I met Mark at church. It was December 5. When we talk about it, we wonder why exactly we had never met before. We’d been going to the same church for the past four years, both students at the nearby university. I admit I was aware of him and his tight-knit group of friends. I also readily admit that I was consumed in a different life, consumed by university, consumed by relationships that didn’t always fit within the walls of the sanctuary. In fact, I’m grateful I didn’t meet him and his friends until that last year of school. I was on a different journey, a different path, a path that was not yet meant to come parallel with his.
On December 5th, finally, we met, thanks to a mutual friend, and standing in that circle of guys, looking at the man with the shaggy hair and glasses, the man with the easy smile, I knew. I won’t try to claim that I knew everything. I won’t claim that I went home and told my roommate that I was going to marry him one day. I didn’t even know for sure that I would ever see him again – it was the end of the semester, after all, and January was a co-op term for both of us, splitting us apart. But standing in that circle, I knew there was something so right about him, so perfect, so matched.
Call me ridiculous. Call me uneducated, superstitious, a religious nut. I firmly believe that Mark and I were predestined for each other from the days we were born. On January 16, 20-something years ago, God put our intertwined lives into motion. I am so grateful He chose this man for me.
Happy birthday Husband. I love you.