who are you to claim that you are normal...what is the normalacy of life? we are not you. we are real. we are happy. we are life. we are one. we are hungry. we are there. we are sinners. we are growing. we are new. we are solid. we are called. we are true. we are different. we are love.
you & me
He ate one slice of pizza, which is his equivalent of being speechless. He was so nervous to see her, so eager and anxious to be near her for the first time in almost a decade, that he even let her drink from his straw.
She landed at the Bozeman airport after telling their story to the stewardess on the plane, who, in turn asked her to share the story with all of the passengers. The passengers knew how he was a year ahead of her in junior high and how they met at youth group eight years prior. He had a crush on her and she thought he was cute—that’s all—until the day he was to move to a different time zone and a different life. On that day, he walked up to her front porch to say goodbye, and she thought to herself, “I hope he learns to become a good skier.”
He moved, but he stayed in her heart. They sent a couple emails back and forth. He planted the seed—“If you ever break up with that jerk, let me know”—but she never thought she’d see him again.
And then the dreams began.
She dreamt of him frequently. He was in the background, his short, spiky blond hair, a constant cast member in the dreams that continued for days, months and then years. Always there, almost as a reminder. So she began to pray for him, daily, for eight years, for no other reason than because she felt his presence in her subconscious was a sign from Him. A sign to pray and nothing more.
Her relationship ended. She finished college. She lived and loved and grew. Years passed until, one unremarkable day, friends they shared mentioned something about him. She felt something. She asked them for his phone number, but held on to it, anxious, until summoning up the courage and realizing, truly, she didn’t have much to lose by making the call.
No answer. She left a message with her first name. He listened to the message, though he didn’t know who she was, and called her back anyway. He realized who was calling.
“If you ever break up with that jerk, let me know.”
And she did.
He asked if she was married. She knew, from their first 45-minute conversation, that the peace in her heart was not from something as simple as a phone call. He told his friends she was the girl he would marry. He’d never had a girlfriend before.
Their first conversation ended with the promise of more to come. They had a decade worth of living to catch up on, and, in four-hour periods every night for months, they shared their past, their hopes for the present and a promise of a future that they could share.
Their friends were in shock. Her family, for the most part, resisted. They did not know. They did not understand. But, in a way that is only revealed in time, they did not need to.
She walked off the plane onto the tarmac. He met her there, to the applause of the entire flight. Passengers shook their hands. But she did not kiss him when she saw him. After all, nothing about this could be predicted.
For the first time in eight years, they were together. They shared their first kiss on Thursday of that four-day trip. And then, they were apart again.
It was the first of many four-day trips. She lived in the Midwest; he moved to Texas seeking an opportunity and a chance to prepare a life for his future bride. In the months to come, distance, misunderstanding and disapproval from others clashed with their fierce loyalty and love, foremost, of the Creator who brought them together, and then to each other; a conviction of a love that always protected, always trusted, always hoped and always persevered—their love.
On October 14, 2006, he stood on the white sands of a beach, holding her hands, her white gown still as the emerald ocean behind them. As the sun sank into the orange sky, a covenant was made, a man and woman were united and a simple promise—that love never fails—was fulfilled.
as told by emily of kiss + tell me.