny glow in the dark stars that I had bought when I was 13 years old. I could feel the weight of the threshold I was crossing--leaving my parent's home for the last time. As I rose and opened my door, I found a small business size card taped to the door. In Dave's handwriting was a tiny note "See you soon!" with a small bride and groom drawn under it. He'd given it to my mom the night before, and asked her to put it there.
I slipped on some flip flops and, in the tradition of Anne of Green Gables, went on my last walk through my childhood neighborhood. Desaray walked next to me, letting me remember out loud. I remember saying to her that I'd always wondered how I would feel on my wedding day, and if I would feel nervous or excited, and expressing surprise at what I felt: ready.
By the time we got home, it was time to kick into high gear. I showered and did my own makeup. Having learned my lesson, my sister Jen did my hair in a simple style--something I might've worn any day, with half of it pulled up and half curled under. She tied it back with a small white ribbon.
The phone rang. It was Dave, calling to say good morning. I grinned as I heard his voice, and commanded the butterflies in my stomach to find their formation. He promised to leave on time, and said that he'd meet me in Manti.
I slipped into a knee length black sheath dress with a black jacket, then hung the strand of pearls he had given me around my neck. We loaded my dress, slip, shoes, bouquet, and--finally--a picnic basket with a lunch for Dave and I into my grandparent's suburban. Time seemed to be going in slow motion, as I climbed into the car with my parents and younger brothers. We pulled away from the home that would never by my home again.
**
The drive down to Manti, Utah in June is a beautiful one. It weaves through the base of a narrow canyon surrounded by mountains then into a wide, open valley. You can see from one end of this valley to the other end, more than a 45 minute drive from one end to the other. In June, this expanse is a vibrant, living green. Not long after you enter the valley, you can begin to look for the Manti Temple, a tiny dot up on the hill far ahead of you. As you approach, it grows larger and it is truly breathtaking.
Completed in 1888, the Manti Temple looks like a castle on a hill. It is made of cream colored limestone that seems to glow from within. What makes it all the more striking is that it stands in the middle of this wide open space, overlooking mostly ranchland. As we drove, I watched it getting closer and closer. The closer it got, the more awe struck I became. We finally turned in the wide gates.
Looking up, I could see Dave. He was standing at the entrance of the temple, looking down, and waiting for me.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Day 119: Fields of Gold, Chapter 28
The day before our wedding arrived. There were hundreds of last minute things to take care of, and little moments to savor. I went along with my dad to pick up his tuxedo. I ran with my mom and my sister to the local craft store to buy tulle and rice that was safe for birds so that we could make our grand exit. My florist brought my bouquet, and even though it didn't look at all like what I'd asked for, it was still beautiful:
I ran to the jewelers to pick up Dave's engraved wedding ring, as well as the wedding gift I had chosen for him--a Swiss Army Watch.
I ran to the jewelers to pick up Dave's engraved wedding ring, as well as the wedding gift I had chosen for him--a Swiss Army Watch.
The day flew by, and by afternoon my mom turned to me and said "What are you planning to wear?" My mind was a blank. "To what?" Her eyebrows raised a little "To your wedding dinner, Becca. Tonight. In an hour." "Oh. Ummmm..."
Honestly, the thought of what to wear that night hadn't even made it on to my radar. I was about to meet Dave's many, many, many relatives. Aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, nieces, nephews, not to mention his mom. And I hadn't given my outfit two thoughts.
Trying to appear calm and put together, I went to my room and started opening my packed boxes trying to find something that would work. A pink button up shirt that I'd worn for our engagement pictures. Fine. Pants? A skirt? We were having dutch oven--so, casual. But I was the bride. So--dressy? I chose a simple stretch khaki skirt and slip on flat shoes. I pulled my blonde hair back into a simple pony tail and put some lip gloss on. I felt ill prepared. I did not look like The Bride. I hardly looked like a Friend of The Bride. But it was time to go, so I would have to do.
My heart was pounding when we got to the church and I saw all the people that I didn't know, but would soon be related to. My own extended family, although wonderful, subscribe to the "we don't have to show up to show that we love you" philosophy. I was just thrilled to have my own immediate siblings, who took up all of one table, in a room filled with the warmest, nicest, happiest strangers I'd ever seen.
The evening was a blur--my future mother-in-law read a letter from my far away father-in-law who was, at the time, frantically trying to get some missionaries safely out of Liberia in the middle of a hostile government takeover. My dad gave a brilliant toast. Then my future sister-in-law, Nicole, and brother-in-law Mike got up to perform a song. Dave and I didn't have a song, in particular. There had just never been one that stood out. But there was one--a certain version of one--that I hoped would become our song. It spoke of all the things that I hoped for us. Eva Cassidy's version of "Fields of Gold." I had asked Nicole to sing it, without telling Dave what I'd asked for. It was a surprise.
Nicole stood up on the stage, looking as cool and calm as she always does, in a white shirt and blue skirt. Mike sat with his guitar. They began, and Dave reached over and took my hand.
All evening long, my heart had been beating wildly out of nervousness, but as Nicole's flawless voice spilled over me I felt calm. It seemed like our whole future was being laid out for us. I looked into Dave's eyes, and I saw it all there.
After a couple more songs (Dave sang our version of "Forever and Ever, Amen" for everyone), we hugged everyone and said that we would see them tomorrow.
As Dave and I walked out of the church building, I handed him the black Swiss Army box. He opened it, and smiled. I told him it was supposed to symbolize time and all eternity.
It would begin tomorrow.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Day 116: Fields of Gold, Chapter 27
Wedding week.
Growing up, I think that I envisioned that my wedding week would be filled with flowers and lace and beauty. I imagined standing in front of a mirror in my dress, basking in the anticipation of all that was yet to be. Ha! Little did I know how desperately I would want that week to be over. Never did I imagine stress. I couldn't have imagined tears, anxiety, and more tears. I never dreamed that, two days before my wedding, I would stare at the sparkling diamond engagement ring on my finger and wonder if the man of my dreams was just marrying me because somehow, some way, he had no idea what he was doing.
Ah, what a week.
It had come at last, and I remember sitting in church on my last Sunday as a single girl and wondering if I would really feel any different the next week. It felt odd and surreal, in lots of good ways. Dave and I were both more than done with the engagement phase of our relationship, and ready to begin our happily ever aftering. If only we could get through the next five days.
My future mother in law was flying in from Africa, and the party really couldn't begin until she arrived. In the meantime, I was all kinds of nervous. I had met her before, of course, and really liked both her and my future father in law, but I hadn't seen either of them since I'd gotten home from my mission. I hoped that she would still like me, now that I was going to be her daughter in law. I hoped I wouldn't say the wrong thing or spill anything on her nice carpet. I wondered, deep down, if I was what she had imagined for her tall, handsome son.
All of Dave's siblings were arriving, with their children, as well as my older siblings--from Colorado and Massachusetts. Everyone was going to be there, all together, for the first time in years. I couldn't believe it was all for me--for my wedding.
Two days before, I was in my bedroom packing up my childhood. There were piles of clothing to give away. Boxes of yearbooks and posters and pictures. I didn't know what to do with half of it. My oldest niece Grace, who was two at the time, appeared at the doorway with some tulle in her hands. She pulled me down into a kneeling position and proceeded to drape the tulle over my head like a veil. She tugged and arranged until it was just so, then--stepping back--clapped her little hands and said "Now my Becca married."
All the butterflies in my stomach seemed to find their formation at that moment. I was stressed. Dave was stressed. But everything was going to be alright. The next night would be our wedding dinner, and then on Saturday we would be married and everything would be perfect.
I just had to hold my breath until then.
Growing up, I think that I envisioned that my wedding week would be filled with flowers and lace and beauty. I imagined standing in front of a mirror in my dress, basking in the anticipation of all that was yet to be. Ha! Little did I know how desperately I would want that week to be over. Never did I imagine stress. I couldn't have imagined tears, anxiety, and more tears. I never dreamed that, two days before my wedding, I would stare at the sparkling diamond engagement ring on my finger and wonder if the man of my dreams was just marrying me because somehow, some way, he had no idea what he was doing.
Ah, what a week.
It had come at last, and I remember sitting in church on my last Sunday as a single girl and wondering if I would really feel any different the next week. It felt odd and surreal, in lots of good ways. Dave and I were both more than done with the engagement phase of our relationship, and ready to begin our happily ever aftering. If only we could get through the next five days.
My future mother in law was flying in from Africa, and the party really couldn't begin until she arrived. In the meantime, I was all kinds of nervous. I had met her before, of course, and really liked both her and my future father in law, but I hadn't seen either of them since I'd gotten home from my mission. I hoped that she would still like me, now that I was going to be her daughter in law. I hoped I wouldn't say the wrong thing or spill anything on her nice carpet. I wondered, deep down, if I was what she had imagined for her tall, handsome son.
All of Dave's siblings were arriving, with their children, as well as my older siblings--from Colorado and Massachusetts. Everyone was going to be there, all together, for the first time in years. I couldn't believe it was all for me--for my wedding.
Two days before, I was in my bedroom packing up my childhood. There were piles of clothing to give away. Boxes of yearbooks and posters and pictures. I didn't know what to do with half of it. My oldest niece Grace, who was two at the time, appeared at the doorway with some tulle in her hands. She pulled me down into a kneeling position and proceeded to drape the tulle over my head like a veil. She tugged and arranged until it was just so, then--stepping back--clapped her little hands and said "Now my Becca married."
All the butterflies in my stomach seemed to find their formation at that moment. I was stressed. Dave was stressed. But everything was going to be alright. The next night would be our wedding dinner, and then on Saturday we would be married and everything would be perfect.
I just had to hold my breath until then.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Day 117: Fields of Gold, Chapter 26
One of the great blessings of my life is that I have a sister, and that sister is a beautician. Some of my early memories include her pulling my (always) too short hair into a tight french braid and putting flowers into it. She was, and is, a miracle worker.
It was time for me to have my bridal portraits taken, and I told her my vision--Gibson Girl. A loose upsweep do, a la Anne of Avonlea:
It was time for me to have my bridal portraits taken, and I told her my vision--Gibson Girl. A loose upsweep do, a la Anne of Avonlea:
She caught my vision. The night before, she worked painstakingly to turn my drab, mousy brown hair into beautiful golden and honey strands. It took hours and hours and hours for her to carefully color and foil the strands so that they would look just right. By the time she was done, in the wee hours of the morning, I didn't even care what color it was. I just wanted to go to bed.
The next morning, however, I did care. It was blonde. Very, very, very blonde. I wasn't sure about it--I either loved it, or hated it, but couldn't quite tell which. She assured me that I loved it.
That afternoon, I poised myself in front of her as she used an army of bobby pins and hair product to pull my hair into a gibson girl updo. Mission accomplished, we piled me, my dress, the slip, and some flowers in the car and headed up to the park where we'd agreed to meet my photographer. On the way, we stopped so I could say hi to Dave.
He was waiting for me as I got out of the car and approached him. I could see it in his eyes, which were strained ever so slightly at the corners. I smiled at him as he gave me a hug and I said "You hate it." "No, no..." he stuttered "..Um... Are you going to leave it like that?" (When, I wondered, would I remember that he was incapable of lying about anything, and not to ask him things unless I really want to know the answer???) "Um. Yes." was my reply. "Well--have fun!" he cheered for me.
Feeling anything but a radiant bride, I shlumped back to the car and we drove to the park, There in the parking lot, I squeazed into my size 6 wedding gown. It *almost* fit. You could get it done up. You just couldn't breathe. Or look too closely at the seams. But it would have to do. My photographer took shots of me sitting, standing, with my veil and without. I grinned, twisted my head, and contorted my back trying to get into the perfect positions. I suddenly pitied models.
After the photoshoot, my parents and sister dropped me off at Dave's so we could go see a movie together. Driving to the theater, I began pulling bobby pin after bobby pin out of my hair and it slowly came loose, falling in little waves down to my shoulders.
Looking over at me and smiling he said, "Hey--I like the color." And I knew he really did.
He was so perfect for me.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Day 116: Two entries in one day! Fields of Gold, Chapter 25
There is another important test that engaged couples should go through, and it is called Ski for Free Day in Park City.
Dave grew up on the west coast, and had to drive several hours to get to the nearest ski resort, but it was something he grew up doing. He knew how to ski, and he liked it. I, on the other hand, grew up within a couple hours of many world-class ski resorts, and had never put one foot on a slope in the winter time. My only experience with skiing was in a backyard, 10 years old, my dad standing over me in utter frustration saying "Just stand UP!" as my skis and the boots attached to them began to go downhill without me. It was not the most positive father-daughter experience and, thankfully, my dad gave up after that.
But now I was an engaged woman and the thought of "hitting the slopes" with my fiance seemed romantic and appealing. So, we rented equipment, I put on my best cute "snow bunny" outfit, and we headed to Park City with my younger brother and his date.
It all started out alright. I mean, the boots fit, and my little snow hat with tassels was super cute. But that's about where the fun ended. To say that I am not athletic is like saying that water is wet--it is just a fact of nature and there is no changing it. I don't run, throw, or catch. I certainly don't make friends with an icy slope at any sort of speed.
We're on the bunny hill. Three year olds, with their bodies tucked down for maximum aerodynamics, are flying past me. I am trying to perfect "the pizza" formation of my skis. They keep going different directions, and the formation they like the best is called "x." I am going so slowly, the snow is probably going to melt before I get to the bottom of the hill. Dave is being patient--slowly going through the motions with me, giving me pointers. I fall and can't get back up. I slide over to the fence, and pull myself up. We try again. More patience. More pointers. I fall again. Dave is just down the hill from me. He's looking at me. I try to get up. The skis slide. I try again. The skis slide. "Just get UP!" I hear him say. I give him a look as I reach toward my boot. "Don't you DARE take off that ski." Click. I glare at him triumphantly, taking off my skis and standing up proudly. He gives me a look, and, without a word, skis down the hill while I reattach the boots to the skis from a vertical position.
The evening is long. It is cold. Dave is as patient as he could be under the circumstance of trying to teach the most uncoordinated, scaredy-cat woman on the planet how to ski. It's a good thing this date was free, or there might have been serious consequences. We decide to do one small run. We get on the ski lift. I realize, as it starts ascending, that I'm going to have to get OFF this thing with skis on my feet. I feel kind of nauseous. Dave is prepping me. He is assuring. He is trying to pretend to be confident that I'm not going to utterly wipe out.
He slides off easily and, mustering any and all confidence I had left after such a date, I remembered the wise "Fake it til you make it" mantra and propelled myself off the seat. To my astonishment,I skied smoothly down the slight slope, stopping perfectly in front of Dave. He was impressed. I was relieved. Now we just needed to get down the rest of the hill.
That night we decided two things: Dave would be the one to teach our future kids to ski, and my purpose at ski resorts is to wear a sweater, look charming, and drink hot chocolate in the lodge.
Dave grew up on the west coast, and had to drive several hours to get to the nearest ski resort, but it was something he grew up doing. He knew how to ski, and he liked it. I, on the other hand, grew up within a couple hours of many world-class ski resorts, and had never put one foot on a slope in the winter time. My only experience with skiing was in a backyard, 10 years old, my dad standing over me in utter frustration saying "Just stand UP!" as my skis and the boots attached to them began to go downhill without me. It was not the most positive father-daughter experience and, thankfully, my dad gave up after that.
But now I was an engaged woman and the thought of "hitting the slopes" with my fiance seemed romantic and appealing. So, we rented equipment, I put on my best cute "snow bunny" outfit, and we headed to Park City with my younger brother and his date.
It all started out alright. I mean, the boots fit, and my little snow hat with tassels was super cute. But that's about where the fun ended. To say that I am not athletic is like saying that water is wet--it is just a fact of nature and there is no changing it. I don't run, throw, or catch. I certainly don't make friends with an icy slope at any sort of speed.
We're on the bunny hill. Three year olds, with their bodies tucked down for maximum aerodynamics, are flying past me. I am trying to perfect "the pizza" formation of my skis. They keep going different directions, and the formation they like the best is called "x." I am going so slowly, the snow is probably going to melt before I get to the bottom of the hill. Dave is being patient--slowly going through the motions with me, giving me pointers. I fall and can't get back up. I slide over to the fence, and pull myself up. We try again. More patience. More pointers. I fall again. Dave is just down the hill from me. He's looking at me. I try to get up. The skis slide. I try again. The skis slide. "Just get UP!" I hear him say. I give him a look as I reach toward my boot. "Don't you DARE take off that ski." Click. I glare at him triumphantly, taking off my skis and standing up proudly. He gives me a look, and, without a word, skis down the hill while I reattach the boots to the skis from a vertical position.
The evening is long. It is cold. Dave is as patient as he could be under the circumstance of trying to teach the most uncoordinated, scaredy-cat woman on the planet how to ski. It's a good thing this date was free, or there might have been serious consequences. We decide to do one small run. We get on the ski lift. I realize, as it starts ascending, that I'm going to have to get OFF this thing with skis on my feet. I feel kind of nauseous. Dave is prepping me. He is assuring. He is trying to pretend to be confident that I'm not going to utterly wipe out.
He slides off easily and, mustering any and all confidence I had left after such a date, I remembered the wise "Fake it til you make it" mantra and propelled myself off the seat. To my astonishment,I skied smoothly down the slight slope, stopping perfectly in front of Dave. He was impressed. I was relieved. Now we just needed to get down the rest of the hill.
That night we decided two things: Dave would be the one to teach our future kids to ski, and my purpose at ski resorts is to wear a sweater, look charming, and drink hot chocolate in the lodge.
Day 116: Fields of Gold, Chapter 24
Being engaged is fun for approximately two weeks. You have people to tell. Everyone wants to see the ring. Which, by the way, if you happen to be wearing a thin gold band and not a diamond, people kind of raise their eyebrows at you and smile cautiously. They're trying to figure out if you're:
- Making a political statement about the unethical nature of diamonds.
- Poor and practical.
- Marrying a cheapskate and hating it.
The exception to that being people of a certain generation who were just happy to see frugality and restraint being practiced by anyone in my generation.
You should know that I adore weddings. Adore. I'm the kind of person who buys wedding magazines for fun, and loves to browse the latest trends on The Knot. I started planning my wedding when I was 9 years old, which--being 1989--I envisioned my colors being mauve and dusty blue and a sequin bedecked dress with ginormous puffed sleeves. I just knew that planning a wedding with the man of my dreams was going to result in the most beautiful, perfect wedding ever.
I decided to do everything differently than I'd done it for my first engagement. No periwinkle for me. No Salt Lake Temple. No wedding luncheon at the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. Nope. Everyone was doing periwinkle or lavender, so I chose a Martha Stewart Weddings trend of apricot orange and pear green. We chose the Manti Temple to get married in, since we had shared memories there and we both loved it. Our wedding luncheon would be the night before our wedding, rather than the day of, and the reception would be outdoors. It was going to be the perfect blend of casual and classy, trendy and traditional.
But something else was different than planning my first engagement. Not just that the photographer I'd always dreamed of hiring had moved to Dallas, or that I was having a hard time choosing centerpieces. The thing that had changed, was me. I no longer cared as much about bridesmaid outfits or the perfect bouquet. What I did care about was planning our marriage, even more than our wedding. I went to our university bookstore, marched upstairs, and bought a whole armful of books that were required for a marriage course. I got the his and hers workbooks to go with Saving Your Marriage Before It Starts, as well as brand new copies of First Comes Love, His Needs, Her Needs, and Love for a Lifetime.
Well armed, without really giving him a choice, I began to throw these books at Dave and tell him that we needed to get studying like our lives depended on it. Because they did. And, really, this is a great litmus test for an engagement--any man worth his salt will care enough about his fiance, if not about actually studying the books, to get his hands dirty and jump in. These books are not for the weak--they require revealing weaknesses, discussing expectations, and brutal honesty. We went through our workbooks separately and alone, working through the things that came up where we differed. This resulted in some painful dead-end conversations, as we called them, and there were things we skirted around (finances), but--as our engagement wore on, Dave and I were confirming that we looked at the world the same way. We not only got to know each other better, we got to wrestle with the every day-ness of marriage and began to establish the foundation for our marriage style. I am so grateful to say, now, that planning our marriage was more important to me than planning our wedding. I think I had my priorities in the right place.
Although, looking back, if I could've known that "apricot orange and pear green" were going to devolve into a very 1980's "peach and sage green" I might've spent just a little more time rethinking that decision.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Day 114: Fields of Gold, Chapter 23
"Will you be my wife?"
I felt like I was falling and flying at the same time. I don't think I could've remembered my own name if you'd asked me. But I was suddenly aware that I was repeating "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!!"
Grinning, he opened the box to reveal a thin gold wedding band, and explained that he hadn't wanted to wait for me to choose a ring. He wanted to propose. We could get a fancier ring later. He slid it on to my finger, and I don't think any 1 carat diamond has ever been more beautiful than that simple ring was to me that night.
Jumping up, he said that he had more surprises and that he would be right back.
While he was gone, I stood up and leaned against the railing and looked up into the still night sky. And I started to cry. Surely tears of happiness, but also tears of amazement. The unthinkable had happened, after all that time. I whispered, to myself, "I'm getting married..." and then uttered the shortest, simplest prayer of thanks.
Dave came back out with a bottle of sparkling cider and a dozen deep cream roses. Trailing behind him were Mike and Sarah and a camera. To this day, the picture that they took is one of my favorite of Dave and I. We are grinning like idiots, in the best possible way.
After they took our picture, Sarah said "Can I hug you now? We're going to be sisters!" That comment, that welcome, just completed the evening for me. I could not have been any happier.The only thing left to do was drive over to my parent's house, even though it was almost midnight, to show my mom the ring.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Day 113: Fields of Gold, Chapter 22
The month of February was, for the first time in my life, flying by. We had started to look at rings and kick around possible wedding dates in May and June. I met, for the first time, another one of Dave's sisters--Cyndi. She was enchanting in every way, and I was delighted to find another kindred spirit in this family. I almost couldn't believe how blessed I was at the thought of joining a family like this one.
I grew up in an absolutely fabulous home, with parents who did many things right. They had provided me with opportunities to learn, work, and serve. They had been unfailingly loving and supportive. To have been born to such a family is a rare and precious thing. To be able to marry into a family that is equally loving and accepting was nearly beyond my comprehension.
One night in the second week of March, I walked down the hill from school. I was wearing a long sleeved pink shirt and white overalls, and was in a great mood. I had been at my oil painting class, and Dave was spending the evening at a religion class. I didn't expect to see him, but hoped that he would call. I had just walked into my room when the phone rang--too early for it to be Dave. To my surprise, it was. He asked if I wanted to go hang out with Mike and Sarah that night. He was going to bring his guitar, so he and Mike could play. It wasn't like him to skip class, but--sure--I was always up for a date and some time with Dave's family.
He came by a few minutes later, and seemed a little edgy. I tried to bring up the issue of possible dates again, but he didn't really want to talk about it. I tried to figure out what his deal was, but couldn't put my finger on it. When we got to his parent's home, where Mike and Sarah were living while his parents were out of the country, he pulled his black guitar case out of the trunk and we went inside.
Sarah was there, watching the news of Elizabeth Smart being found. We talked about that for awhile, and then Dave asked me if I wanted to go out on to the balcony with him. It was a cool night, with a brilliant moon. Everything was peaceful and still, and--as soon as we were outside, all the edginess melted away. This was a place we had always loved. It was perfect for watching sunsets, or looking at the stars. Dave grabbed a couple of fleece blankets, and we sat down to enjoy the early spring night.
He told me he had a surprise for me, and opened a pocket on his guitar case. Surprised, I held out my hand, and he placed in it...
a Lindt dark chocolate bar.
I was thrilled. (Home from Switzerland mere months and still going through withdrawls.) I was so happy that he laughed and said "If I knew you were that easy to please... but that isn't your only suprise." Reaching into the pocket again, he pulled out two things: a picture frame and a small notebook. He told me that he had something he wanted to read to me--a journal entry from his time in Jerusalem, about a time when he had wondered if he would ever find the love of his life, and felt assured that he would find her, and she would be everything he had always wanted. The experience had been striking enough that he took a picture of the place he was sitting as he had written the journal entry.
He handed me the picture frame, which included that picture and, under it, the words "Everything I've always wanted."
I was so touched at how sweet Dave was, and--to be totally honest--kind of overwhelmed. I wondered if I really could be everything he'd always wanted. I wasn't even totally sure what that "everything" was. I was a little afraid.
As I considered those feelings for the first time, he pulled out his guitar and started strumming the familiar chords to "Forever and Ever, Amen." Only, as he started to sing, I realized that he had changed the lyrics to fit us. They were funny and delightful and romantic.
I wondered if this man was for real.
What a great date! What a fun night. Not bad, since I hadn't even been expecting to see him. I was tired and content. He laid his guitar down, and we talked a bit, then he knelt over to give me a kiss. As he kissed me, he slid something into my hand.
It was cool to the touch, smooth, and square. Looking down--I saw a rosewood ring box.
He leaned back on his heels, looked into my eyes, and said "Will you be my wife?"
I grew up in an absolutely fabulous home, with parents who did many things right. They had provided me with opportunities to learn, work, and serve. They had been unfailingly loving and supportive. To have been born to such a family is a rare and precious thing. To be able to marry into a family that is equally loving and accepting was nearly beyond my comprehension.
One night in the second week of March, I walked down the hill from school. I was wearing a long sleeved pink shirt and white overalls, and was in a great mood. I had been at my oil painting class, and Dave was spending the evening at a religion class. I didn't expect to see him, but hoped that he would call. I had just walked into my room when the phone rang--too early for it to be Dave. To my surprise, it was. He asked if I wanted to go hang out with Mike and Sarah that night. He was going to bring his guitar, so he and Mike could play. It wasn't like him to skip class, but--sure--I was always up for a date and some time with Dave's family.
He came by a few minutes later, and seemed a little edgy. I tried to bring up the issue of possible dates again, but he didn't really want to talk about it. I tried to figure out what his deal was, but couldn't put my finger on it. When we got to his parent's home, where Mike and Sarah were living while his parents were out of the country, he pulled his black guitar case out of the trunk and we went inside.
Sarah was there, watching the news of Elizabeth Smart being found. We talked about that for awhile, and then Dave asked me if I wanted to go out on to the balcony with him. It was a cool night, with a brilliant moon. Everything was peaceful and still, and--as soon as we were outside, all the edginess melted away. This was a place we had always loved. It was perfect for watching sunsets, or looking at the stars. Dave grabbed a couple of fleece blankets, and we sat down to enjoy the early spring night.
He told me he had a surprise for me, and opened a pocket on his guitar case. Surprised, I held out my hand, and he placed in it...
a Lindt dark chocolate bar.
I was thrilled. (Home from Switzerland mere months and still going through withdrawls.) I was so happy that he laughed and said "If I knew you were that easy to please... but that isn't your only suprise." Reaching into the pocket again, he pulled out two things: a picture frame and a small notebook. He told me that he had something he wanted to read to me--a journal entry from his time in Jerusalem, about a time when he had wondered if he would ever find the love of his life, and felt assured that he would find her, and she would be everything he had always wanted. The experience had been striking enough that he took a picture of the place he was sitting as he had written the journal entry.
He handed me the picture frame, which included that picture and, under it, the words "Everything I've always wanted."
I was so touched at how sweet Dave was, and--to be totally honest--kind of overwhelmed. I wondered if I really could be everything he'd always wanted. I wasn't even totally sure what that "everything" was. I was a little afraid.
As I considered those feelings for the first time, he pulled out his guitar and started strumming the familiar chords to "Forever and Ever, Amen." Only, as he started to sing, I realized that he had changed the lyrics to fit us. They were funny and delightful and romantic.
I wondered if this man was for real.
What a great date! What a fun night. Not bad, since I hadn't even been expecting to see him. I was tired and content. He laid his guitar down, and we talked a bit, then he knelt over to give me a kiss. As he kissed me, he slid something into my hand.
It was cool to the touch, smooth, and square. Looking down--I saw a rosewood ring box.
He leaned back on his heels, looked into my eyes, and said "Will you be my wife?"
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Day 112: Fields of Gold, Chapter 21
So we were "chilling." Not ring shopping or wedding planning or choosing a date.
Yeah, right.
If I know anything about myself, it's that I'm not the most patient person. Besides, having been engaged once before, and that engagement being BEFORE 18 months in Switzerland with it's chocolate, I had a size 6 wedding dress to fit into. I needed a timeline. Dave, however, was still chilling and getting used to the idea. So I'd just have to learn some patience and wait for him to actually propose.
In the meantime, I was looking forward to my first ever Valentine's Day as someone's girlfriend. (Well, except 6th grade when I was going out with a kid named Brock. Talk about a disappointment--he didn't even give me a box of conversation hearts.) That year, Valentines fell on the weekend, and it happened to be the same weekend as Preference--a girl's choice dance.
All anticipation and excitement, I taped tons of Jolly Ranchers to Dave's door with a note that said I'd be a jolly rancher if he'd go with me. (The cheesiness was half the fun.) His reply? A bouquet of tiny, bright pink tea roses left on my doorstep with a heart that said "YES."
I have never had so much fun choosing a dress for a dance than I did that one. A friend of mine had a whole bunch of beautiful formals, and I borrowed them all and decided to wear her deep brown satin gown with a beautiful sweetheart neckline and a skirt that rustled. I searched until I found perfectly matching brown ballet flats and a sheer shawl to go over the top. That day, I did my hair all in curls and pulled my hair back, weaving a ribbon through it, then decided on a simple floating pearl necklace for jewelry. I had never been so excited for Valentine's Day.
He came to my apartment, right on time, wearing a black suit and carrying a bouquet of flowers--all red, with one yellow for friendship. Then he instructed me to turn around and close my eyes. He removed the light necklace from around my neck, and then I felt a new necklace take it's place. A cool, heavy weight that rested perfectly. Reaching up to touch it, my eyes fluttered open and I looked down to see the most exquisite pearl necklace--a real one.
Besides my chai necklace, this was the first piece of jewelry Dave had ever given me. Before an engagement ring. Before a wedding ring. A simple, heavy strand of pearls. Suddenly, I felt so perfectly like Anne of Green Gables, getting ready to be all grown up, with my strand of pearls. I wanted to throw my arms around Dave and tell him how much they meant to me--how much the fact that he had gotten them, for me, for Valentine's Day, meant to me. But I couldn't really say anything. I just gazed up at him and smiled.
He took my hand and walked me over to the couch. Reaching behind to grab my roommate's guitar, he started to pluck the strings, and then began to sing. An old, familiar country song. It surprised me, really, since it was the kind of song that I would've expected to come from my grandpa, or my father. I hadn't expected something as old fashioned and lilting as this, even if it did make me feel completely secure. Completely at home...
I'm gonna love you forever.
Forever and ever, amen.
As long as old men, sit and talk about the weather,
As long as old women, sit and talk about old men.
If you wonder how long I'll be faithful,
I'll be happy to tell you again--
I'm gonna love you, forever and ever,
forever and ever, amen.
Yeah, right.
If I know anything about myself, it's that I'm not the most patient person. Besides, having been engaged once before, and that engagement being BEFORE 18 months in Switzerland with it's chocolate, I had a size 6 wedding dress to fit into. I needed a timeline. Dave, however, was still chilling and getting used to the idea. So I'd just have to learn some patience and wait for him to actually propose.
In the meantime, I was looking forward to my first ever Valentine's Day as someone's girlfriend. (Well, except 6th grade when I was going out with a kid named Brock. Talk about a disappointment--he didn't even give me a box of conversation hearts.) That year, Valentines fell on the weekend, and it happened to be the same weekend as Preference--a girl's choice dance.
All anticipation and excitement, I taped tons of Jolly Ranchers to Dave's door with a note that said I'd be a jolly rancher if he'd go with me. (The cheesiness was half the fun.) His reply? A bouquet of tiny, bright pink tea roses left on my doorstep with a heart that said "YES."
I have never had so much fun choosing a dress for a dance than I did that one. A friend of mine had a whole bunch of beautiful formals, and I borrowed them all and decided to wear her deep brown satin gown with a beautiful sweetheart neckline and a skirt that rustled. I searched until I found perfectly matching brown ballet flats and a sheer shawl to go over the top. That day, I did my hair all in curls and pulled my hair back, weaving a ribbon through it, then decided on a simple floating pearl necklace for jewelry. I had never been so excited for Valentine's Day.
He came to my apartment, right on time, wearing a black suit and carrying a bouquet of flowers--all red, with one yellow for friendship. Then he instructed me to turn around and close my eyes. He removed the light necklace from around my neck, and then I felt a new necklace take it's place. A cool, heavy weight that rested perfectly. Reaching up to touch it, my eyes fluttered open and I looked down to see the most exquisite pearl necklace--a real one.
Besides my chai necklace, this was the first piece of jewelry Dave had ever given me. Before an engagement ring. Before a wedding ring. A simple, heavy strand of pearls. Suddenly, I felt so perfectly like Anne of Green Gables, getting ready to be all grown up, with my strand of pearls. I wanted to throw my arms around Dave and tell him how much they meant to me--how much the fact that he had gotten them, for me, for Valentine's Day, meant to me. But I couldn't really say anything. I just gazed up at him and smiled.
He took my hand and walked me over to the couch. Reaching behind to grab my roommate's guitar, he started to pluck the strings, and then began to sing. An old, familiar country song. It surprised me, really, since it was the kind of song that I would've expected to come from my grandpa, or my father. I hadn't expected something as old fashioned and lilting as this, even if it did make me feel completely secure. Completely at home...
I'm gonna love you forever.
Forever and ever, amen.
As long as old men, sit and talk about the weather,
As long as old women, sit and talk about old men.
If you wonder how long I'll be faithful,
I'll be happy to tell you again--
I'm gonna love you, forever and ever,
forever and ever, amen.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Day 111: Fields of Gold, Chapter 20
Did you know that it's possible to walk, without ever touching the ground? It is. I know, because I positively floated up the stairs, into my apartment, and into my bedroom where I flopped on to my bed and whispered "He loves me." to the darkness and my sleeping roommate.
He's in love with me. He loves me. He's in love with me.
Meanwhile, he walked back down the stairs, across the grass, and did a somersault.
He loves me.
I slept restlessly and kept waking up. I wanted it to be tomorrow. I wanted it to be tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that. I wanted to call him in the middle of the night and hear him say it again. I wanted him to repeat those words over and over and over, "I am in love with you."
I also learned that not only is it possible to walk without ever touching the ground, it's possible to feel beautiful every second of every day because the man of your dreams is in love with you. It's possible to smile first thing on a Saturday morning when you have to get up for work at 6:00 because of that. It's possible that flossing your teeth becomes fun because you're thinking of him.
I thought I had known love before, but this?! This was awesome.
The next night, Saturday night, we drove out to his parent's home to watch a movie I'd never seen. Shanghai Noon, actually. He told me it was hilarious. I don't remember a darn thing about it. I do remember, when it was over--we started to talk. And we really talked. We talked about our past--we talked about meeting on June 19th, 1999. We talked about the places we'd been since then, and the people we'd become. We talked about the two paths we'd been walking, which had been leading--ever so steadily--to this point. All this talk of our past led so very easily into our future. We didn't want different paths anymore. We wanted the same thing. So we decided that we were going to get married.
Thursday night he figured out he was crazy for me.
Friday night he realized that he was in love with me.
Saturday we decided that we were going to get married.
At this rate, we'd be married by Wednesday.
We left his parent's house and got in the car to drive home. It was pouring rain. As we drove, holding hands, neither of us quite knew what to say. It was going, and had gotten there, so fast, we didn't know what to do. So I asked him.
Me: "What do we do now?"
Dave: "Now? We chill."
Me: "We chill?"
Dave: "Yes. We don't go looking for rings. We don't set a date. We just get used to the idea. We chill."
I could do that. I could chill.
For maybe a week.
He's in love with me. He loves me. He's in love with me.
Meanwhile, he walked back down the stairs, across the grass, and did a somersault.
He loves me.
I slept restlessly and kept waking up. I wanted it to be tomorrow. I wanted it to be tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that. I wanted to call him in the middle of the night and hear him say it again. I wanted him to repeat those words over and over and over, "I am in love with you."
I also learned that not only is it possible to walk without ever touching the ground, it's possible to feel beautiful every second of every day because the man of your dreams is in love with you. It's possible to smile first thing on a Saturday morning when you have to get up for work at 6:00 because of that. It's possible that flossing your teeth becomes fun because you're thinking of him.
I thought I had known love before, but this?! This was awesome.
The next night, Saturday night, we drove out to his parent's home to watch a movie I'd never seen. Shanghai Noon, actually. He told me it was hilarious. I don't remember a darn thing about it. I do remember, when it was over--we started to talk. And we really talked. We talked about our past--we talked about meeting on June 19th, 1999. We talked about the places we'd been since then, and the people we'd become. We talked about the two paths we'd been walking, which had been leading--ever so steadily--to this point. All this talk of our past led so very easily into our future. We didn't want different paths anymore. We wanted the same thing. So we decided that we were going to get married.
Thursday night he figured out he was crazy for me.
Friday night he realized that he was in love with me.
Saturday we decided that we were going to get married.
At this rate, we'd be married by Wednesday.
We left his parent's house and got in the car to drive home. It was pouring rain. As we drove, holding hands, neither of us quite knew what to say. It was going, and had gotten there, so fast, we didn't know what to do. So I asked him.
Me: "What do we do now?"
Dave: "Now? We chill."
Me: "We chill?"
Dave: "Yes. We don't go looking for rings. We don't set a date. We just get used to the idea. We chill."
I could do that. I could chill.
For maybe a week.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Day 110: Fields of Gold, Chapter 19
I floated on a cloud that entire day, trying to wrap my mind around the note I'd found that morning. We'd only been dating three weeks. It seemed too soon. Too fast. And while I was unequivocally crazy for Dave, it took my breath away that things could really be changing this quickly, after so much time.
That night we drove 45 minutes up to his boss' house for a work party, followed by a movie. We entered the beautiful home, taking in details and drifting among his coworkers and their families. It was the first night I remember feeling, distinctly, like a couple in front of the whole world. Even when Dave was across the room, talking to other people, I was physically aware of where he was. I would raise my eyes from a game I was playing because I could feel his gaze from another table. It was effortless and easy, as simple as breathing, to fit my hand into his or rest my head on his arm as he leaned over to kiss the top of my head, without thinking.
I had always thought that being in love meant work--you worked at love because you loved that person. At least that had been the belief that prevailed in my first engagement. But this? This required no work at all. This was like coming home.
After the movie, we drove back to my apartment. We sat for a few minutes in his car, talking quietly, but also just being silent. Just being together. He leaned over to kiss me (which still made my hands tremble) and then, pulling away slightly and resting his forehead on mine, he said quietly, "I am in love with you." To which I could only whisper, "And I am so in love with you."
Effortless.
That night we drove 45 minutes up to his boss' house for a work party, followed by a movie. We entered the beautiful home, taking in details and drifting among his coworkers and their families. It was the first night I remember feeling, distinctly, like a couple in front of the whole world. Even when Dave was across the room, talking to other people, I was physically aware of where he was. I would raise my eyes from a game I was playing because I could feel his gaze from another table. It was effortless and easy, as simple as breathing, to fit my hand into his or rest my head on his arm as he leaned over to kiss the top of my head, without thinking.
I had always thought that being in love meant work--you worked at love because you loved that person. At least that had been the belief that prevailed in my first engagement. But this? This required no work at all. This was like coming home.
After the movie, we drove back to my apartment. We sat for a few minutes in his car, talking quietly, but also just being silent. Just being together. He leaned over to kiss me (which still made my hands tremble) and then, pulling away slightly and resting his forehead on mine, he said quietly, "I am in love with you." To which I could only whisper, "And I am so in love with you."
Effortless.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Day 109: Chapter 18
We drove home from the park, and I was blissfully smiling to myself the whole time. As we pulled up to my apartment Dave said "So, we're dating." "Yes." "Okay."
But, we were DATING, with all that the word implies. This time was for keeps, and there was no going back. One way or the other, we couldn't go back to being just friends ever again. I could hardly believe it, and sometimes expected that I would wake up and find myself laying in bed in Switzerland.
But it wasn't a dream--we really were dating. And this guy--this best friend that I'd known for three years? He was turning out to be even more amazing than I could've imagined. He would stop by my work to say good morning, and send me little notes via e-mail while I worked on school assignments. We met up, every Tuesday, to walk to devotional together. While I would be sitting there, with one foot crossed up on my knee to take notes, he would reach over with a Bic pen and draw a little heart on my ankle. There were a million little things that made dating Dave different from just being friends with Dave, and I savored every single second.
Dave was also, in every way, a gentleman. He walked me home, or called to make sure I'd gotten there safely. We kept curfew. We went on group dates--the most memorable being "sock puppet" night with his roommates. We were rarely alone. Compared to my only other serious relationship, this was pure, unmitigated bliss. The sound of his deep voice on the phone would pitch me backwards on to couch grinning. The sight of his 6'4" self walking through the bookstore to come see me at work made me forget how to form sentences. I have never been more utterly content.
I was also loving more time with his family--dinner up at his sister Carolynn's beautiful home, or hiking with Mike, Sarah, and Nicole. His parents were serving a mission out of the country, and his siblings were keeping a close eye on their brother, even from a distance.
One Thusday night in January, we went up to campus to see their production of "Crazy for You." Afterward, we walked down the hill toward my apartment and ended up on the brick walkway next to a stream. All by ourselves, we alternated between talking and dancing to a made up song that Dave sang. I could've stayed there under the stars all night.
The next morning, when I went to leave for work, I found a sign on my front door. It was his handwriting, with a paper moon, that said "Crazy for You."
This was significant.
When Dave had been dating the Russian girl, one of their big deal breakers had been this simple truth: he was not crazy for her. (His words.) He and I had talked about that, and I knew everything that the note implied.
The fact that he had acted on the impulse to make the note and come back to my apartment, after getting home very late anyway, made my heart beat fast. Was it possible? Could it really be? Was he beginning to be, at least a little, crazy for me?
But, we were DATING, with all that the word implies. This time was for keeps, and there was no going back. One way or the other, we couldn't go back to being just friends ever again. I could hardly believe it, and sometimes expected that I would wake up and find myself laying in bed in Switzerland.
But it wasn't a dream--we really were dating. And this guy--this best friend that I'd known for three years? He was turning out to be even more amazing than I could've imagined. He would stop by my work to say good morning, and send me little notes via e-mail while I worked on school assignments. We met up, every Tuesday, to walk to devotional together. While I would be sitting there, with one foot crossed up on my knee to take notes, he would reach over with a Bic pen and draw a little heart on my ankle. There were a million little things that made dating Dave different from just being friends with Dave, and I savored every single second.
Dave was also, in every way, a gentleman. He walked me home, or called to make sure I'd gotten there safely. We kept curfew. We went on group dates--the most memorable being "sock puppet" night with his roommates. We were rarely alone. Compared to my only other serious relationship, this was pure, unmitigated bliss. The sound of his deep voice on the phone would pitch me backwards on to couch grinning. The sight of his 6'4" self walking through the bookstore to come see me at work made me forget how to form sentences. I have never been more utterly content.
I was also loving more time with his family--dinner up at his sister Carolynn's beautiful home, or hiking with Mike, Sarah, and Nicole. His parents were serving a mission out of the country, and his siblings were keeping a close eye on their brother, even from a distance.
One Thusday night in January, we went up to campus to see their production of "Crazy for You." Afterward, we walked down the hill toward my apartment and ended up on the brick walkway next to a stream. All by ourselves, we alternated between talking and dancing to a made up song that Dave sang. I could've stayed there under the stars all night.
The next morning, when I went to leave for work, I found a sign on my front door. It was his handwriting, with a paper moon, that said "Crazy for You."
This was significant.
When Dave had been dating the Russian girl, one of their big deal breakers had been this simple truth: he was not crazy for her. (His words.) He and I had talked about that, and I knew everything that the note implied.
The fact that he had acted on the impulse to make the note and come back to my apartment, after getting home very late anyway, made my heart beat fast. Was it possible? Could it really be? Was he beginning to be, at least a little, crazy for me?
Monday, March 23, 2009
Day 108: Fields of Gold, Chapter 107
Pardon me while I ramble a moment.
Some of you have asked me what Dave has thought about the stuff I'm writing. It has been fun for me to meander through my memories, picking and choosing the ones I want to share. I've referenced back to journals I kept at the time in an attempt to remember how I felt about everything as it was happening. When I finish, I drag Dave over to my computer and make him read the latest entry. He reads it, and then he gets this look. This look says "That's not quite how I remember it."
I then tell him to get his own blog.
Really, though, to be fair--he didn't much like where I left off last night. Because he says that he and his roommate invited that girl *together* even if he was the one that called her. He also still doesn't understand how I thought that he was asking me on a date. ("Hm. Maybe because you asked me if I wanted to spend New Years Eve with you while we were cuddling. But I can see how that might be confusing to you." is what I think.) Anyway, for the record, he didn't think that he was asking her on a date. He also didn't think he was asking me on a date.
Are we clear? Okay, good. Carry on.
**
New Year's Eve was great fun, although I was confused by the addition of another girl to our double date. Was she the fifth wheel? Or was I? I figured I had prior claim and decided not to worry about it. (Let Dave worry about it--he'd invited her, right?)
Shortly after New Years, I moved into my new apartment at BYU and started school. My schedule was rigorous: oil painting, ballet, stained glass, German, and religion. I didn't know if I would be able to handle the mental strain of that course load, but I decided to give it a try. I'd also gotten a great new job working at the campus bookstore in their art framing department, which I was working to learn and loving. I was in a good place, and in a perpetually great mood.
One day, after work and between classes, I was browsing cards at the bookstore and I came across a card that said "Good friends, like good meat pies, are hard to find." And on the inside it said "Hello, my little meat pie." It cracked me up, and suddenly I just wanted to share it with Dave. I wanted him to stop stressing about dating me or not dating me, and just be my friend. So I bought it, with some candy, and dropped it off at his work on campus.
The next day, a Tuesday, he asked me to come over to his apartment to try out the new blender he'd gotten for Christmas from his oldest brother Gary and his wife Melissa. We were going to make smoothies. I put on my periwinkle coat and walked to his apartment where we spent the night eating and chatting. It was a great night. He offered to walk me home.
It was a crystal clear night, and very cold. We were close to my apartment when I asked, jokingly, what he'd been thinking about lately. He said quietly, "You mean besides you?" That response took me by surprise, and I didn't quite take him seriously. Suddenly, he reached out and took my hand, sending shivers up my arm, and pulled me across the street to a small park.
He told me that he'd been thinking about me and about dating until he was tired of thinking about me and dating. When I had showed up at his work with that card and that candy, it had just stressed him out even more. He told me that he'd decided that he didn't want to date me, but then talked to a church leader who kind of said "What have you got to lose?"
My stomach was tied in knots. I couldn't tell which way this conversation was going. He was holding my hand, so that was good--right? But then he was telling me about the turmoil in his heart, and I felt like I was pushing too hard or twisting his arm somehow. We walked around the park, re-crossed the street, and ended up on the metal and concrete stairs outside my apartment. We tried to tie up the loose ends, but we couldn't--we left them open.
I walked into my quiet, dark apartment, leaned my back against the door, and slid to the ground. Throwing my arms around my knees, I buried my head and sobbed. I just didn't know how to think or feel. I had no idea why I was in love with a guy without even trying to love him, when it seemed so obvious that he just didn't feel the same way about me.
**
Friday night, he took me to see a John Schmidt concert at the Provo Tabernacle. After it was over, we drove to a nearby park. It was dark and cold, but--even though it was January--there was no snow on the ground. We got out of the car and played on the playground equipment for awhile when, suddenly, I tapped his arm and said "Tag! You're it!" I took off running across the park, dodging through huge trees in the light of the full moon. When I was nearly all the way across the park, I stopped to catch my breath and turned.
Dave was walking slowly toward me through the trees. The brilliant moonlight was met with a silver fog rising up from the ground. His eyes were focused intently on my face. Until the day that I die, I will never forget that moment in my mind. My heart started to race. I walked slowly up to meet him, laughing breathlessly.
He wrapped his arms around me. I said, "My heart is pounding" then, laying my head on his chest I said, "Your heart is pounding, too."
Looking up at his face, he looked down at me and softly said, "But I don't think it's for the same reason."
I had three years to imagine my perfect first kiss. I had envisioned them in every season. But, for me at least, none of my imaginings even came close to being quite as perfect as that one in a cold park on a January night.
We kissed. Then we laughed, and we hugged, and he said "That was a long time coming."
We both had lost time to make up for.
Some of you have asked me what Dave has thought about the stuff I'm writing. It has been fun for me to meander through my memories, picking and choosing the ones I want to share. I've referenced back to journals I kept at the time in an attempt to remember how I felt about everything as it was happening. When I finish, I drag Dave over to my computer and make him read the latest entry. He reads it, and then he gets this look. This look says "That's not quite how I remember it."
I then tell him to get his own blog.
Really, though, to be fair--he didn't much like where I left off last night. Because he says that he and his roommate invited that girl *together* even if he was the one that called her. He also still doesn't understand how I thought that he was asking me on a date. ("Hm. Maybe because you asked me if I wanted to spend New Years Eve with you while we were cuddling. But I can see how that might be confusing to you." is what I think.) Anyway, for the record, he didn't think that he was asking her on a date. He also didn't think he was asking me on a date.
Are we clear? Okay, good. Carry on.
**
New Year's Eve was great fun, although I was confused by the addition of another girl to our double date. Was she the fifth wheel? Or was I? I figured I had prior claim and decided not to worry about it. (Let Dave worry about it--he'd invited her, right?)
Shortly after New Years, I moved into my new apartment at BYU and started school. My schedule was rigorous: oil painting, ballet, stained glass, German, and religion. I didn't know if I would be able to handle the mental strain of that course load, but I decided to give it a try. I'd also gotten a great new job working at the campus bookstore in their art framing department, which I was working to learn and loving. I was in a good place, and in a perpetually great mood.
One day, after work and between classes, I was browsing cards at the bookstore and I came across a card that said "Good friends, like good meat pies, are hard to find." And on the inside it said "Hello, my little meat pie." It cracked me up, and suddenly I just wanted to share it with Dave. I wanted him to stop stressing about dating me or not dating me, and just be my friend. So I bought it, with some candy, and dropped it off at his work on campus.
The next day, a Tuesday, he asked me to come over to his apartment to try out the new blender he'd gotten for Christmas from his oldest brother Gary and his wife Melissa. We were going to make smoothies. I put on my periwinkle coat and walked to his apartment where we spent the night eating and chatting. It was a great night. He offered to walk me home.
It was a crystal clear night, and very cold. We were close to my apartment when I asked, jokingly, what he'd been thinking about lately. He said quietly, "You mean besides you?" That response took me by surprise, and I didn't quite take him seriously. Suddenly, he reached out and took my hand, sending shivers up my arm, and pulled me across the street to a small park.
He told me that he'd been thinking about me and about dating until he was tired of thinking about me and dating. When I had showed up at his work with that card and that candy, it had just stressed him out even more. He told me that he'd decided that he didn't want to date me, but then talked to a church leader who kind of said "What have you got to lose?"
My stomach was tied in knots. I couldn't tell which way this conversation was going. He was holding my hand, so that was good--right? But then he was telling me about the turmoil in his heart, and I felt like I was pushing too hard or twisting his arm somehow. We walked around the park, re-crossed the street, and ended up on the metal and concrete stairs outside my apartment. We tried to tie up the loose ends, but we couldn't--we left them open.
I walked into my quiet, dark apartment, leaned my back against the door, and slid to the ground. Throwing my arms around my knees, I buried my head and sobbed. I just didn't know how to think or feel. I had no idea why I was in love with a guy without even trying to love him, when it seemed so obvious that he just didn't feel the same way about me.
**
Friday night, he took me to see a John Schmidt concert at the Provo Tabernacle. After it was over, we drove to a nearby park. It was dark and cold, but--even though it was January--there was no snow on the ground. We got out of the car and played on the playground equipment for awhile when, suddenly, I tapped his arm and said "Tag! You're it!" I took off running across the park, dodging through huge trees in the light of the full moon. When I was nearly all the way across the park, I stopped to catch my breath and turned.
Dave was walking slowly toward me through the trees. The brilliant moonlight was met with a silver fog rising up from the ground. His eyes were focused intently on my face. Until the day that I die, I will never forget that moment in my mind. My heart started to race. I walked slowly up to meet him, laughing breathlessly.
He wrapped his arms around me. I said, "My heart is pounding" then, laying my head on his chest I said, "Your heart is pounding, too."
Looking up at his face, he looked down at me and softly said, "But I don't think it's for the same reason."
I had three years to imagine my perfect first kiss. I had envisioned them in every season. But, for me at least, none of my imaginings even came close to being quite as perfect as that one in a cold park on a January night.
We kissed. Then we laughed, and we hugged, and he said "That was a long time coming."
We both had lost time to make up for.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Day 107: Fields of Gold, Chapter 16
So where did this leave us? Were we thinking about dating, or were we dating? I had no idea.
The next afternoon, the phone rang. I answered and heard Dave's deep voice on the other end, "Hi," he said. I could hear the smile in his voice, as well as a slight nervousness I'd never heard before. I grinned. "You want to try dating?" he teased "Alright. Will you go on a date with me this Friday?" I certainly would.
We went on our first real date in almost 3 years. I had forgotten so much about those few weeks when we'd dated the first time, but I found it all coming back in waves. How he liked for me to reach over and unlock his car door after I got in the car first. How we each had a side of the sky, and how I teased him that the stars were better on my side. The topics of conversation we liked to dwell on, and the views that we both savored. It was so easy and utterly uncomplicated. One night, as we sat with our arms wrapped around each other, he said "Why does this feel so normal?" I replied "Because it's right." At least, for me it was.
We spent time together and went on dates, but I could tell that Dave was still conflicted and uncommitted. I signed a contract on an apartment in Provo, only a few blocks from his apartment. I decided that if we were ever going to really date, there needed to be no more than a short walk involved. I wondered what was holding him back. I wondered what in the world his was thinking, most of the time. It was so much easier for me, since I could see so clearly where I wanted us to be--what I really thought we could be. I could tell he wasn't sure.
I could tell because, three years later, and the man had still never kissed me. I won't go into what that will do to a girl's self esteem. I knew him well enough by now to know that he wasn't going to do anything that implied he felt more than he did. He is true to himself, as well as honest with others. And unlike my impatient 19 year old self who just wanted a kiss before he left for Jerusalem, I found myself somewhat more content to wait. I knew that when, and if, he ever did kiss me--he would mean it.
But, then again, New Year's Eve was coming. New Year's Eve 2002-2003. I knew that things would change this year. They would go one way or the other, for better or for worse. I almost didn't want to know what he would choose. My choice was made.
He asked me what I was doing for New Years and we planned to go to First Night, this time in Provo. I didn't know, when he asked me if I wanted to spend New Year's Eve with him, that he would be inviting another girl along, too.
The next afternoon, the phone rang. I answered and heard Dave's deep voice on the other end, "Hi," he said. I could hear the smile in his voice, as well as a slight nervousness I'd never heard before. I grinned. "You want to try dating?" he teased "Alright. Will you go on a date with me this Friday?" I certainly would.
We went on our first real date in almost 3 years. I had forgotten so much about those few weeks when we'd dated the first time, but I found it all coming back in waves. How he liked for me to reach over and unlock his car door after I got in the car first. How we each had a side of the sky, and how I teased him that the stars were better on my side. The topics of conversation we liked to dwell on, and the views that we both savored. It was so easy and utterly uncomplicated. One night, as we sat with our arms wrapped around each other, he said "Why does this feel so normal?" I replied "Because it's right." At least, for me it was.
We spent time together and went on dates, but I could tell that Dave was still conflicted and uncommitted. I signed a contract on an apartment in Provo, only a few blocks from his apartment. I decided that if we were ever going to really date, there needed to be no more than a short walk involved. I wondered what was holding him back. I wondered what in the world his was thinking, most of the time. It was so much easier for me, since I could see so clearly where I wanted us to be--what I really thought we could be. I could tell he wasn't sure.
I could tell because, three years later, and the man had still never kissed me. I won't go into what that will do to a girl's self esteem. I knew him well enough by now to know that he wasn't going to do anything that implied he felt more than he did. He is true to himself, as well as honest with others. And unlike my impatient 19 year old self who just wanted a kiss before he left for Jerusalem, I found myself somewhat more content to wait. I knew that when, and if, he ever did kiss me--he would mean it.
But, then again, New Year's Eve was coming. New Year's Eve 2002-2003. I knew that things would change this year. They would go one way or the other, for better or for worse. I almost didn't want to know what he would choose. My choice was made.
He asked me what I was doing for New Years and we planned to go to First Night, this time in Provo. I didn't know, when he asked me if I wanted to spend New Year's Eve with him, that he would be inviting another girl along, too.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Day 106: Fields of Gold, Chapter 15
"Actually, Dave, neither do I."
Cue momentary awkward silence.
"What I mean is," I fumbled "I've never understood why you didn't want to marry your best friend."
(My mind is racing. Oops. I think I said too much.)
But we begin to talk.
I wish, sometimes, that I had a recording of that conversation. It was the most important conversation of my life. I know that I was bold. I know that he looked bewildered and confused. I wish that I remembered, better, what he said. I tried to practice some patience, and not to let all the things I'd been wanting to say for 18 months--no, more like 3 years, come tumbling out. But there was just so much that I wanted to say, and I knew, deep down, that I would never be at peace unless I knew that he knew how I really felt. So I told him.
That he was my best friend.
That I loved how comfortable we were together, and how happy he made me.
That I liked so many things about him.
That I was different than the 19 year old girl he had met at e.f.y. years before--that I had grown up and gotten better, in so many ways.
That I thought we should give dating a chance.
It was a long talk. What was apparent to both of us was that, eventually, one of us would get married and our friendship would have to end, and neither of us liked that idea. Neither of us wanted this best friend thing to be over.
He said he would think about it.
**
I walked inside my parents home around 11:00 that night. My mom was sitting in a chair in front of the computer playing spider solitaire. I guess she was waiting for me to come home. I walked in, leaned against the wall, sighed, and said "I'm not sure what that was. I don't even know how to explain what that was. But whatever it was? It was big."
She just looked up at me and grinned.
Cue momentary awkward silence.
"What I mean is," I fumbled "I've never understood why you didn't want to marry your best friend."
(My mind is racing. Oops. I think I said too much.)
But we begin to talk.
I wish, sometimes, that I had a recording of that conversation. It was the most important conversation of my life. I know that I was bold. I know that he looked bewildered and confused. I wish that I remembered, better, what he said. I tried to practice some patience, and not to let all the things I'd been wanting to say for 18 months--no, more like 3 years, come tumbling out. But there was just so much that I wanted to say, and I knew, deep down, that I would never be at peace unless I knew that he knew how I really felt. So I told him.
That he was my best friend.
That I loved how comfortable we were together, and how happy he made me.
That I liked so many things about him.
That I was different than the 19 year old girl he had met at e.f.y. years before--that I had grown up and gotten better, in so many ways.
That I thought we should give dating a chance.
It was a long talk. What was apparent to both of us was that, eventually, one of us would get married and our friendship would have to end, and neither of us liked that idea. Neither of us wanted this best friend thing to be over.
He said he would think about it.
**
I walked inside my parents home around 11:00 that night. My mom was sitting in a chair in front of the computer playing spider solitaire. I guess she was waiting for me to come home. I walked in, leaned against the wall, sighed, and said "I'm not sure what that was. I don't even know how to explain what that was. But whatever it was? It was big."
She just looked up at me and grinned.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Day 105: Fields of Gold, Chapter 14
I'd been home for three short weeks. Thanksgiving had come and gone, and I had been home long enough to be homesick for Switzerland--especially Christmas time in Switzerland.
On the first Sunday in December, there is a Christmas devotional at our church headquarters in Salt Lake City. One of Dave's older sisters, Teresa, had tickets for Dave and his siblings to attend, and he invited me to come along.
I pondered what to wear that night and decided on a nice deep aqua crossover top with the chai necklace he'd given me from Jerusalem. I pulled on my gray three quarter length coat from Los Angeles and a cashmere scarf that my parents had given me, and waited for him to pick me up. I had no idea if this counted as a date because, well, he had asked me to come and he was driving 30 minutes to pick me up. Did that count? We picked up Mike and Sarah, then drove to Salt Lake and met up with his sisters Teresa and Nicole. All of us sat together in the Conference Center, basking in the gorgeous Christmas music and message, and I just enjoyed being with his family. (Dave has the coolest family, who have the ability to make you feel fabulously at home, and several of them I knew from e.f.y. years before. I wanted to be part of that family. You'll see why.)
When the devotional was over, we decided to pile in one car and drive up to Teresa's apartment for super-yummy dessert. But there was one problem--there wasn't quite enough room, so someone would have to sit on someone's lap. Dave's sister-in-law Sarah (who *always* has my back) said happily "I think Becca has to sit on Dave's lap!" (I could've hugged her.) As I crammed into the car and perched myself as lightly as I could on Dave's lap and we all laughed and joked, I decided this was going to be my best Christmas season EVER. (See what I mean? Cool family.)
**
A few hours later, it was just Dave and I in the car as he drove me home. It had been such a beautiful relaxed night, and I was already sad that it was coming to an end. Then, he casually said, "Yeah, my roommates don't understand why we're not dating..."
My heart hammered in my chest and I could hear the sound of rushing in my ears. Was this my opening? Was this my chance to say something? On my mission, I had *promised* myself that I would not pursue Dave, or any guy. That I was worthy of being pursued, by jingo. I wasn't going to be the one that brought up dating first. But did that casual introduction count as him bringing it up????
In that split second, I made my decision...
"My roommates don't understand why we're not dating..."
"Actually, Dave, neither do I."
On the first Sunday in December, there is a Christmas devotional at our church headquarters in Salt Lake City. One of Dave's older sisters, Teresa, had tickets for Dave and his siblings to attend, and he invited me to come along.
I pondered what to wear that night and decided on a nice deep aqua crossover top with the chai necklace he'd given me from Jerusalem. I pulled on my gray three quarter length coat from Los Angeles and a cashmere scarf that my parents had given me, and waited for him to pick me up. I had no idea if this counted as a date because, well, he had asked me to come and he was driving 30 minutes to pick me up. Did that count? We picked up Mike and Sarah, then drove to Salt Lake and met up with his sisters Teresa and Nicole. All of us sat together in the Conference Center, basking in the gorgeous Christmas music and message, and I just enjoyed being with his family. (Dave has the coolest family, who have the ability to make you feel fabulously at home, and several of them I knew from e.f.y. years before. I wanted to be part of that family. You'll see why.)
When the devotional was over, we decided to pile in one car and drive up to Teresa's apartment for super-yummy dessert. But there was one problem--there wasn't quite enough room, so someone would have to sit on someone's lap. Dave's sister-in-law Sarah (who *always* has my back) said happily "I think Becca has to sit on Dave's lap!" (I could've hugged her.) As I crammed into the car and perched myself as lightly as I could on Dave's lap and we all laughed and joked, I decided this was going to be my best Christmas season EVER. (See what I mean? Cool family.)
**
A few hours later, it was just Dave and I in the car as he drove me home. It had been such a beautiful relaxed night, and I was already sad that it was coming to an end. Then, he casually said, "Yeah, my roommates don't understand why we're not dating..."
My heart hammered in my chest and I could hear the sound of rushing in my ears. Was this my opening? Was this my chance to say something? On my mission, I had *promised* myself that I would not pursue Dave, or any guy. That I was worthy of being pursued, by jingo. I wasn't going to be the one that brought up dating first. But did that casual introduction count as him bringing it up????
In that split second, I made my decision...
"My roommates don't understand why we're not dating..."
"Actually, Dave, neither do I."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
