By now, I’ve written about how I met Nathan, how I had a dream about my future husband, and what happened in the years between the dream and reuniting with him. Now, let’s talk about meeting my husband . . . the second time.
When I learned that Nathan was single, I was thrilled, but tried to act normal as I spoke with his cousin. I’m sure the pitch of my voice jumped into first soprano register as I said, “Oh, really?”
As I tried to figure out how to get reunited with Nathan—because I thought I could and should be in control of making this important thing happen—I heard my friend inviting me to family dinner on Saturday . . . where Nathan would be in attendance.
What to wear?
We all know that’s one of the main things to obsess over when meeting the man of, literally, your dreams. That, and wondering what’s the best liquid diet to abuse for the next week to drop some pounds before the Big Meeting.
But relax, I didn’t throw my physical health into jeopardy. My self-confidence was in place. I didn’t even buy anything new to wear. What I did do was pray. In fact, I came closer to adhering to the biblical instruction of “pray continuously” than any other time in my life! Reuniting with Nathan again and having a dream tucked in my heart was a large burden to bear. I told my coworkers, “I feel like I know something about him that no one else knows.” It was a strange feeling.
Finally, the day of the family meal arrived. When I pulled up in my 10-year-old, paint-peeling-off-of-it, no-wheel-covers, PAID-FOR Sentra, I scanned the cars in the driveway and tried to ascertain which one he might drive. The only car that even looked remotely his teenage-style (because surely he still wore steel-toed boots and baseball caps) was an SUV. But it was a wimpy SUV so that caused me to question who he might’ve become—all of this based on a car that maybe he drove. I walked to the door, rang the bell, was greeted by his cousin, walked in and . . . he wasn’t there yet.
For an introvert, this is great. This way, I could establish comfort with my surroundings without his witness. I could catch up with everyone and establish security so that it would be easier and faster to establish stability and security with him when he arrived.
And then he arrived. Nathan the man, not the kid, and not the teenager I last saw. This was Nathan, the bearded, tall, broad, handsome, strong, talented (he brought baked nachos to the meal) man. Whew! The first sighting was over. The “Hi’s” exchanged. The awkward side hug—oh, but I fit just perfect there! And the bobbing and nodding of heads as “How are yous” and “Goods” were exchanged.
And then I moved away from him. Because nerves. And catch my breath. And calm down!
Then he sat next to me with his plate of food, and though I can’t remember now what he said, he clearly, and cleverly zinged me. And it began, flirting by way of poking fun at each other. The only seventh-grade thing we didn’t do was hit each other.
We talked for a good while, even after most of his family had gone. His cousin, obviously aware of how I felt about Nathan when we were teens and now seeing our interaction, did her best to persuade Nathan to go to the movies with her, her husband and me. He was unable to, due to prior commitments.
I was disappointed. After all, I’d had a very vivid, precise dream. He was supposed to fall for me today. Our romance was supposed to just . . . start. I write those last couple of sentences tongue-in-cheek. I wasn’t forward-thinking enough at the time to truly set expectations for myself and for our first meeting in 15 years. I didn’t think I had any, but, based on my disappointment and my nervousness over how to make this love affair a reality, I did. It would’ve saved me some worry and wrestling with God if I had written down my expectations for that first meeting and for pretty much all the interactions I had with him for nearly the next year.
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