The Story of you and me

This is the story of us. How we came to be an us and why; why it worked, why it had to be you, why it took so long, and why all of those factors are kind of the same. This  story may not be exiting or even logical but it is true and worth the telling.

We meet in the singles ward. You were new and I had been there about a month. You were looking for a new start and I was starting my new job. You were quiet but approachable and I thought you could use a group of friends to hang with. I still remember thinking as I gave you my number, "I hope he doesn't read to deeply into this." And of course you didn't.

We had been friends for about six months before you asked me out. Somehow I still felt a little nervous. Dating a friend who shared your same social circle can be dangerous. Still we had a good time. Talking was easy and natural and somehow the 45 minute drive didn't seem all that long either way. We went on another date not too long afterwards and I started to feel hopeful. Maybe we could really try this thing and maybe it would work. Maybe.

Then you stopped asking me out. You missed a few Saturday church socials and I saw less and less of you. I admit to feeling a little petty and slighted by your absence, but when common friends told me you were exploring other options I felt both vindicated and satisfied. We had made some effort but your interest was simply elsewhere. I began other pursuits of my own and we remained congenial friends. After a few months however you asked me out again. Your timing was horrid. I was making labored headway with my newest romantic attempt and having felt ignored by you once already I was reticent to let you get too close again. I was blunt. Possibly to blunt and likely much too honest as I told you I wasn't into you like that anymore, that I had been at one time but I had painstakingly talked myself out of it and was no longer there. I told you I may likely get there again but there were other players involved now and I gave you no promises. I'm still not sure what you made of all that but the date offers slowed down a bit. You went out of town and I found to my frustration that not only did I miss you but I was relieved to see you when you returned. Being the mature adult that I am I greeted you with stoic friendly aloofness to punish you for inconvenienceing me. Still you asked me on one more date and I was excited almost inspite of myself. We had a lovely time and again it all felt natural and easy but you were so maddeningly polite. Not a touch, not a hand-brush, not even a "do you want to do this again" at the door. And I was confused and frustrated. (Much like I'm sure you had been feeling for quite awhile.)

That night I called you. You didn't seem surprised or disappointed. We had the obligatory and slightly awkward DTR we decided to give it a go officially. Things went well. I was still a bit reluctant to commit and often threw in quips like"if we don't break up we should... " or "if we are still together then..." But somehow you put up with me.

And slowly, almost against my will I fell for you. Irredeemably. We dated for 6 months when I knew I had to decide if I wanted to keep you or let you go for forever. I was always more afraid of the permanence of being married than I was of you but that have you little comfort. I asked my grandpa for advice and a blessing and he taught me that I had been praying for the wrong thing. Instead of wanting to know if this was going to fail he said I should be asking if it was going to succeed. That changed everything for me. Very soon I knew you were exactly what I wanted and my hint dropping probably became obnoxious. A few weeks after that you asked me for forever and I gave you my future. Now we are an "us" for time and all eternity.

I can't promise you perfection. I can't even promise you magic. But I can promise you that I love you. That you are the best thing that has ever happened to me after being born into a gospel-centered family, and that I will do everything I can to give you back the amazing life you have given me. Let's go conquer the world together.

Engaged

I was two when I met my sister--the first family besides my parents I had ever known. She wasn't much to look at then and she wasn't all that exciting, at least not at first; but there was something magic about her. Something that made the whole world love her just for existing. Something that made me want to keep her part of my life forever. As our numbers swelled from 2 to 6 I learned that family was my destiny--all I was, and all I hoped to someday be.

I was fifteen when I finalized my plan for the rest of my life.  I would be married somewhere among my three breezy years through college then magic and babies sliding down rainbows of bliss and stability, eight perfectly behaved children in two perfect rows rejoicing at their luck to come to such an ideal home--one naturally without tears, disagreement, or dust. I would be a perfect cook, a brilliant piano teacher, and I would never lose my girlish figure or charm. It was really a good plan.

I was twenty two when I woke up one day in Korea in an experience that changed forever not only who I was but how I saw everyone else. I learned that love is messy, perfection is overrated (and unattainable), sometimes you call magic a miracle, and that there is sometimes more charm in spontaneity than precision. 

I was twenty three when I earned my bachelors degree and went into a field that I love. I was accepted into my top two choices for graduate school and began the journey that would carry me to start me on the path of fulfilling all of my professional dreams. I was twenty six when I earned my doctorate degree and left school forever. I was twenty six and one day when I began to despair of forming my very own family.

I was twenty seven when I started dating someone new--someone who felt different somehow than anyone I had ever dated before. I was very nearly scared off several times because this one carried a sticking sensation that I wasn't sure I was ready for, but that same stickiness kept me there somehow. And we fell in love, almost like magic.

I was twenty eight when one of my very favorite people on the planet asked me to be his wife. Delight, anxiety, anticipation, and a dash of untinted terror. He is sticky. Not in the jam-hands sort of way that makes me feel like I need to wash him off but in the re-usable stickers way--the way I find him attached to my thoughts and plans, the way I see him when I shouldn't be able to. The way he has become so much a part of who I am it is hard to imagine when he was not a part of me. He cut away the sluff I had hastily tied to cover my despair and filled in the space with shiny new hope. What he lacks in spontaneity he more than makes up for in delightfully dimpled charm. I gave up long ago on destiny and perfection, but I have finally found my own kind of sticky magic. And I think I'm going to hold onto it forever.

Single on the Clearance Rack

Today I had a bit of time to kill between jobs and went to a factory clearance store. As I browsed the clearance rack of the clearance outlet not really looking for anything I found myself waxing nostalgic (shocker, I know). Call me pathetic but somehow I found it absurdly unfair that these articles had been passed over again and again only to lie strewn sadly over a rack  vultured over by everyone from old ladies with canes and paisley handbags to young girls with too much shiny pink lip-gloss. Clearly their creators had meant them to be so much more--to see them unwanted and passed over this way felt vaguely wrong and unjust.

I have been single for what sometimes feels like a long time. I have watched friends, sisters, roommates, classmates, and coworkers pass into that mysterious married state as I stay stagnant and stoic. Feeling, I imagine, a little like the brand new clothes--tried on but never selected. Picked over but never cherished. Laughed at a little, brushed once or twice by the casual shopper, and maybe even in someone's "maybe" pile for a few breathless moments of hope but never actually a keeper for anyone.

Not to sound all doom and gloom--it has been a fantastic life that I am grateful for and that I have loved. I cannot regret the road that has led me here because I like where and who I am. Still, there is always that lingering nagging thought. Even now, when I am in a fantastic relationship with a fantastic man, the acrid idea berates my brain--what is it about you that makes you leave-able? They say people are single for a reason, and I feel like that's true. Why, then, are you still here?

I guess the happy ending for most clothes and people is they find a home. Be it alone or with someone, purchased or donated, bought or stolen everyone eventually meets their tomorrow. I am excited and a little nervous about what mine will be, but at least today I couldn't look at discount clothes quite the same way. They made me think of people, and I couldn't quite think of those "weird" people in my singles ward quite the same way either. It's no fun to be passed over and heckled at. This I know. God doesn't heckle. I need to love better. To make sure that everyone has a place--right beside me. In the Kingdom of God and here in this planet there is room for everyone even if they feel too flashy or worn or if they seem a little old fashioned or out of fashion or even have an odd tear or stain here or there. God loves us all just the same. It's time I did a little more loving and a little less passing over.