So, I’ve been telling you about My Mountain. I told you about Tom, the pilot who use to buzz over our homestead every few weeks in the summer. And how one Sunday my family drove (without me) over an hour to visit his Church. Well, that day they met a family who would turn out to be life-long friends.
The R—- were one-in-a-million kind of friends. Not only were they willing to drive over an hour each way to visit us on the homestead and get to know us, they chose to do this most often in processing days, joyfully helping support our family’s farming venture. Thankfully, our activities extended beyond plucking chickens to giant family sleep overs, celebrating Thanksgiving every year, and occasionally worshiping together.
Such was the case on a sunny Sunday in September. Mrs. R—- had heard about this wonderful, family-integrated church over an hour away and called my mom about it. We decided to rendezvous with our friends to visit this Church.
How nervous I might have been if I’d known this would be the day I would meet my future husband! I was nervous plenty as it was. Did I dress right? Would I fit in? Would anyone talk to me? Would we know the songs? You know – all those typical worries when visiting a new Church.
We walked in and immediately felt at home. It was a modern building with simple furnishings and plenty of sunlight. The pastor greeted us and introduced some of his 7 children, including pointing out his eldest son, on stage tuning his guitar before worship. After dutifully shaking hands I glanced shyly around, relived to find it was nearly time to find seats and begin worship. As we filed into a row in front of our friends, I pointed out to my Mom that, for once, we weren’t the only ones in filling a whole row! The sanctuary was packed with many large families excited to be fellowshipping together on the Lord’s day.
The music began, which gave me a legitimate excuse to check out the worship team. In my defense, I will proclaim that I was not boy-crazy, but when you’re 19 it’s a good idea to at least glance around occasionally for eligible young men. From what we knew about this fellowship and the pastor’s family already, I figured the pastor’s son scored pretty highly on the ‘eligible scale’. But, alas, upon scanning the stage, I realized he would never do.
He was short.
Oh, it all sounds so petty now, but back then, as an insecure, gawkily-proportioned girl of 19, I had figured out that the sure way to eventually feel like I fit in would be to marry someone taller than me. Not a ridiculous request, unless, at 5ft. 9in., you’re already taller than half the guys you know.
But there was another problem. He done something to his hair. It was an unnatural shade of black. I say ‘unnatural’ because his eyebrows were strawberry blonde. Yup. Totally disqualified. Dying one’s hair unnatural colors was so tacky, especially in a guy. I was sure this was an outward sign of extreme immaturity and shallowness of character. It was nice that he was a committed member of his family and church and all, but I was going to keep my distance from this dude.
Oh, that’s right.
I kept my distance from every guy. No wonder it was 6 years before we spoke to each other for the first time…
What were your first impressions of your man?