Thirteen years ago today he pulled me into the living room (I think that's what you call the one that you don't ever actually use, right? And the one that gets used is the family room?) at his parents' house. He sat me down in the rocking chair, looked me in the eye, took my hands in his (cold) ones, and said these words which I will never ever forget: "Will you be my girl?"
It'd been a long time coming. There were some obstacles in the way. We'd been friends for about a year. We'd talked on the phone daily-or more-for months. We'd spent hours and hours together at church events, family events, each others' houses. We'd been on a real date, even!
I said, "Sure."
I probably giggled a little. I remember he kissed me. Then we went back to the family room (living room?) and watched a movie with his parents. And then I went home. End of story.
Well, not really.
Not long later we both had to decide on colleges. We chose the same school. For two years we took nearly every class together, and those we didn't (ummm...calculus, in particular) he tutored me through in the evenings. I figured if he could love me during 4 hours of crying calculus every evening, he could probably love me through everything.
Two years later, he transferred to another college 800 miles away. We dealt with that. I figured if he could love me from 800 miles away, he could probably love me through anything.
People, it's been 13 years. Thirteen! And we've been through...well, just about everything. It feels like it, anyway. Some days, it feels more like it than others, that's for sure. We've experienced both life and death. Sickness and health. Richer and poorer. Hot and cold. We've been there.
And I'm pretty sure he still loves me.
I like that about him.
Thanks for a (mostly) great 13 years! Here's to another 13...and another...and another...and another after that. I love you. Forever!
I can't wait to see what giant plans God has coming for us!