I’ve been in love three times in my life. Yes, I said
it…three times. Granted, two of the three times may be considered ‘young’ love,
so they may be discounted. My first love was before I was twenty-one, and the
other for three years before twenty-five. I know there are those who may roll
their eyes, yawn, or raise an eyebrow at the possibility of anyone knowing what
love really is before a particular age, but I’m telling you, I was
head-over-heels, heart-skipped-a-beat, couldn’t- live-without-him in love each
time.
Being raised in a Christian home, I understood the
importance of being “equally yoked”, but in the earlier instances, knowing
about Jesus and believing in God sufficed. After all, he loved me, I loved him,
and we were talking about our future together. I had a dream that we were happy
together and had two beautiful boys, Michael and Gabriel. I could see their
features…one was fair and the other dark. They were such happy little boys.
This had to be it. He had to be “the one”.
As the years passed by, I realized he may never become the
person I knew he had the potential to be. He was a great guy, but he was not
great for me. We clashed on several beliefs. He was much more liberal, and I
was too conservative for him. In order for us to have a future together, we
would have to compromise who we were, and I would have to neglect my values. I
was unwilling to do that, and although he initially stated understanding and
loving me enough to consider my beliefs, three and a half years later, it was
obvious we were trying to change one another. His liberal ways had me asking
myself if he really cared for me the way I cared for him. We were at a crossroad,
and I decided that rather than hurt anymore, it was best to part ways. For
days, I listened to Brandy’s “Have You Ever” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UrNb397wS-A)
and wept. How could love, or doing the right thing, hurt so bad?
I was certain I could never love so hard again. I moped
around when I saw other couples holding hands, sneaking kisses, and/or on
dates. There I was, alone, or the third wheel. I was a simple on-looker,
someone a girlfriend could ask to follow to the movies because her boyfriend
was unavailable, or the pitied friend. Needless to say, that got old fast.
Just when at my wit’s end…I met him…at work. He was amazing!
The first real-life Caucasian guy that had ever really caught my eye. He was a
Christian, bursting with joy, and an energy that made me want to get to know
him. My heart skipped a beat the first day he called me “Sunshine”. I was on
Cloud 9 for days. We spoke for long periods of time; we really hit it off, and
he was serious about his relationship with Christ. He HAD to be “the one”. Before
long, he announced he was leaving our place of employment and I was distraught.
I wrote him a very long note and handed it to him on his last day. I shared how
broken I felt prior to meeting him and how happy I was anytime he was around. I
even included my phone number, in case he wanted to keep in touch. Only a few
days passed before he called me.
We spent lots of time on the phone, hung out quite a few
times with friends and then started hanging out alone from time-to-time,
sharing our dreams. His was nothing like mine. We were polar opposites in terms
of what we envisioned for our future. He had no education, while I was
finishing up my Bachelors of Arts. I was willing, this time, to compromise.
After all, he loved Jesus…I loved Jesus…what would it matter if I would have to
put off child-bearing until a bit later than I wanted? So what if none of my loved
ones considered his line-of-work, or lack thereof, childish or
short-sighted?
By this time, whether out of desperation, or determination,
I’m still not quite sure… since I knew which church he went to, after much
thought and prayer, I left my childhood church and started going to the
mega-church he attended. Two years in and I was in love. I longed to run into
him at church, even if it meant orchestrating our ‘bumping into one another’ with
my friend, Grace. He introduced me to his friends, and I introduced him to my
closest friends and sister.
I would say things like, “Lord, if I see him at El Pollo
Loco on 7th St, then I’ll know he’s my future husband.” Or, “if I
see him at Walgreens, I’ll know for sure he’s the one.” Funnily, even though we
no longer worked together, and I lived on the opposite side of town, I would
run into him on the way, or at the actual place I was going. (Granted, he lived
about 10 minutes from my workplace, but what were the odds?!?) By year three, even after my mom’s insight and objection, I
was still certain that even though we were not ‘official’ or anything, things
were heading that way. The day he called and asked to meet up the following
evening, I was certain that was going to be the moment I’d waited for so long.
All the ladies at work advised me on what to wear and wished me luck as I
rushed from Mesa to North Phoenix to meet the man of my dreams and say, “yes”
when he asked me to be his girlfriend, or to court me.
It was raining, so we had to meet elsewhere. My heart beat
fast the whole time. I was waiting anxiously for that moment, and then he said,
“The reason I called you here today, Esther…” and the more he spoke, the deeper
my heart sank. I was crushed as I heard about another woman he had drawn close
to, who did not live in the country, was several years older than him, but he
was certain their paths had crossed for a reason, and he intended to propose to
her. He patronized me, telling me what a “great girl” I was, and how if we’d
met under different circumstances…blah…blah…blah. I just wanted to run out of
the restaurant and drown in the tears that I held back on purpose. I was not
going to give him the satisfaction to see me cry. That night, and for many nights, I wept bitterly. How could
yet another man hurt me like that? THREE years I’d given to get to know him. Why
did God allow it? That was it. I was SO done with men. Christian or not, they
were just out to gently hold, toss, then stomp on my heart. That was my
conclusion.
So, when in November 2003, I was told this guy from our church's inner-city bus
ministry liked me, I was stand-offish. I was there to serve the needy and
broken. I was there to lose sight of my hurt, to give others hope. I was there
to get over my pain by pouring into others. In fact, I arrived every Saturday
morning, in sweats and my hair pulled back. I had NO interest in man-hunting,
or being hunted. This was just bad news to me, so I attempted to shut it down
quickly.
I met with the gentleman, as requested, and informed him
that I still was not over the guy I’d liked for a long time and was in no place
to date or get to know anyone at that time. He seemed understanding but pursued
me hard. He requested my phone number, and I obliged, of course with my eyes
rolling, upset that he didn’t get the point. After a few phone calls, I asked
to meet with him in person, at which time, I informed him that he already had
five strikes against him, so nothing would come out of whatever “this” was.
Taken aback, he asked what these “strikes” were. I said:
1.)
I don’t like your hair color; it makes you look
old. You might want to change it back to whatever color it used to be.
2.)
You’re short. I’m pretty sure the man I’m going
to marry is going to be taller than me, and you aren’t.
3.)
You’re not my type. Athletically… you’re a bit
chubbier than my ideal type.
4.)
You have little education and don’t seem to have
any major future goals.
5.)
And you live with your mom…ummm…no!
I figured if he didn’t get my drift by now, something must
truly be wrong with him. After all, I laid it straight, and I had no regrets. I
was tired of men just thinking I was a toy to be played with, and homeboy was
nothing like any of the guys I’d ever liked, so he could go on his merry way on
to some other girl who would gladly accept his interest to get to know her
more.
Somehow, some way, this man with “five strikes” stood his
ground, kept calling, kept coming around, took my insults, and pursued me
whole-heartedly. April 3, 2004, on my 25th birthday, I said, “yes”
to his marriage proposal, and on December 18, I said, “I do”. As you can see,
somehow, this man was nothing like the man I had envisioned for myself, but
even to this day, I find out each day that he is EXACTLY what I need in a
life-long partner in life. We may still disagree on what I remember as the
fourth strike, but through our ups and downs, I’ve still got a
can’t-live-without-him kinda love. I’m forever grateful to the greatest
Matchmaker out there, Jesus Christ, who took my hurt, brokenness, heartache,
and made something beautiful out of them. Looking back at my ‘list’ many years
later, I realized my husband is everything on it, just in a very different
package than I had anticipated.
