People always want to know two things: how you met and how you got engaged. Other than the fact that they both took place, neither is all that important. It's a bone of contention with me because we don't have a good story on either count, but I do have an amazing marriage. Why don't people ever ask you how that happened?
Mike and I have conflicting stories about when we met, and that's because we met over and over again with unremarkable results, until finally on separate occasions, we made enough of an impression on one another to actually remember meeting. And Mike's first impression of me (or eighth, we'll never know for sure) wasn't even a good one.
The engagement story is even worse. We had wandered into a fight about ex-boyfriends (not that I had many, but he'd have preferred none) and while we were making up Mike blurted, "Don't you know I want to marry you? I want you to be my wife! Will you be my wife?"
More certain of this than anything I had known in my eighteen years, I said, simply, "Yes." And that was it.
There was no ring, no kneeling, no plan, only a promise neither of us quite knew we were ready to make before that moment. We were nine months into a dating relationship and young: two more factors added to our spontaneity that were all non-recommendations for marriage.
Regardless, we forged ahead. Youthful ignorance kept us oblivious to the knowledge that a lifetime together would afford us a myriad of occasions to put our vows to the test, and equal opportunities to walk by faith in love.
Choosing to do so is where good marriages begin, not at an altar dressed in white; almost everybody manages to get that part right. It's the stuff that comes after the wedding that digs dirty roots down deep and blossoms beautiful. It's not nearly as entertaining to tell as how you met and got engaged, but it is exactly where God presses two together until they are one.
Take Home: What are you two doing now to grow together?