Part 2 of My Favorite Story

Ok, so part two!

You know those little, flirty texts you exchange and then have to keep yourself from smiling? Because if you smile, everyone else in the room will need to know who you’re talking to? Yeah. We started exchanging some of those. And the really awkward and embarrassing question of “how loud do you scream?” ended up being a great conversation starter.

We talked on the phone from time to time, getting to know each other. “So where did you grow up?” “What’s your family like?” “What made you want to go into ministry?” We laughed. A lot. And phone calls became a little more frequent.

I started evaluating everything I knew about Webb from college. And everything I saw about him while we attended church together (three years prior). I replayed the drive from the airport, how it was comfortable, easy and so much fun. And a “thought” turned into real, actual interest. I began to consider this guy named Webb and ponder all his possibly potential qualities.

But by March, I realized this interest was one-sided – my side. I knew he wasn’t in the same place. He had been quite honest about that (when we had the dreaded, horrifyingly awkward “define the relationship” talk.)

So, I pulled the e-brake. “I don’t really let many people get into these spaces of my life. And I just can’t keep opening my heart to you this way.” (I also knew he had some other “friends” with whom he shared his life. Totally normal for him, and probably the rest of the world. But just not doable for me.) I told him I didn’t want to keep up the talking.

I felt good about it. This was March of 2010 and I was happy to be back to my old, free-of-any-thought-of-a-relationship life. Things were simple. I missed talking to Webb in moments, but I felt a lot more sane! Things were good.

Until four months later. When my grandmother passed away my first inclination was to call Webb. That inclination made me angry. So I text instead. I was annoyed with myself for breaking my commitment to myself and my vow of silence. But...shrug.

…Texting, turned into phone calls, which turned into conversations, which…you get it. Our friendship continued…

By January of this year, I found myself feeling just like I did last spring. I needed this friendship to become something, or nothing. The land of the gray just wasn’t going to work out for me. Telling myself I’d be fine with either scenario, I sent an email. A very vulnerable email. And asked for the same sort of response - real. Which came three weeks later. (Three weeks. Yes. Three weeks. “Did you talk to each other in those three weeks?” you might ask. Yes, yes we did. For hours in fact. And Mr. Hoggard never found it timely to bring up the email. I was too stubborn to mention it. So I waited.)

And then…a text message.

I couldn’t believe two things: he was deciding to address the email and he was doing so through text. But it opened the conversation, so I listened.

“About your email…”

That night we realized that we didn’t have to know everything. We didn’t need to be perfect to try things out. We just needed to know that we wanted to know…and that much, we knew. So we took our first step. We wouldn’t make things official or public. We’d just not date other people and commit to learning more about each other.

That was February. And by March, we took the leap to make an actual visit. Well, actually, I took the leap. I got in the car with friends who were making a trip to NC and traveled 700 miles. My heart trapped somewhere between my toes and my throat. I had no idea what I would find. Would I actually like being with him? Would it be awkward? What would his family think? His church? Would he measure up to what he had portrayed on the phone? Would I feel comfortable with him?...

The questions turned as quickly as the tires on the interstate. We decided a meeting location where he would pick me up and my friends would drive on. I can’t lie; I wanted to drive on with them. It was an overwhelming moment. But we drove up and parked beside his truck, and I took a deep breath.

…

Part 1

So…there’s this guy….

(I’ve waited 26 years to say that!)

What a story this is. I always hoped that when Jesus brought his man for me the story would be detailed, beautiful and hilarious. And it’s everything I ever dreamed of – the man and the story.

Because it’s so detailed, I’m going to post it in segments. Too much to tell all at once! But let me just say this before I say anything else:

The wait is worthwhile. Every hour. Every minute. Every single second.

You know those fated “lists” that they talk you into making when you’re a teenager? Somebody says something like, “Write down everything you want in a future spouse. Make a list. Keep it and pray for them.”

Hopeless romantic that I am, I labored over a list. I really sat and thought about every, random little thing I could possibly want and I wrote it down. I gave it to one of our youth leaders, a dear friend of mine now, Chasity. She’s been praying over it ever since. For ten years. One of my favorite parts of this story? This man is every line of that list! From frivolous to spiritual – he is every, single thing. And more...

I embraced those ten years of waiting as best I could. I grew; I learned about God and myself. I sensed how full of purpose it was. And I thanked God for grace and patience. All the while, He was working, weaving everything together to create this intricate, beautiful tapestry.

So, without further adieu – a love story…

_________________________________________________________

In December of 2009, I was on my Grandmother’s porch, savoring the last of our holiday vacation. I sprawled out on the porch swing, soaking up the gentle December sunlight and smiling, thankful for the time. “I still don’t know how I’m getting home from the airport...” I thought. I dismissed the notion just as quickly as it came; it didn’t really matter at the moment. I was enjoying time with family and didn’t want the reality check of booking a ride home.

My feet brushed the pavement of the porch as I continued swinging. There hadn’t been a more beautiful day in Arizona that winter: perfectly mild, optimistically bright and just breezy enough to wash over me with calm. I was in the zone.

And then, my phone rang. My mind immediately scrolled through what could possibly be going on at the church. But, as I grabbed my phone, I saw it was a friend from college. I questioned for a moment, but then, I knew exactly what he wanted. You see, when he graduated, he left a television with my roommate. When she got married, she left that television with me. He wanted it back.

“But he lives in North Carolina. How am I even supposed to get him that TV? I really don’t want to deal with that right now.” My thumb reached for “ignore”, and then my conscience took over. I answered.

He explained he was driving to Florida soon and wanted to swing by and get the TV. I told him, “that’d be great, but, I’m in Arizona.”

“Well, when do you come back?”

(Sheez, he really wants this stinking TV.) “Uhm, I fly in the 29^th. When do you come down?”

“Just a little before that, but I’ll be in Orlando.”

And then it occurred to me – shazam! – he could get me from the airport and take me home. I get a taxi service; he gets a TV. Done.

We were acquaintances in college. I knew him as the hysterical, social scene, kind of guy. He was all about ministry, especially music, and had tons of friends.

I was working. Always. In fact, I’m surprised I came out of college with any friends at all. That’s just the providence of God. So, while I knew who he was, I didn’t know Webb at all really. And he didn’t know me.

When I arrived in Orlando, I drug my overpacked, Christmas-gift-stuffed, bags off the belt and stepped onto the curb, looking for his truck. Nowhere in sight. I called, “Are you here?”

“Yeah, I’m coming around.”

“Oh, ok…didn’t see your truck.”

“Yeah, I’m driving a big, white van.”

“Van?”

“For the missionaries?”

“Right. Ok.”

He pulled up. In a big, embarrassing church van, just as he had described. His buddy Matt was with him, and jumped out of the passenger seat, hefting my bags into the back of the van like quite the gentleman. I slid into the second row seat. Small chat ensued.

A lull in conversation came and Webb caught my eye in the rearview mirror. I smiled slightly and tilted my head as to say, “yes?”

And then he popped the question. A terribly awkward, story-making question. “So,” (insert long pause here), “how loud do you scream?”

Totally bewildered and, to be honest, a little freaked out, I just stared. His words caught up with him. “Wait! No, no! That’s not what I meant! I mean…”

And suddenly, another of his friends who had been in hiding, lunged at me from the backseat and shook my shoulders in an attempt to scare me. I continued staring (more weirded out by Webb's question than the scare attempt).

Inner monologue? “This is going to be the longest ride home ever. Dear. Lord.”

Webb tried to bail himself out of the awkward comment again, “Ok..so, I just was…we were trying to scare…sigh…”

I couldn’t help it, I burst out laughing. And his guys gave him grief all the way home.

Webb’s possibly the funniest person I have ever met. In a one-hour trip from the airport, I laughed more than I had in the past year. He played along well with the hazing from his friends. And I had a headache by the time we pulled up to my apartment.

He sealed the deal of my “interest” when he carried both of my ginormous suitcases up the stairs in one trip, with little effort. “I’ve gotta get me one of these,” I thought.

He dropped off the bags, picked up the TV, I said thanks and off he went. I couldn’t help but hope I would hear from him again.

And I did...