This month marks 10 years since Jonathan and I started dating, and 11 years since we met. And that, I believe, calls for a walk down memory lane. Yup, this gal is writing our love story.
As most good love stories will go, it started with an ordinary girl, an ordinary boy, and a big yellow school bus. He was 17, almost 18. She was 18, almost 19. He was single. She was not.
We were on our way to Forest Home during the first month of college. The weekend away was planned by student government as an opportunity to get to know other freshman. Lori and I decided to go together, and we plopped down on the bus in front of two clowns who appeared to be only interested in meeting girls. One such clown was Jonathan, and the other such clown was his friend, Scott. They immediately began flirting with us. I don’t think they were flirting because they were interested in us. I think they were flirting because they were teenage boys and they would have flirted with any female who sat in front of them for a four-hour bus ride.
They asked if we were single. I told them I was dating a guy who was cute and drove a big truck. Obviously that made him cool. Jonathan told me it was obvious my boyfriend was gay.
For obvious reasons, it was not love at first sight.
For the remainder of that fall, Jonathan and I would occasionally see each other on Sunday nights at a Vespers service. He introduced me to some of his friends. He told me they met in a Dave Matthews Band chat room. I couldn’t tell if he was joking. (He was.) One Sunday night he asked about my “gay boyfriend.”
“He dumped me,” I said. I was basically devastated, but pretended not to be. He felt bad for asking, and told me so.
Before everyone headed home for the Christmas break, Jonathan and I ran into each other in the Page dorm main stairwell. Neither of us can remember why we were in the stairwell at the same time. My best educated guess would say that I was sitting on the steps talking to a girlfriend or “studying” while in actuality just hoping to watch all the Page boys bound up to their rooms. Jonathan and I chatted for awhile, and I remember thinking he was a good guy. A nice guy. A friend. After all, I was still mopey over a guy with a truck who dated me for a month, and then dumped me, all while I thought he was the love of my life.
Ahhhhh, the drama of being 18.
So, because of my broken heart, I’d made all sorts of ultimatums and covenants with God. I told God I was done with men breaking my heart. At the ripe age of 18, I’d had enough. I said, “God? You know what? I’m not dating anyone until that person is the man I’m going to marry. I’m not giving anymore kisses and ‘I love yous’ away.”
I still think the desire to guard my heart was a good one, but what I forgot at the time is how dating someone is usually the way to see if you want to marry that person…not the other way around.
Which is why I had a really hard time being convinced to date Jonathan. And that’s where the second part of our love story begins.
Read more by clicking here.