{Worth the Wait}

Since this is a blog that includes notes on the early days of marriage and all its triumphs and failures, I figured I should share how it is I even came to be married.  Surely, it was a miracle.  Telling the story of how I met, fell in love with, and married, the hottest man on the planet will take more than one blog post, so be prepared!


OK.  Here it goes.


I was 25 when I first “officially” met my husband.  This may not seem reamrkably old to any of you. However, those of you who know me, know that I had become quite impatient by this time.  My maid-of-honor (my cousin who is really more like a sister) even shared with our 200 + wedding guests about my days of pouring over Bridal magazines during her speech. 
People laughed . . . a lot.



It’s true.  I loved accompanying my mom to the grocery store because she’d often let me get a BRIDES magazine and a treat (I always chose Hershey’s with Almonds, or a Skor bar, or a tin of cashews, and a Dr. Pepper).  I would then puruse the entire magazine and dog ear all my favorites.  My mom would then allow me to show her the dog-eared pages.  I watched TLC’s A Wedding Story every opportunity I had.  I had a slight fettish with weddings.  In fact, I still do.  As a child, when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would always say,


“A wife, and a mother, and an author.”  I’ve accomplished the wife part so far!


So, meeting my husband at the age of 25 and not marrying him until the age of 27 wasn’t exactly in my plan.  I thought girls went to college, got married, and then had babies.  I guess the Lord needed to teach me patience.


I had one “real” boyfriend in High School. One serious boyfriend in college, and a couple other relationships post-college.  My heart was always broken.  For someone who wanted to be married so badly, I sure had a rough time of it.


My post-college roommate when I first moved away from home, began to tell me that I needed a “nice” guy.  She had mentioned a guy she worked with asa helper in the High School ministry at my church.  She had pointed him out and I may have even been introduced to him a few times, but I was still hurting from the last break-up and wasn’t really interested. 



During this time, I was sort of into hardcore mountain biking.  I went about three times a week, often by myself.  In retrospect, this was proabably dangerous.  However, I was angry and hurt and mountain biking alone allowed me to flaunt my independence and get an adreneline rush.  It’s also hard to focus on your heartache when your thighs are burning from an hour long climb on a bike. 



So, I went for a ride the night before my 25th birthday.  I was the last one on the mountain.  The fog was rolling in.  It was heading towards dusk.  On my way down I hit the front brakes to hard.  My bike went vertical, in slow motion, then stopped when it was perpindicular to the hard ground.  I fell off, and landed on a rock with my knees.  Let’s not talk about the pain; it makes me woozy.  I sat there, gasping, tears streaming down.  My pants were ripped, I was bleeding. I tried to get up.  I couldn’t.  I tried calling friends.  No one answered.  I figured if I left a message then someone would eventually find me.  Finally, I was able to stand.  I walked my bike downhill a few feet, but realized I’d never make it before dark at that rate.  So, in true, hardcore, independent fashion, I rode the rest of the way down with blood running down my leg.  Lovely picture, I know.


I was laid up at home with ice on my knee for a day or two.  The cut wasn’t huge, but deep.  I still have a scar.


That Sunday, I limped out of church and into the sunny courtyard with my friend Jazmine.  Scott, my husband, was in the courtyard and saw me hobbling.


“What did you do?” he asked me.


I explained the fateful solo ride down the mountain.  He was impressed.  Perhaps this injury is a good thing after all, I thought.  He had a friend with him who engaged my friend in conversation.  We all chatted for a bit and that was it, or so I thought.  I didn’t see him for another month or two; the Lord, however, was at work.




 {Hope you enjoyed part 1!  How did you meet your sweetie?}

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