On the day I met Eli, had you told me one day I'd marry him I would have stared at you in disbelief. Not because of who he is, what he was wearing, or what he believed, but rather because we were simply polar opposites.
But, as many say, opposites attract, right?
February 2013. I sat in my apartment on Oakland University's campus, feeling quite under the weather wanting to curl up in a ball on the couch and watch a Disney movie. Most likely Beauty and the Beast, but that's beside the point. My neighbor, a dear friend from down the hall, came over to convince me it was a great idea to stroll on down to her place to mingle with the friends she had invited over. This idea, to be quite frank, sounded a bit absurd to me, only because when I have even the slightest sickness symptom, I want to be even less outgoing than I already am.
In any case, she convinced me. So there I went, begrudgingly trotting down the hall, blanket in hand.
Within minutes I was curled into one of those comfortable saucer chairs in the corner of the room, staying alert to join in any conversation necessary but completely content to just sit and watch everyone else. (That may sound creepy, but whatever. That's fine. Enneagram 5 people like me enjoy the people watching opportunities)
Then walked in Eli.
Baggy pants, extra large shirt, fitted cap and his Air Jordans. My man was all sorts of some style I hadn't seen before. And he wore it proudly.
Confident as ever, he walked up to me to introduce himself and essentially ask why I looked like crap. In a much nicer, smoother way. A very valid question nonetheless. I answered, and that was the end. He talked, in his Eli manner, for a while. Loud, outgoing, his words as naturally smooth as the cream cheese you spread on your bagel in the morning. He likes to get to know people, it's one of the reasons I love him. Yet, in that moment I stared at him blankly - on multiple occasions - naturally waiting for my slow, sick-headed brain to catch up with the words coming out of his mouth at what seemed like an astronomical pace.
How he wanted to be friends after that encounter, I still don't know.
Actually, I do know how. That weekend at church I saw him, found my way to him, and oh so casually apologized for my lack of interest in any conversation just days before. He claims this is the point at which I then asked him to re-do that conversation at lunch on campus, thus making the first move in our relationship. Is that true? I can't tell, the rest is history.
Had you told me then that the man that made me cry on our first "date" would become my boyfriend just 2 years later, I would have said no way. 1 year and 9 months after that my fiance? No chance. Then husband? Ha! But here we are, all happy and in love like one of those fairytale Disney stories they should write movies about. Not without our fights of course, but what movie doesn't have the evil villain that makes it difficult for the prince to rescue the princess?
Today, 2 years to the date after my handsome man proposed, I'm beyond thankful God wrote my love story instead of me.
