the sweetest thing

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(Parts 1-6 below this post.)

As the spring semester of 1999 came to an end, I began to get a little obsessed about getting engaged.  As much as I put on a happy face about him moving to California, I really wasn’t thrilled about it.   We had always said we didn’t want to have a long engagement, so I figured if he proposed, we wouldn’t be apart for longer than 6 months.  That thought made me happy.

One night, just a few weeks before graduation, Derek’s band had a gig at a local coffee shop.  “This is it.” I thought to myself.  I just knew this was the night he was going to propose.  I was absolutely sure that he had written me a song and he was going to pull me on stage, serenade me, get down on one knee and ask me to be his wife.  I was giddy with excitement, and could hardly sit still as the show began.  It would be the perfect engagement.  Most of our close friends were there, and we had spent a lot of time at this coffee shop over the past year.  Yes, this was certainly going to be it, the moment that I had been waiting for.

They played song after song after song, and my heart began to sink a bit with each passing moment.  But I perked up when I realized that surely the big moment would be during their last song.  As the final chords played at the end of the final song, I realized that this was, in fact, not going to be it.  There was no special song, and no engagement.  I tried to hide my disappointment, and I wondered if he would ever ask me.

Graduation came and went.  No engagement.  Two of my very best friends got engaged, my brother got married, Derek’s best friend got married, but still nothing from Derek.  He moved back home for the summer, and I left for 6 weeks to work as a camp counselor at Camp Olympia.  When I returned home, I knew it had to happen soon.  But maybe I was wrong?  My parents loved Derek and thought he was great, but they weren’t exactly thrilled at the idea of us getting married right then.  Maybe Derek was putting more stock in their opinion than I was.  There were so many thoughts swirling during those weeks of summer, but eventually I stopped obsessing over it.  I loved him, he loved me, and we wanted to spend our lives together.  It would all work out in God’s perfect timing, not in Megan’s perfect timing.  Even if he left for California and I didn’t have a ring, that would be okay.

So when the engagement actually happened, I was quite surprised…

After three years of dating (well, off and on, as you now know), Derek and I finally lived in the same city.  I would like to say that I didn’t go to ACU because of Derek, but he definitely played a huge part in that decision.  It really doesn’t matter how I got there, only that I did.  I truly loved every second of being at ACU.

I was giddy with excitement as I moved into Nelson Dorm with one of my long time friends, Shauna.  Derek was right there with me, helping me move in and get settled.  It wasn’t really hard to say good-bye to my parents (and it wasn’t hard for them either…I’m the third out of four kids and I think by that point it’s not hard seeing the kids go away to college!)  I adapted to college life very quickly.  I loved the new friends I was making, loved the freedom, and loved getting to see Derek just about every day.

By the time the Spring semester rolled around, we were having some pretty serious talks about our future.  We talked about engagement rings, when we wanted to get married, and imagined what it would be like.  There were big decisions to be made, but not just about getting married.  Derek’s graduation was fast approaching, and he had decided that he wanted to go to graduate school.  He applied several schools in Texas, and one school in California.  The California school was one of the top schools in the nation for his field, and (in his mind) it was a long shot that he would be accepted.

I, however, wasn’t surprised at all when the acceptance letter arrived from Cal Tech.  But it definitely complicated things a bit. He was also accepted to Rice, which was in Houston and much closer to Abilene where I planned to stay.  Derek didn’t want to make the decision without me, but I was hesitant to have to much of an opinion since we were not even engaged.  Sure, we talked about getting married and we were very serious, but I didn’t want his decision to be based on me.  After a lot of thought and a lot of prayer, Derek decided that after graduation he would be moving to California to pursue his PhD in Chemistry.  I was so proud of how hard he had worked to get to where he was, and I knew he was making the best decision.  But it wasn’t easy to think about us being apart again, especially since this time he would be 1200 miles away, not just two and a half hours down the road.

(Scroll down to read the story from the beginning.)

That time it was me who broke it off.   I really had no good reason except it felt like he was way more serious about us than I wanted to be.  I was a senior in high school and just wanted to have fun and date and be with my friends and not be worried about my long distance boyfriend.  We were still together in the weeks before Christmas, but I was already pulling away and thinking of how to break up with him.  Confrontation had never been easy for me, and I wasn’t sure how to tell him, especially since it wasn’t like he had done something that deserved a break up.  Twelve days before Christmas, he started giving me gifts.   Each gift he gave me was thoughtful and loving, and I made the decision to wait until after I finished getting presents to break up with him.  That season was definitely not one of my better times, but I was selfish and simply didn’t care.  I finally broke it off after Christmas.  It was my choice, but it still felt awful.

The weeks passed, and even though I had hurt him, we still talked a lot.  He was still one of my best friends, and in my heart I always figured we would eventually get back together.   He came home to take me out for my 18th birthday.  We went to a fair and rode the ferris wheel together.  I wanted so badly to kiss him when we were sitting at the top, but he flat out rejected me.  He wasn’t going to play those games with me.  We would either be together or we wouldn’t.  He wasn’t going to be my kissing friend.

The months went by, and we still talked and remained friends.  I went out on a few dates, and he…well, he had girls who liked him, but he really didn’t go out with anyone.  He gave me the space that I wanted, but he wasn’t ready to give up on us.  Finally, just after spring break of 1998, I came to my senses.  Was I really willing to throw everything away?  He was my best friend and I loved him, so why wasn’t I with him?  I knew we had something special, something that didn’t come along every day.  That time it wasn’t so easy getting back to that good, comfortable place.  He wasn’t sure if I was just lonely and wanted him to be my boyfriend out of convenience, or if it was for real.  By this time, Derek was about to start his senior year of college, and he was done with the break-up/get back together game.   It took awhile for him to really trust me and let me back in, but eventually he did.  By the time I left for college in August 1998, things were really great between us.  I wasn’t sure about how he felt, but I knew that I wanted to marry him someday.

(I’ve been an all-star blogger this week…if you’re just checking for the first time in awhile, scroll down to catch up on parts 1 through 3!)

In March of 1997, Derek passed through town on his way to a spring break mission trip.  We had been talking  a lot about our relationship, but we were still broken up.  I wasn’t happy about that.  Even through the hurt feelings, I still loved him, and I thought that he felt the same way.  I only had one night to see him that week, so I very carefully chose my outfit and went to hang out with him.  Except it wasn’t just him I was hanging out with.  He was with a whole group of his college friends who were also going on the mission trip.  But I still did my best to flirt with him to make sure that he got the message that I was still in love with him.  When it was time for me to go home, we slowly walked through the darkness to my car.  (And when I say my car, I actually mean my mom’s mini van which is what I got to drive all through high school.)  I didn’t want to get in the car.  I didn’t want to leave things unresolved.  We talked awkwardly for a moment about nothing that really mattered and then we hugged.  Was this it?  A hug?  Did he not understand how I felt about him?  He pulled away and softly held my hand in his.  He looked into my eyes and after what felt like an eternity, he sweetly kissed me.  This wasn’t just any kiss.  This was a kiss that meant something.  He loved me, and I loved him.

I was so happy, and he seemed happy, too.  The months went by with more letters, phone calls, and weekend visits.  That summer, he did not come home, but instead got a job working in the lab at his school.  While I would have loved to have him home for another 3 months, it was okay that he wasn’t there.  Our relationship and our love was simply comfortable.  It wasn’t dramatic.  It wasn’t up and down.  It was there, a huge part of my life and my heart, but not all-consuming like it had been before the break-up.  We had both grown a lot in the 6 months we spent broken up, and once we got back together, I think it was a much healthier relationship.  We were used to the long distance thing.  I definitely missed him when we were apart, but I also had my own life filled with friends, family, youth group stuff, and volleyball.   It was pretty much smooth sailing for the next 8 months, until the winter of 1997…

(I’m having so much fun writing this, and thanks for reading along!  If you need to catch up, part 1 is here and part 2 is here.)

The spring semester of 1996 went by in a blur of letters, phone calls, emails, weekend visits, and anticipation of the summer ahead where we would have 3 months to spend together.  His parents hired him to redo their yard, and I had a job at the local video store.  But we spent every spare moment we could together. Of course, since I was only 16, I had some pretty strict rules and curfews.  Derek wasn’t allowed over if no one was home, he definitely wasn’t allowed in my room, and if I was out with him at night, I had to be home by 10:00.  At the time, it seemed like the most ridiculous, unfair thing ever.  My mom was definitely ruining my life.  Of course, now I can see she loved me, had my best interest at heart, and simply wanted to protect me.   I’m sure that I would be the same way if my 16 year old was not just dating a 19 year old, but was madly in love with him.  Derek was great, and let me cry on his shoulder over the unfairness of it all, but respected all of my mom’s rules.  That’s the kind of man he was, and still is.

The summer came to an end, and I said yet another tearful good-bye.  It was so hard to watch him leave again, even though I knew he had to go back to school.  I was completely, totally, madly in love with him, and by this point, I had started imagining what it would be like (someday, in the very distant future) to be his wife.

Which is why I was absolutely crushed when I received an email just a few weeks later telling me all about the interesting girl he had met at school.  Nothing had happened, the email promised.  She was just interesting and pretty and he was confused.  I was already planning a trip to Abilene that weekend with a friend, and with a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, I went to visit him.  I hoped that when he saw me, he would forget all about this interesting new girl, but he didn’t.  He broke up with me, breaking my heart into a million pieces.  I felt lost without him, and it only made it hurt worse when he started dating the girl within days of breaking up with me.

The months passed by, and slowly, my heart began to heal.  I had good friends and a very good life, and at some point, I even started to notice other guys.  I began dating someone else just about the time Derek stopped dating the girl.  Suddenly the tables were turned.  He wanted me back, and even though we still talked all the time and I wasn’t ready to give up on us forever, I was having fun dating this other guy.  And I will admit I like watching Derek bristle a bit.  Christmas vacation came and went, and sometime around February, the guy I had been dating broke it off with me.  I think he knew I was completely hung up on my ex-boyfriend, and he was absolutely right.  I was still in love with Derek.

(Part 1 can be found here.)

We spent the next two weeks hanging out as much as possible, but we both knew the inevitable was just around the corner.  Derek was leaving for college, and it loomed over me like a thundercloud.  I didn’t want to admit just how fast I was falling for him when the practical side of me knew he was leaving and there was no way he would keep on dating a high school girl who lived two hours away.  The night before he left town, we went to one of our favorite parks to hang out and talk one last time (and by talk I definitely mean make out.  I know you were all thinking it and assuming it!)  He slipped a tape into tapedeck and played me a song called Special by The Cranberries.  “I remember all the things we once shared.  Watching tv movies on the living room armchair.  But the thing that makes me sad…it’s the one thing that I had.  I knew, I knew.  I would lose you.  You’ll always be special to me…” I had to fight back the tears.  It was crazy how much I liked him after just a month of knowing him and a handful of dates.  He dropped me off at home, promised to write me, kissed me one last time, and that was it.  I figured I might see him here and there, but I knew that the whole thing was probably over.  A little summer romance.  My first summer romance, and I knew I would remember it always.

But then the first letter arrived.  And then the next, and the next, and the next.  We wrote each other several letters a week, talked on the phone as much as possible, and we both looked forward to the weekends he would come home for a visit.  By the time Christmas break rolled around, we were still very much together, and although neither of us had spoken it, I knew I loved him.

That Christmas was magical.  He gave me a small, wrapped box that rattled as I gently shook it.  I read the card, which had poem inside about the meaning of the gift.  It wasn’t a gift for me to open, the poem said, for it was filled with love inside.  I looked at him questioningly,  “It’s the key to my heart.” he said.

We spent New Year’s Eve together, watching movies, soaking up as much time together as possible before he headed back to school.  We had talked about love, and I knew that I felt it.  Judging by the gift he gave me, he felt it too.  But still neither of us said those three words out loud.  But that night, right in the middle of The Fox and the Hound, he whispered it softly in my ear.  I turned to him, and looked into his beautiful blue eyes.  “I love you, too.”  I said.  I wasn’t even 16 years old yet, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I loved him.

I never expected to meet the man I would spend my life with when I was just 15 years old.  But that’s exactly what happened.  In 10 days, Derek and I will celebrate our 10th anniversary.  (and another random little fun fact…on March 5, 2011, I will have spent exactly half of my life with Derek.  Fun, huh!  Who knew there were calculators on the internet to calculate such crazy things?!)

I’ve been thinking for awhile that it would be fun to write down our story, and now seems like as good as time as any.

We met the summer of 1995, just after he graduated high school and before I started my sophomore year.  I probably should have known who he was, but I really didn’t.  I knew his younger brother and sister, and he knew my older brother.  We were just far enough apart in age that our paths never really crossed each other until that summer.  We both signed up to go on our church’s youth group mission trip.  Ironically, he signed up because a girl he liked was going.  And I’d like to say that I signed up for nobler reasons, but really it was because all my friends were going.

I really don’t even remember meeting him until we actually left for the trip, which seems impossible because I know there were meetings and things before it was time to leave.  I was just so in my own 15 year old world, caught up with my friends and the drama of teenage life that I never noticed him.  As we pulled out of the church parking lot in the 15 passenger van, I very loudly stated that I was going to need some entertainment if I was going to make it through the 5 hour drive to San Antonio.  “Megan”, he said, “you are the entertainment.”  Those were the first words he ever spoke to me.

Once we were in San Antonio, we started hanging out more and more.  We were paired up several times to hand out flyers, and spent most of the week talking and flirting.  I think most everyone on that trip noticed there was something going on between us.  By the time the mission trip was over, I had the biggest crush on him and thought he was just about the greatest person ever.  But I figured there was no way it would ever amount to anything besides a summer crush.  For one thing, guys just didn’t notice me in that way.  I’d never even been on a date much less had a boyfriend.  I was always that girl who was friends with the guys, but nothing more.

Once we got back home, we almost immediately left town again to work as counselors for a week at church camp.  During the week,  I tried so hard to pretend I didn’t like him and pretend that I wasn’t going out of my way to run into him or take a picture of him, but I’m sure I was completely transparent.  Fifteen year old girls with huge crushes aren’t really known for keeping it under wraps.  I got to ride with him to camp and back home, which I loved every second of.  Except for the moment on the way home when I propped my feet up on the dashboard and the smell of my stinky feet filled the car.  Note to self: make sure and pack enough socks for the week at camp.  It’s never good to have to wear the same pair more than once.  But my stinky feet didn’t scare him away.  I’m pretty sure he just thought it was funny.  Gross…but funny.  I mean, one way that we flirted with each other was to burp and blow it in each others face.  Burping and stinky feet…this is how it all started.

Once we got back home, he asked me to go on our first official date.  We went to eat at Spaghetti Warehouse and to see the movie Nine Months.  I can still remember exactly what I wore, and how he made me feel so special and so beautiful.  I can still remember how my palms started sweating when he reached out and held my hand in the movie theater, and how my heart raced at the end of the date when he sweetly asked if he could kiss me…