We met at summer’s end; on fall’s doorstep. We’ve met a dozen times before in passing, in stores, and through apartment windows, but only from afar with stranger eyes, not knowing the face we saw would someday be the face we would wake up to; a relationship tested by fire and guided by God’s loving hands. The face with the hands that would hold each others’ dreams above the other. We were meant to fall in love and marry.
He typed, “Shall we go on a road trip?”
“Let’s meet first; then, we’ll see.” I sent my reply.
We met at a cafe; me, holding a rose in a book.
He wasn’t an ax murderer.
He was an outdoorsman, a hunter.
His was love at first sight.
I took a little longer, not because I didn’t love him, but because I couldn’t love myself. I had to trust God before I could trust him. That was nine years ago.
In early spring we married. The cherry blossom trees bloomed pink. A few flakes of snow fell from the sky. The wind swept across the higher areas gathering the skirts of a brides dress too long and bought in a hurry to silence nagging voices. My tears were gone. I had only a bright future in front of me with a man who would teach me that God is enough.
This morning I will wake up. The day will try to make it ordinary, but my husband will always make each day extraordinary. A day without him is like a void in the sand. We met at summer’s end; on fall’s doorstep. We met and I didn’t worry if he would ever pop the question. We met in October, 2001. He proposed in May, 2002. We became first time believers in November, 2002 and married in April, 2003. Some things were just meant to be.
Have you met “the one?”