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I thought it would be fun to record Jason’s and my love story—at least the beginning of it—starting with when we met and fell in love back in 1999. This is part 2 of 6.

In another part of town, Jason had had enough. He was 16 and already jaded from hurtful relationships. He wore his heart on his sleeve and subsequently had it crushed by a girl more than once. Many nights were spent scribbling poetry into spiral bound notebooks, allowing the tears to flow in the privacy of his bedroom. Thoughtful, creative Jason spent hours practicing scales, learning new songs and writing music. Sometimes he would even fall asleep on the floor with the guitar still strapped across his chest. “I don’t want to have another girlfriend until I meet my wife!” he told God.

He also played around town in a few hardcore/metal/punk bands…

(Photo courtesy of Facebook. That’s him on the right.)

We met at our church at a Wednesday night youth group gathering. I don’t remember who introduced us for the first time but I knew who he was months before we officially met. He noticed right away that my eyes are two different colors. I can tell a lot about someone based on this. One eye is blue and the other is hazel, but the difference is subtle. There are people who I’ve known most of my life who have never noticed. Jason was looking into my eyes;  he was really seeing me.

As our relationship started to grow and form in the weeks to follow, Jason insisted we take things slow and not rush into dating, remembering what he had told God and thinking he couldn’t possibly meet his future wife so young. He assumed the answer to his prayer would come in several years and he was OK with waiting.

I wasn’t sure if it would be of interest to anyone other than me, but this line I threw out got a couple of nibbles so, here we go…

I thought it would be fun to record Jason’s and my love story—at least the beginning of it—starting with when we met and fell in love back in 1999. This is part 1 of 6.

It was the spring of 1999 and I was lonely. I was finally through the three straining, painfully awkward middle school years and making my way into high school as a 9th grader. In the process, I had grown apart from my childhood best friend Michele—the one I did everything with and had sleepovers with every weekend, the one with which we were often mistaken for twins—or boys. From third grade until sixth grade we were inseparable. But then, at different middle schools, with different groups of friends, we got disconnected.

(Picture from Grand Canyon 1997 of my mom, me, Michele and my dad.)

I was growing a lot spiritually and spending a lot of time with friends from youth group, many of whom were older. As I thought about some of the seniors who would be graduating soon and going off to college, I was sad. But I got even more sad as I realized they weren’t really my friends. They were significantly older kids that I admired and who had mentored me, but they were in a different world than I was at 14 years old. I felt so alone.

I crawled into bed one night after youth group where we had prayed for the graduating class and said an informal goodbye (it was May and they wouldn’t actually be leaving until fall). I pulled open my journal and a package of colorful markers and I poured out my feelings on paper in the form of a prayer.”God, I want a new best friend.” Michele had been just what I needed from 8-12 and I craved a new friend to walk with me through my teen years, someone with the same beliefs and convictions as me, someone I could share my heart, my dreams and fears with, someone I could laugh with and cry with and grow with.

Then, I met Jason.