God's Daiquiri Story

I was raised to know God and the story of this Jesus who came to save.

I was "saved" as a young child of about 9 years old, one night after praying "....if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take..."  After uttering those words, I felt that still small voice speak to me and say, "Do you?  Do you want to be mine?"  I whispered back a heartfelt, "yes"....and He moved into my heart that quiet night in Iowa as I lay under the covers of my little yellow Holly Hobby blanket.  I proceeded to live a mostly fruitless life, but I tried really hard to be "good".

Many years later in 1998, I began a painful and beautiful journey.  It felt like I was being bombarded by so many different "truths"....how could I really know what IS true?  If there is just one God, surely there must be one standard of truth....God's Truth.  I spoke to a  Catholic priest, a Lutheran minister, my parents, a Mormon from work, and an Evangelical Christian friend.  At one point or another during our conversations, all these different people mentioned one book at least once...the Bible.

How could this be?  The Bible was just a book of stories....hard to understand, seemingly contradictory....and the few pieces I could understand didn't make me like or trust God very much!

So I did what any self-respecting intelligent person would do....I se out to prove that the Bible couldn't be true.  That way, I could simply live my OWN "truth" and all would be settled.

I read.  I gathered piles of info (thank you, internet).  I talked.  I studied.  This went on for YEARS.  Five years.  I had reams of documents printed up.  I compared the Jewish holy book to our modern Bible....to the Catholic Bible....to the Mormon books....

To my utter frustration, I was not finding much success in disproving the Bible.  But I still wasn't really ready to accept it at TRUTH.   After all, it was so HARD to read....confusing...frustrating....made me angry every time I tried to read it!

And then one day, that still small voice spoke to me again.  Only it wasn't quite so still and small.  I envisioned myself at a crossroads.  I was perfectly free to choose either path I wanted, but those paths were headed in opposite directions....there was no "medium" or "sort of" middle road.  And that voice said, "Daiquiri, you know enough.  It's time to choose."  It was gentle, but it was firm.

I broke.

My pride, my "intelligence", my knowledge, my self-righteousness....all of it fell away and I got real with God.  Heart to heart.

"God, I don't understand you.  I don't understand this book of yours.  The pieces of that book that I do understand, make me feel like you're not very nice.  But I know this...there is a God, and I am not that God.  YOU are God.  I am not.  I don't know who you are or what you want with me, but I want to be yours.  I want to know you.  I want my life to have purpose and meaning.  Help me understand the Bible if that's how you want me to know you.  I give up.  From this point forward, I will stop fighting and just be all yours.  I'm scared of you and what you have for my life.  You, God....I want you to be my Lord."

There were no fireworks or thunderbolts.  Just an ocean of peace in my heart.  And love.... oh, God... it's as if God is a vast OCEAN of love, and He took one minuscule *drop* of His love and put it in my heart and mind.  For weeks, I was nearly crushed by the enormity of that one small drop of God-love in my heart.  I spend a lot of time praying and crying....in a good way....just trying to build up the muscle required to carry that little drop!

Needless to say, I've never been the same.  And thank God for that!

My first Easter after being "born again" (I can't think of a better way to describe it) was OVERWHELMING.....oh, this Jesus of mine!  What he did for me!  How much he loves me!  At the time, we were going to a big Christian church in Boise, Idaho (Calvary Chapel Boise), and they held their Easter service in the BSU Pavilion.  There was this little start-up artist who came to sing for us.....he had a single guitar, and his friend sat on a beat-box.  Those two people, those two instruments.....and man, I could NOT stop the tears.  The joy and love in my heart....I felt physically incapable of containing it all!

That little artist was Phil Wickham....if you listen to Christian radio these days, you know that God has done amazing things in his music career! :-)

Anyway....this whole post was intended to be a, "hey, check out this song....this is the guy who led worship my first Easter as a born-again Christian"....but I guess a little background was necessary ;-)

This is one of my favorite songs to this day....Divine Romance, indeed.  Your heart will never be the same if you lay it down at His feet.

Happy Easter weekend, friends. God loves you so very much.

xoxo Daiq

See the video here:  Divine Romance, Phil Wickham

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My Best Dream

It was a cool evening in late summer.  I was leaving home the next morning - my family would drive me to my first year of college the next morning.  I was excited.  Scared.  Uncertain.  Conflicted.  Was I doing the right thing?

As I often did, I opened my bedroom window and removed the screen from the sill, and climbed out onto the little section of roof outside.  I curled my knees to my chest, took a deep breath, and sighed as I stared up at the evening sky.  Are you there, God?  I don't know if I'm doing the right thing.  Please help me figure this out.

I waited and waited.  The navy sky deepened in to a heavy blanket of black with stars twinkling through the fabric of night.  The crickets chirped their reliable song from the grass below.  The air became chilly...cold even as the breeze fluttered through my hair and chilled the tears that trickled down my cheeks.

When no answer streaked across the night sky or even whispered in my ear, I gave up.  I crawled into my bedroom to sleep in my childhood bed for the last time as a full time resident there.  As I laid in bed, I thought of the black shoebox still sitting on the bed near my feet.  It was filled with an old dream.

Love notes.  A little stuffed gorilla.  A worn and faded football t-shirt.  A tape filled with his voice.  A small bottle of his favorite cologne.  Memories of what I once thought was real and lasting love.

He had asked me to marry him.  I graduated from high school, and he came back from college to whisk me away just as we'd planned just a couple of years before.  He still felt it.  He still wanted the future we'd both dreamed of.  But my heart, no matter how I tried to re-kindle what I'd once felt, had moved on.  There was no going back.  I didn't love him anymore.  I cared enough that it nearly killed me to tell him the truth - to see the pain in his eyes - to feel him fight tears as he held me and asked me to just try a little harder. 

But I couldn't.  I couldn't love him, and I didn't know why.

He was two years into a college program in another state.  I was signed up and ready to follow him there - to try convincing my heart to love him.  I was also signed up to go to a state college just 4 hours from home.  When I woke in the morning, what would I do?  Would I go with the plan of going to school closer to home, or would I announce to my parents that I wanted to go even farther away to chase what might be my one chance for love?  

The what-ifs and the should-I's and the can-I's circled in my brain as I drifted off to sleep.  One last call to the Maker of the stars...help...please help me...I don't know what to do.

Help came in the form of a dream.

In my dream, I was walking alone in a golden ripe wheat field.  The wheat was high,

 and I skimmed my fingers over the soft heads of grain as I walked.  

The color...oh, the color...the field glowed with the light of sunshine. 

 It was the most beautiful color I'd ever seen in my life.  

Was this real?  Was beauty like this even of this planet?  

The sky was a vibrant blue, with puffy clouds floating on the breeze.  

Suddenly, I was no longer walking alone.  A man came up to me on my left, and 

draped his arm over my shoulders.  It was second nature for me to 

wrap my arm around his waist.  We walked side by side.  We 

fit perfectly.  Being with him was...bliss.

I was overcome by the...rightness...of being with this man.  

He was perfect.  He was mine.  

He was who God made just for me, and I for him.  

I can still feel the swell in my heart in that dream as if I just woke from it.  

I thought I'd burst with sheer joy and contentment. 

 I longed for nothing, but to be with him.

And then, a voice.  What was this voice?  

"This, Daiquiri.  This is how it is supposed to be.  Wait.  He is not the one."

Yes.  Yes, I know.  This is how it is supposed to be.  I looked up and to my left. 

 I wanted to see his face.  I wanted to know who he was.  

He had golden hair - his hair was the same color as the wheat field we 

were walking through.  But his face...somehow I knew that he was 

looking down at me and smiling...but his face was a blur.

And then I woke.  It was morning, the day I was to leave.  With utter confidence and peace, I got out of bed, put the lid on that shoebox, and slid the box under my bed.  It would stay behind.  God has a different future planned for me.

Fast forward a year.  

I had spent my first year at college at that state school.  I had a lot of fun.  I changed my major about 5 times.  I learned for certain that I was not supposed to be an accountant.  I went to parties.  I drank too much.  I made friends I'll have forever.  I dated.  I got good grades.  And the next thing I knew, I was registered to go to a different school the next year.  I was having a "who am I and what should I do" crisis, and somehow, somewhere along the way, I decided that I needed to go to Moscow, Idaho and attend the University of Idaho.  

I truly don't remember making the decision.  Suddenly, it was just...done.

What I do remember, though, was driving to northern Idaho for the first time.  I'll never forget driving up that windy mountain road with my mom in the passenger's seat...cresting a hill...and feeling the wind sucked from my lungs as I saw a view a lot like this (photo rights to Jean Yates):

I gasped loudly.  "What?!" My mom asked.  "Nothing".  But it hit me, and I knew.  The place I was entering was the place of my long-ago dream.

Fast forward another two years.  Luke and I had met and began dating.  For the story of the beginning of "us", click here (but finish this story first!).

We had only been dating a couple of weeks, and I knew that there was something special going on.  Heck, I knew there was something special from the first time I heard his voice and my knees betrayed me my turning to jello!  But my suspicion that this was something REALLY special came, again, in the form of a dream.

That same field.

The same me walking through the field.

The same clouds floating through the sky.

The same arm tucking me safely to his side.

The same feeling of bliss and contentment and overwhelming love.

The same golden-haired man.

But now...I look to see his face...and I see Luke smiling back at me.

I woke with a smile on my face, thinking "I knew it.  Thank you, God."

We dated for almost exactly 2 years before we took our vows before God to love and honor each other forever.  And now...impossibly...here we are.  We've been together for 15 years, and married for 13 years.  Four babies and all these years later, I'm still crazy about the incredible man that God made just for me.  The man I was made for.  There has never been a moment of doubt in my mind or heart as to whether I belong with Luke.  

Happy Anniversary, my sweet and strong (and totally hot) man!  I love you with all I am, and I'm thrilled that my future is with you.  You make me a better person.  You still make my pulse quicken and my knees turn to jello.  You make me feel safe and loved and cherished.  You in my life is my proof that God is good and that He loves me - you are my grandest and sweetest blessing.

And you...quite literally...make my every dream come true.

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Our Story ~ Chapter 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

(remember, Luke in bold italics and me in regular text)

"The Question" 

It had been 8 months since we met, you stalked me and I wished you were mine. 

Oh brother, still with the stalking thing?

I had spent the summer in Moscow to go to summer school to ensure my graduation in five years.   My fiancée had spent the summer showing me I could not live with her forever.  My nature was to live up to my commitments, but when she suggested it may not be working between us, I was gone.

I’ve never been so thankful that someone was awful to you!

Within 6 hours I had moved out and moved on.  My pizza buddy and I (Tyler) now call it ‘dodging the bullet’.

I had a summer of softball and beer, visualizing what life would be like working at a pizza place for the rest of my life.  I was already enrolled in school, so I started the semester.

Within the first few days of the fall semester, I bumped into you.  I was in a building I was never in and I think you had a class cancelled, or something.  You purposefully looked at my hand for a ring and saw nothing.  You asked what was going on and I replied, ‘it didn’t work out’.  I saw the smile you tried to hide.  We promised to talk soon.

You’re just not a details guy, are you?  There are so many DETAILS you leave out!  You’re right.  I did have a class cancelled, just like I had a class cancelled when we first met …never mind God working in mysterious ways…God works in “cancelled classes” when it comes to us!

I was sitting in the study room of the Mechanical Engineering building, my home away from home.  I was getting some work done, when in walked someone vaguely familiar.  It was you…but not the you I remembered.  You still looked handsome and kind…but you also had an edge you hadn’t had before.  You looked tough in a way.  You had a full goat-tee and a shiny bald head.  But sill…those amazing green eyes and kind smile. 

And the butterflies – those darn butterflies that kept me from speaking a coherent sentence around you were fluttering around like crazy.

The emails started flowing immediately.  The phone calls followed.  I desperately wanted to ask you out on a date.  I had a feeling this was important, so I was trying to figure out what might be perfect for you.  Not the ordinary dinner and movie, you deserved more.

Aww, you’re so sweet.  I was sitting there thinking, “Ask me OUT already!”  I remember one time when you had sort of skirted around the big question by asking me what I had planned for the weekend, but I had plans to go home that weekend because my mom was sick. 

Oh, the emails!  Good grief, I was sitting in front of the glowing orange screen listening to those haunting beeps and clicks and “ka-boing-ka-boing” noises that the excruciatingly slow dial-up internet connection made…what…15 times a day, hoping to have email from you?  At least.  I think that I saved all of those early emails, and printed them up before I closed my university email account at graduation.  They’re sitting in a fire-safe in our garage right now J

I just remembered something!  I remembered you making a comment about your beat up old green car.  I sort of laughed it off as you exaggerating in the email, but then one day I was walking along the sidewalk to go to class and I saw (and heard and smelled) an awful green car chugging down the road.  I sort of laughed to myself and thought, “Maybe that’s Luke in his old beater”.  Sure as heck…that car drove by, and it was you driving!  I about died laughing!  You weren’t kidding!  I thought it was strange to see you driving because you were sort of slumped forward hanging onto the wheel with both hands.  I learned later that you eventually jammed a big plastic CD carrier behind the driver’s seat to keep the back up.  Man, what a hunk of junk!

Hey, at least you know I wasn’t after you for your money!

Oh, and yes…I remember the first time we talked on the phone.  I was sitting in my kitchen on Polk street.  I answered that phone – remember the one with the GIANT numbers (like 3” by 3”) and the 12 foot cord?  I held that phone to my ear and listened to your voice, and I was immediately aware of just how much I loved the sound of your voice.

Still do.

Okay, I’ll quit with the details now.  Go on…

While I was thinking and planning, you were acting.  I know the first time you ever asked a guy out was when you asked me out, but the second time was when you asked me out again.  You called and said a bunch of people were headed to Cadillac Jack’s to country swing dance and was curious if me and any of my friends wanted to go.

I was more grunge than country, but really wanted to see you, so I convinced Tyler he needed to rustle up a date and we would go swingin’. 

When we arrived, I found you at a table.  You looked fantastic.  It turns out by a ‘bunch’, you meant just you.  I may have been singularly focused on you, but I never saw any of your friends there.

Oh no!  You have it all wrong!  You picked me up at my house….don’t you remember me walking into the room decked out in denim from head to toe?!  Denim shirt tucked into denim (obviously) jeans…and my dancin’ boots all ready to boot-scoot-and-boogie the night away.  HA!

I don’t remember picking you up, at all. (SHOCKED here!) 

And I remember you…what was it?  Something was different.  I think you had shaved off your beard?   Or maybe you had a hat on…I just remember expecting the bald and bearded Luke I’d seen in the study room, but you looked different.  Hmmm..

The “bunch of friends” thing.  Yeah – so much for a good plan.  I really was expecting a bunch of people to show up that night.  I’d heard them planning it and immediately thought “hey, this might be a good unintimidating first night out with Luke.”  As it turned out, no one of my “friends” ever showed up…so it ended up looking like I’d made the whole story up just as an excuse to ask you out.  It also looked like you invited Tyler along for no good reason.  Arg. Embarrassing. 

Tyler still insists that I invited him on our first date because I was nervous.  I was, but that’s not why I invited him.

It turned out to be sort of fitting though – the buddy who came along on our first date was also one of your groomsmen in our wedding…who also barfed in your grandparents’ car the day after the wedding because he’d celebrated our wedding a bit too enthusiastically…and who we both love like a brother to this day.

That is a story by itself, and a really good one.

The date night was fantastic, but I think we should save details for the next installment, though.

I think you’re right.  That evening was like nothing I’d ever experienced before, and definitely deserves it’s own post.

Do I talk this much more than you in real life, or just on paper?  Crazy!

Are you calling yourself crazy, or just saying you talk more than me?

I talk more than you.  AND I’m crazy.  Crazy for  YOUUUUUU!

Barf, like Tyler did at our wedding.

Aw, come on.  Is the romance dead?

I am sure there is a romance post in the future.  I know you love my romantic side.  We will save that for later.  I am sure you want the last word, like always.  Any last word(s)?

In the words of a wise man…

No.

******************************************************

Mr. Romance days or weeks before we re-met:

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Our Story ~ Chapter 2

Click HERE for Chapter 1

Okay, here we are in “Chapter 2” of the story of our meeting. Let’s keep the same format as last time – you in bold italics and me in regular text. In chapter one, I told my story, then you got to write in your interjections and your side. We’ll flip-flop it this time. Go for it, Babe.

This is the part of the story I like to call, “my future wife, the stalker”.

Haaaaahahahahah!!! Oh, this better be good!

Evidently, my macho attitude and suave approach had quite the impact on you. I remember this was about the second year that email existed, but somehow you found a way to email me invitations to an engineering group meeting frequently.

(Note to self, “macho” and “suave” = totally ignoring a girl. Okay.)

You must have been passionate about the group and recruiting new members, because I remember frequent emails from you on this subject. I even remember one of those meetings happening in the pizza shop I worked at on a night I worked. I can only assume it was by chance and not that you bribed the manager who made the schedule to find out when I worked.

It was more like I’d invited you, you said you had to work, and I was (ahem) looking for a good place to hold the meeting. Oh geez – I’m totally pitiful.

As you now know, I was equally infatuated with you. My handicap was that I was engaged to be married at the time. So, I was doing all I could to resist you, without completely stopping the communication. I liked talking (emailing) with you, but always felt a little guilty. I probably should have been more up front with you.

What?! Really? “Resist” me? I didn’t know!

You had no idea I was engaged, until that one fateful email.

You wrote to me with the typical ‘please come to the Idaho Society of Professional Engineers – Student Chapter’ email. (very romantic, by the way) I was on my way out the apartment door to work when I checked the email, so I stopped halfway through, assuming it was the typical stalking email.

I found out a couple days later there was a proposition at the end of the email - when you wrote to me again. You poured your heart out in apology about asking me out on a date and how you were sorry for being so unprofessional about it, since your email excuse was a ‘professional’ society.

I had to look back at the emails at the time to see what you were talking about. As it turns out, you did ask me out. Sorry for not reading the whole email.

That’s okay, you had to concentrate on “resisting” me, remember ;-)

So, my only choice was to tell you the absolute truth; I was engaged and had no time for professional societies between my budding pizza career, my failing coursework and my fiancée.

It was such a shame. In the time you had been stalking me, I had begun to refer to you as ‘dream-girl’ to my buddies. I had never met anyone so smart, beautiful or persistent and determined as you.

So persistent and determined means “stalker” huh?

That reminds me – remember the real stalker – that creepy guy? He seemed so shy and lonely, that I invited him to work on a team project in one of my classes. Yikes, that was a bad idea. Next thing I knew, he was writing me letters once a week, sending me cards, and just showing up in all sorts of strange places. He was full of things to say on paper, but he couldn’t even look me in the eye or speak when we were face to face. After you and I were together for a while, his communications took a scary turn – telling me that I deserved better than you, and asking if he would have a chance with me if you were “out of the picture”. I was terrified!

Anyway – didn’t mean to turn Our Story into that ugly thing. It’s all this remembering – so much happened in those couple short years!

Back on track now…

So after that first “meeting”, I had to fight to keep from turning around to look at you every 5 minutes in class. I didn’t even know your name! But you wore that dark green UI sweatshirt as your jacket all fall, so I started calling you “green sweatshirt guy” to my friends (not nearly as sweet as “dream girl”). I talked to all my friends – who had you in their class? Did anyone see you with a girl? You know – girl talk.

I think you were in Differential Equations with Tara, so we compared notes every few days ;-)

It was the highlight of my day to quickly turn around and watch you prepare to leave ME340 at the end of class. You had that green sweatshirt on, that black ball cap, and then you’d put lift the strap of your bag over your head and cross it over your chest to sort of carry the bag behind you. Oh Lord. Your broad shoulders. You in that hat. Your hands. Seriously…

…I’ll stop now out of respect for my parents who will probably read this.

You know I was fantasizing about kissing THAT spot on your neck during class, too.

In the mean time, one of my friends asked me to join him in starting up ISPE, student chapter. To be perfectly honest, I only did it because I thought it would look good on my resume. Man, I lived way too much of my life for my resume in those days.

It turned out to be the perfect reason to stalk talk to you though. I was very, um…thorough…in making sure you were informed of all our meetings. It was my duty, you know.

Finally, after inviting you to many meetings (you even went to one or two, if I remember right), I worked up the courage to actually ASK YOU OUT.

In fact, I didn’t really “work up courage” at all. It was more like I was inspired. One of the people I’d been hanging out with didn’t return to school after a weekend of going home to visit his folks. He finally called to let us know that he wouldn’t be returning. He’d been to the doctor to have a few things checked out while he was home…and his doctor informed him that he had a very advanced cancer. They only gave him months to live. He pleaded… “live your life like you’re gonna be dead in a few months. Don’t have regrets.”

I immediately thought of you. That friend inspired me to more courage than I thought I had in me.

But still, it was painful. I’d NEVER asked a guy out. EVER. I vividly remember sitting in the computer lab in the basement of the building I lived in, and going over and over and over that dumb email. I even had a friend come down to read it. “Does it sound okay? Too desperate? Too vauge?” I eventually closed my eyes, counted to 3, and pressed the SEND button…oh, the horror.

I must have checked my email 50 times in the next 3 hours, hoping for your response (which was no small thing since I had to dial up to check email back then). But not only did you not respond immediately, but you didn’t respond at ALL. I felt like such a massive loser!

And then I started feeling bad. After all, I’d used a “professional” society as a front to ask you out. Not very professional. In an effort to salvage some pride, I shot off a quick apology email… and heard from you almost immediately.

You should feel bad. I think it was in the bylaws to not ask out other members.

When I read your response, I almost fell off my chair.

You told me that you hadn’t even READ the part where I’d so meekly asked you “out sometime”. And then you explained that the reason you didn’t go to many meetings was because you were busy with school and work and that you were otherwise spending time with your fiancée.

Oi. My face turns red even now as I think of it. I was SO embarrassed!

Was your face as red my ears when Chris poked me in the shoulder and told me to get lost?

I responded with “Oh, oops! Didn’t know you were attached.” And then I got really brave and said something like “she’s a lucky girl.”

The lucky girl comment got me through some tough times, whether you knew it, or not. You inspired me to look for more in a woman.

Then I headed up to my room to pour my broken little heart out to my journal. I used to journal everything (see, I was meant to blog). I remember writing “I thought for sure that there was something different about him”.

I was different, I was engaged.

I get the last word this time, punk.

***********************

Here's that photo again...see my Green Sweatshirt Guy?

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Our Story ~ Chapter 1

Okay Luke, you ready for this? I’ve been promising the bloggy world (you know, like all 4 people who stop by on a regular basis) that you and I would tell the story of how we met. It's our anniversary...a good time to start, I think.

I'll type in regular text, and your words will be in italicized bold letters.

I’m trying to remember the very first time I laid my eyes on you. I can’t be certain, but I’m willing to bet that it was the summer before I even started up at UI. My mom and I drove up there to do a “preview” trip – check out the dorms, meet the dean of engineering, and to see what the town was like.

Oh…I have to digress for a second! How could I forget this story?! Oh, never mind. It’s a really long story. Hey, y’all – remind me to tell you the story of “the dream with the golden wheat fields” – I’ll know what you’re talking about.

So anyway, one night mom and I went out for pizza…I’ll bet you can guess where we ended up going.

I remember walking in the front door, looking to my right, and seeing a very attractive guy making pizzas. My heart…it went pitter patter, and my mom and I exchanged a very meaningful glance. Um yeah, can we get HIM to deliver the pizza to our table? We’re classy gals. I swear, it must have been you.

Please tell me you were working there, or I just made a fool of myself.

I was working there, just like I did for the next three years.

Oh good!

Okay, well…I know that I saw you FOR SURE in ME340 that fateful day. I’d been going to Mechanics of Materials (I know, super hot) every day since it started that day. On the first day of class, Dr. Odom told us to sit wherever we wanted, but to please keep sitting in that seat for the first few weeks so he could learn our names. Once we got settled, he had us fill in a seating chart so he could start putting names with faces. I sat the second row (maybe the 3rd), on the isle. A nice and very skinny Asian kid named Chris sat on my right.

That’s one thing about being in an engineering program (especially mechanical engineering), I got used to being surrounded by guys. In this class, I think there were two of us women in a class of 40 or so guys. My entire graduating class had only 3 women in it, I think.

A week or so into the semester, I showed up to class a bit early because my class before that one had been canceled. I walked in the door, and guess what I saw? I saw someone sitting in Chris’s seat. The entire rest of the classroom was empty…except for that one seat. The one you were sitting in. The one seat that was right next to mine.

Naturally, I thought you’d come early to try and, I don’t know, bully your way into sitting next to me? You must have really wanted to get to know me.

Oooo- totally hunky AND guts. I like!

So I gathered up my courage, and sat in my seat. The one right next to the one you were sitting in even though the rest of the room was empty. I didn’t think it was at all strange or bold. After all, it was MY seat.

As I pulled out the chair and got settled in, you glanced me over (stared at you) with your left eyeball (both eyeballs).

“Hi”

“Hi”

And then we sat. Silently. For what seemed like forever.

And then the rest of the class started filing in. One by one the other seats filled, and we just sat there quietly. Until Chris came in.

He shuffled over to you, sort of poked you in the shoulder with his bony finger

“Hey man, you’re in my seat.”

“Oh, sorry.”

You gathered up things…but I swear there was something going on with your skin. Your face turned red, and your ears…your ears practically glowed red…sort of like they do now when you have that strange allergic reaction to beer? Yeah, THAT red.

Not much of a fight, my friend. I sort of expected more ;-)

You found your way to the back row where there were seats available, and that’s where you stayed for the semester.

OK, my version is a little different.

I re-register late for Mechanics of Materials since I failed the first time. Since I was a couple days late starting the class, I wanted to be early to class so I didn’t stick out any more than I already did.

I took a seat a few rows back and pretty close to the door, and I was the first one in class. The second person in class was a very attractive woman.

I had never seen an attractive engineering student, so I was not sure I was in the right class.

Awww

I was even less sure when you sat right next to me in the open classroom. I immediately assumed you were as impressed with me as I was you. As the rest of the people piled into class, two things became apparent. First, I was in the right class…the rest of the students were the propeller-heads I was used to seeing in class. Second, they had assigned seats on the first day of class and this hot student was sitting next to me because you had to.

So, after the owner of the seat tapped me on the shoulder and told me I was in his seat, I crept to the back of the class to my new assigned seat, next to a buddy who worked in the pizza shop with me.

Oh, boy. That’s all I have in me for now. I’m going to dream ME340 now, and be plagued by the question of why Odom gave me a B in my senior design class even though I totally earned an A. Let’s do “chapter 2” another night, okay?

If you dream about ME340 and Ed Odom on our anniversary, I clearly have not treated you well enough the last 12 years.

Well, one thing is clear…I talk a LOT more than you do. You’re a good sport doing this with me. I appreciate it.

I know it is your blog, but do you always have to get the last word?

Um, yeah. You can have the last word next chapter (maybe). The end (for now). Oh, now I feel bad. Type a word, will ya?

No.

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Here we are at at after graduation party in 1997.  This is about 2 years after we started dating - just months away from our wedding day:

Another graduation shot:

Here we are - all three of us women who graduated the UI Mechanical Engineering program in 1997:

We had a great big graduation part with all of our friends at (where else but) Branegans:

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Dreamy

Luke was digging through some papers in the "vault" today.  It's not an actual vault - it's just the dark place under the stairs... past the Christmas decorations and 7 layers of hell known as our luggage.  It may as well be a real vault - it's just as inaccessible!  

(Why was he digging around in there, you ask?  The brokerage he's signing up with today needed a copy of his high school diploma.  Really!  Evidently the fact that he's been out of high school for almost 20!! years, has a degree in engineering, and has been working as a professional for the past 12 years doesn't count for much...they want proof of high school graduation.)

It is in that deep dark hole that we keep the dusty boxes labeled "Memorabilia".  Oh my, the horrors those boxes hold!  There's the diary I kept as a 3rd grader.  There's my Presidential Scholar award.  There's even a plaster casting of my teeth before braces.  If that doesn't give you nightmares, you're worlds stronger than I!  

Hubby has lots of goodies in there too.  Piles of sports pictures and news clippings (quite the sports stud he was).  In fact, he found piles of pictures of both of us.  And in that pile, he found these:

Our senior photos.  Look at those kids!  We joke all the time about how we wouldn't be together if we had known each other as kids.  He maintains that he was too much of a jerk (I find that impossible to believe).  

I maintain that anyone who knew me in my junior high years would forever be scarred by the images my ugly mug burned into their retinas.  Seriously.  U.G.L.Y!  I got over my braces, purple eye shadow, acne, and really bad clothes and turned out...mostly normal.  Average, I'd say.  But still - if you'd been there during the ugly phase?  You'd never see me as normal.

And my Luke...a jerk?  I just don't see it. And even if he was a jerk - it probably would have made me want him more.  That square jaw.  Those dimples.  Those biceps.  Those broad shoulders.  That....ahem, nevermindImnotthinkingboutthatyoushouldntbeeitherwhyamIblushing.  

And a bit of arrogance on top.  Irresistible to foolish young girls.  Especially me!  Oh boy.  My poor parents.

I look at those photos and can't help but wonder what's in store for our kids.  Dimples.  Light eyes.  Sandy hair....lots and lots of it!  At least until they turn 30 something and realize that they now have brown/grey hair (and for the boys much more forehead ;) ).

Stay tuned.  Luke and I are going to tell the story of how we met, fell in love, and got married.  (I'm just trying to come up with an appropriate bribe to get his participation)  I'm envisioning a co-blogging type of format - he'll tell his side of the story and I'll tell mine.  

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Memory Lane: Our Wedding Day

August 23, 1997 was our wedding day. Eleven years and four babies later I'm still happy to be married to this man. I'm a lucky girl.

The day before our wedding, we did the rehearsal dinner at a lakeside supper club in Wisconsin. (We live in Idaho, but married in Wisconsin so we could have as much extended family there as possible). Here we are in all our cheesy glory outside the supper club before we ate dinner...supper...whatever they call it in the Midwest! Aren't we so sweet you could just gag?!



With my hubby involved, things never stay serious for long though. This is more our style. He better marry me soon or people are gonna start talkin'!



Our wedding day was perfect. It was hot and humid and stressful and busy...but perfect. I loved our wedding. It was so beautiful and emotional. Everyone we loved was there to celebrate with us, and it felt so *right* to be standing before God and promising to be true to the amazing man He'd given me.

I grew up Catholic...sometimes I love the ceremony that goes with the Catholic church. We're not Catholic anymore, and I miss some of the tradition and ritual. Our wedding in this beautiful Catholic church with tall stained glass windows was so precious to me.



Here we are Mr. and Mrs. Dear Hubby! One of my happiest moments ever :)



Here's us coming out of the church after we finally got my dress all bustled up. Man, that dress was heavy...but so beautiful! The little guy holding the door for us was our ring bearer. He's about 6'6" now!



The ceremony was over, but it wasn't quite time to go to the club for the reception, so we went to my folks' house to start celebrating. Our families...they know how to party!




Wasn't our cake beautiful? Maybe you can't see it very well in the picture. Believe me, it was beautiful (and yummy!).


If you're reading this, my amazing man...I love you! I'm so happy, blessed, thankful, joyful, and proud to be Mrs. YOU! :) Happy Anniversary.

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