Would it surprise you if I told you I don’t remember meeting my husband?
He remembers the first time he saw me. I was all a-flutter for my friend’s wedding. He remembers me saying, “It’s a beautiful day for a wedding,” and thinking that I must be one of those girls his pastor had warned him about. The girls who just wanted a husband.
But I don’t remember meeting him. One day he wasn’t in my life, and the next day he was one of the gang. I wasn’t interested in him “like that” because I had big dating-related plans for a guy I had met over the summer. And as our sophomore year started, I was dressing in red (my best color, according to my friend Holly) and trying to set the new guy from Washington up with my friend Heather.
Things with that other guy didn’t work out. He kind of turned out to be a jerk, anyway.
But this guy from Washington– the one who was wearing flannel shirts in Iowa in August– he and I were becoming buddies. There were many group trips to Wal-Mart where we rode the coin-operated horses and tried on sunglasses. He proposed with a Dairy Queen straw bent all up like a ring while we were out with a group of friends one night. We called each other “Schnooky Wookums” after that, making fun of the googly-eyed mushy people on our college campus.
Even after he started dating another girl we still kept calling each other Schnook.
We still do.
He dated the other girl for three months. Meanwhile, I spent some lonely moments as all my friends started pairing off. And I had roommate drama. God was teaching me to trust Him only, to wait for His timing.
And His timing for that guy from Washington and me– it started on my twentieth birthday.
In honor of my husband’s and my tenth wedding anniversary coming up in May, I am going to start posting some of our story now and then. Thanks to my sister for the inspiration. 🙂 It’s a good story. A little weird, but good. I’d love to hear your story too.