We met in Sunday school.
We were both home from college for the summer and I was the new girl, my parents having moved to town the summer prior. Not knowing where the college class met, I came in to Sunday school a little late. “You can sit by me,” he said while the teacher wrote my name on the board.
He had a girlfriend but his friend did not. I went out with the friend a few times over that summer and some while home at Christmas break.
The next summer, however, he told his girlfriend they needed to “date other people” and called me that very day to ask me out. I told him to “Hold on” as I laid the receiver down and rushed downstairs to garner my mom’s and sister’s opinions. My sister was good friends with the now former girlfriend so I felt her approbation a necessity.
“Go!” was my mom’s immediate and unqualified counsel.
“Go!” my sister urged. “Just don’t tell anyone I said you should!” she called as I rushed back up the stairs.
If he thought that break in our conversation to be strange he never mentioned it.
We ate barbeque and went to the Braves game. I wore an off the shoulder white tee with navy and white striped shorts. He was charming and funny and very easy to talk to, quite the gentleman. We had fun.
That fall, when we returned to campus, me in Texas and he in Alabama, we exchanged letters–real, handwritten letters like with stamps and everything! We would wait up to call at 11 pm when the rates were cheaper. We went out on dates when I was home. He made the cross country trek with my parents, my sister, my brother, my grandmother, my aunt, my uncle, and my two cousins to see me graduate.
When we met I had pretty much given up on men and relationships. I was what? Twenty years old? It didn’t matter. My heart had, by my estimation, been broken too many times. Instead I dreamed of a post-college future that consisted of a cat and a VCR–which is funny, really, in hindsight, given the technological dinosaur status of the VCR and my current affection for a certain dog named Darcy.
It wasn’t long, though, before my dream of life with a cat and a VCR gave way to something else, something like a white dress and a preacher and a lifetime of love and happiness til death do us part.
He loved me. I loved him.
So on my birthday when he kneeled down and asked me “Will you?” I said Yes.
And on July 13, 1991 when I stood before the preacher in a white dress and he asked me “Do you?” I said Yes. I do. For better or worse. Til death do us part.
Who could have known what the next twenty one years would hold? The Lord has indeed been good to us, glory to His name.
My husband is a good man, a man of integrity and honesty, a godly man, a man who loves the Lord Jesus with earnest humility. He’s the best man I know and I’m proud to bear his name and raise his sons. He loves our boys and works hard to care for us and to provide for us. He supports me without reservation. In fact, he spoils me. He thinks I’m beautiful. He knows the worst of me better than anyone else and he loves me better than anyone else with a steadiness and profusion that surprise me still. I am unworthy of him.
I love Jesus more and I see His grace better because of this love lavished on me by my husband.
I am blessed. I am grateful. And I love him more today than ever.
He loved me and I said Yes. He loves me still and still I say Yes. For better or worse. Til death do us part.
To God be the glory, great things He has done!