A Spring of Joy

“Have you been outside?”

“Yep. Go outside.”

I opened the front door and stood on the little porch outside my apartment. “Okay. I’m outside. Now why am I out here?”

“Because, it’s so gorgeous that I knew once you went outside you’d say, ‘I have to go on a picnic with Brian.’”

And that, my friends, in all its cheesy glory, is how it all began.

Backtracking to earlier: It was small group leaders’ retreat weekend, and I was on crutches with my knee wrapped due to a hyper-extension (my Mom always told me, “If you’re going to play volleyball like a boy, you can’t get hurt like a girl.”). I didn’t do much that weekend other than sit. And he sat with me. Playing cards, listening to talks, praying, playing his guitar. Our friend, Kimmer, watched from a distance and commented later that the sparks were flying. The Sunday morning after the retreat, he drove me to my apartment and offered to pick me up again at 10:30 to take me to church. I agreed and limped inside to shower and get ready.

Once ready, I plopped down on the couch in my quiet apartment and promptly fell asleep. I woke up to the phone ringing two hours later. Groggy, I glanced at the clock and shot up. It was 12:30… an hour and a half AFTER church was supposed to begin. Groaning, I reached for the phone to hear his voice.

“Hi.”

“Ummm, soooo, I’m sorry I didn’t pick you up.”

The wheels began spinning in my mind. In my sleepy state, I still hadn’t grasped what he was saying. Then he continued, “I took a shower and got in my bed and fell asleep. I just woke up.”

Realization dawned on me and I laughed out loud, “It’s okay. Your phone call just woke me up.”

I heard his giggle, a giggle that still makes me laugh out loud whenever I hear it today. It was then that he told me to head outside…

I don’t remember what we talked about on that first date. I don’t remember what I was wearing as I hobbled beside him. I don’t remember what I did the rest of the afternoon once he dropped me off at home.

But there are things I remember about that day. I remember the power of the retreat. The repentance that swept over our group, and the lingering sense of God’s presence over us when we returned to campus. I remember picking up KFC and heading to the lake. I remember sitting on his tattered jean jacket by the water and talking for hours, learning about each other and life. I remember throwing bits of bread to the ducks. I remember his eyes, their warmth and sparkle. I can picture his jeans, holes in the knees and his purple Crusade t-shirt with his sandals. (I certainly didn’t choose him for his fashion sense… or his mullet.) I remember calling Monica, breathless with excitement.

I remember knowing, as I did the night I had met him weeks before. Don’t ask me how, but I knew on our first date, September 10th, thirteen years ago.

Just as I still know today. He is my ONE. My ONLY.