I was at a friend’s house watching American Idol when I got a text message from a cute guy who was interested in me. We were old friends and had reconnected at church the previous Sunday. (I later found out he was too chicken to ask for my number, so he got it from a mutual friend.) He asked if we could go to the park and take a walk to catch up. It sounded like a great idea.
Until I looked down at my outfit: an old high school t-shirt with multicolored paint stains, cotton gym shorts, flip-flops and a ponytail. A ponytail does not say “memorable first date.” Internally, I freaked out.
He arrived thirty minutes later and offered to drive. I politely declined. “No thanks,” I said, “I’ll follow you in my car.” Having my own car gave me a sense of security. If this casual date didn’t go so well, I would have an escape plan. I think my boldness must have been a shock to the Southern gentleman.
We ended up walking nine miles that night. We hadn’t seen each other in two years and had a lot of catching up to do. We talked about our families and how we had each found deeper faith since leaving Bible college. He told me about his photography and I told him I was loving ballet classes. We talked about what we wanted from life and my ponytail didn’t seem to matter.
Sparks were flying all over the Alabama sky.
We were inseparable for that first couple of months. I remember the constant anticipation, waiting for that perfect moment to say “I love you” for the first time.
Join me at Middle Places today for the rest of my favorite love story. Just click here.