Today, I wanted to focus on the moment I met my wonderful wife and the moment I knew I would marry her. Only a month separates the two moments, and we barely spoke during that month, but those two moments are forefront in my brain this morning as I ponder the wonderful way God works to bring a family together. I miss her, but not all my memories are connected to tears. What follows is an excerpt from chapter 2 of my book.

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“Is that a good book?”

It was an unexpected question while I was sitting outside the gym my college used for P.E. It was almost 8:00 p.m. and I had gone outside to read a textbook for which I had to write at least a five-page essay by Friday. It was Monday and I had just started reading the book a few days prior. Being a slow reader and highly distractible made reading very difficult for me in a loud gymnasium. My volleyball team was participating in a round-robin event and we were sitting out the current round awaiting a winner. I had asked my teammates to come and get me when it was nearly time for us to play again.

“Huh?”

“Is that a good book?” the feminine voice asked again. I looked up to find a beautiful blonde looking down at me. I didn’t know her name. She was on one of the opposing volleyball teams, and I had seen her around campus, but I didn’t really know who she was.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ve just started reading it and I have an essay due on the entire book by Friday.” It being Monday, I thought I had dropped a pretty important hint.

“It looks interesting,” she said sitting on the steps next to me and arresting the book from my grip. I cringed. I didn’t know what page I was on in the book. Finding it would take precious time.

Realizing that this girl, who I didn’t really know, was going to stay and chat, I decided to swallow my frustration and try being civil.

“My name’s Thom,” I said.

“I know. My roommate’s Temple Simmons.” I cringed. I had gone to school with Temple for three years, but I didn’t really know her well, and we were not part of the same social circles. This conversation wasn’t starting out well. “I’m Amy.”

We talked for about ten minutes about random things, then my teammates came to get me. Amy followed me inside. As it turned out, my team was playing her team. Since I was frustrated about losing ten quality minutes of reading (yes, I was being that petty), I decided that I would play hardball. In college, I was a pretty good volleyball player. Other intramural teams hated playing us because we worked well together and I had a wicked serve. I never started as server – we didn’t think that was fair. I was usually the third or fourth to serve. By the time I was standing on the line, ball in hand, I’d realized that this girl who had interrupted my study time was not very good at fielding a serve, especially a powerful serve. I aimed right at her. As the ball rocketed toward her, she squealed and ducked. Her teammates dove to try and recover the ball, but their efforts were in vain. I kept serving. Most of the time, I aimed right at Amy. To throw the team off, once I dropped a serve right over the net, and another time I drilled the back foul line. Amy was standing in the back of the court, a little afraid of the ball, waiting for her teammates to field the serve before she would get in the fray. She never did. My serves were not ever returned, and my team dominated the game, 21 to 0.

Two days later I passed Amy in a hallway.

“That was a really good book,” she said, stopping right in front of me.

“What?”

“The book you were reading on Monday. I got a copy from the bookstore yesterday and read it last night. It was fantastic!” I wasn’t even halfway through it yet. The frustration began to build.

“I’m glad you liked it,” I managed while trying on a fake smile. “I gotta get to class. I’m running a little late.” As I said, I am a painfully slow reader. So far, from what I read of the book, I agreed with her. But who does that?!? Who goes out and buys a new 275-page textbook, a month from the end of the school year, for a class they’re not even taking and then reads it in one night?!? Those two encounters with Amy began to burrow under my skin. When I talked with my roommate that evening about it, he just listened, grinning.

“Sounds like Thommy has a crush!”

“You know I hate that,” I said flushing blood red.

“Yep, it’s a crush all right.” Andrew started laughing.

“Why would you say that?” I asked emphatically, a little perturbed.

“You didn’t deny it,” he answered.

I threw my pillow at him and went back to reading the same textbook. It was a long two nights as I finished reading the book and writing the essay.

One month later, two days before my graduation, I was coming out of the waiting room of the girl’s dormitory, headed for my dorm room. It was just after 10:00 p.m. Curfew was less than an hour away. When I crested the top of the stairs into the parking lot, a car pulled in and parked right in front of me. Two girls popped out of it. One was a Freshman girl who lived in the dorm, the other was Amy. I waved and she beckoned me to come over. I was holding a novel I had just begun reading.

When I stopped next to her car, she nodded and pointed to my book.

“Is that a good book?”

I laughed

“So far. I just started reading it.”

“Do you have to write a paper on it?” I could tell her voice was coy. She was playing with me. I guess my frustration in our previous exchanges had been a bit more obvious than I would have liked to admit. I grinned sheepishly.

We stood in the parking lot talking until 2:30 a.m., 3 ½ hours past curfew! We talked about life after school. I was graduating with a four-year degree; she had just come to take a one-year Bible and Business course, then she was returning home to a suburb of Portland, Oregon. I was unsure where I was headed, having not heard the results of my interviews the previous week. We talked about movies, plays, high school, and the future. Nothing was off limits.

No one bothered us the whole time. Amy’s friend found the boy she wanted to flirt with and they were nowhere to be found. When the campus security guard passed us for the umpteenth time, I guess I was getting nervous.

“It’s way past curfew,” I said, not really wanting to break away from this girl I wish I had met the first week of the school year.

“What are they going to do, hold onto your diploma?” There was that coyness in her voice again. I felt as if I were the great tactician, Odysseus, who’d lost his wits at the sound of Siren Song.

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” I asked with a grin.

“Do you have something to write on?”

I handed Amy the 3×5 index card I had been using as a bookmark. She scrawled her name and phone number on it before handing it back.

“If you end up near Portland, look me up.” I took the card and grinned. Amy turned, ducked into her car, and was gone before I realized what happened. I tucked the card back into my book and slowly headed for the men’s dorm. My roommates – who had been standing outside on one of the walkways – saw me coming and ran to our room giggling. When I arrived, all three were posed as if they hadn’t just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Our dorm rooms were divided into two living areas, each with two bunks, separated by a common bathroom (which had a separate room for a shower and commode). I lived in the back cubicle but had to enter through the front and go through the common bath area to get to my room. When I entered, the two roommates who lived in the front were lying on their bunks, pretending to read a book while trying to stifle the giggles. My roommate was seated on a chair opposite the bunks, also “reading a book”.

“What’s her name?” Josh asked.

“Oh, shut up!” I said, not stopping on the way to my room. Andrew followed me into the back. Once we were both in the room alone, I locked the door. I slumped into my desk chair, leaned back, and propped my feet on the desk.

“I’m going to marry that girl, Andrew,” I whispered.

“Oh really?” he asked, trying to keep himself together.

“Yup. I’m going to marry that girl. Mark your calendar. June 5, 1996, is when I said, ‘I’m going to marry that girl.’”