The Drive
They moved along the outskirts of the city, the orange
glow fading behind them. Soft music on
the radio, they drove in comfortable silence.
He held her hand.
He knew that he loved her.
He had been patient, honoring her in every step. He watched as she look demurely out the
window into the shadows of the passing trees.
Though she knew not what was to come, she was excited, and he adored this
about her.
Tonight was meant to be special, just like her. She had told him once of when she was a
child, in the family den, her father
would walk to his large, aged stereo system, clicking on his favorite selection. Mel Carter and the like
would transform their small space into a ballroom. He would smile as he took his daughter’s
hands, her feet placed on his, and they would dance. A childhood scattered with broken memories—this,
she said, was one she surely treasured.
As he thought of this, he gently edged the car off the road. There was nothing before
them, nothing behind, and darkness surrounded them. Their only illumination came from the stars.
She sat with a smile, intrigued.
“Come on,” he pushed open his car door.
Together, they stood in front of an audience of tall
grass, a long stretch of road, and a bright moon. She laughed, giddily eager.
“What are we doing?” she squeezed his hand.
“Just wait,” he smiled, “and stand…riiiiiiiight there.”
She tapped her foot, playfully impatient, and watched
while he ran back to the car.
And it was then she heard it.
The smooth voice of Sam Cooke floated into the sky, and
all the stars seemed to dance as they shined.
She pursed her lips as he walked towards her. He was smiling still, his eyes bright. He stood maybe five feet from her. “Well, we have your music,” he started,
taking one step toward her. “We have the
night sky…” Another step. “And I have you.” Another step.
“Now,” he said, standing before her, shoulders bowed, invitingly, “may I
have this dance?”
Her voice was almost inaudible, her eyes touched, and
her hand was outstretched. “Yes.”
He took her fingers in his and held her close. They danced without speaking for a time, the soothing chords of an old era
washing over them. Her head rested on
his shoulders, and when she finally looked up at him, she was crying. “Thank you,” she kissed him. “This is special.”
She was special. He
knew that he wanted to spend every day of the rest of his life in hers, honoring
her, protecting her, and loving her. God
had written him a beautiful love story, and he was determined to honor Him and
the woman He had placed in his life for him to love.
—Dedicated to Micaela F. Berry
Okay, so maybe I’ve been watching too much of The
Notebook lately. Maybe.
But maybe not.
The above is a dream that I’ve held in my heart for a
long time. At some point I refused this
dream, tying an anvil to it and letting it sink to the bottom of the ocean in
my heart. Too painful, too unrealistic.
Men like this don’t exist. I’ve
dated a million men—none have even come close!
I give up and I’m sending this dream away. I refuse to have hope in something that will
never exist.
But, this challenge is changing everything. God is dramatically changing my life day by
day. So much so that sometimes I have to
look in a mirror just to see if I recognize myself.
With all the lies God has been digging into, one of them
is that, really, after October, I gave up fully on the idea of marriage. And looking back, I never had a
healthy idea of marriage anyway. I
thought that I would have to settle on anyone just to have someone.
But it’s now, while I’m learning and changing, that God
is working on this within me. And it’s
through several different platforms.
Movies, like A Walk to Remember. Books like Redeeming Love. Real life married couples who consciously work
on honoring each other.
It’s possible,
Jamie. Believe it. Don’t shut down. Don’t tune out or turn off the idea that it
exists.
In time, I think my heart will be fully healed. And I’m not saying that I think I will be
married. All I’m saying at this point is
that God has started to reopen something inside of me that I was determined to
keep closed.
