The story is so integral to my life that practically everybody who has ever heard me speak knows it. I tell it everywhere I go because, after all these years, I still am overwhelmed with gratitude for what God did. The year was 1970 and I was a sixteen year old boy. I had been depressed for months, in a way that only a melodramatic teen can really understand. The reason for my depression was that I felt alone. I had friends, many of them. But what I didn't have was what I wanted most -- a girlfriend.
I had prayed for God to send me a girl, but nothing had happened. Little did I know that a Sunday in August was about to change all that. I sat on the back row in the Sunday School class when a friend walked into the room. Behind her was a girl I had never seen but was glad to see now. In fact, since I hadn't seen her in sixteen years, I stared as if I were trying to make up for lost time.
She had a sweet, girl-next-door sort of look about her. When school started back that year, she soon was elected to be on the Homecoming Court in her high school. I understood why. She was beautiful. I, on the other hand, was a skinny kid with pimples who still used Wild Root Hair Cream on a doofus hair style. She would later say that she dated me because I was funny. Thank God for humor. I had a million of 'em and they served me well. A groovy girl and a doofus boy. I had to have something going for me.
She began to attend Sunday School and church every week. What I lacked in assets I made up for in confidence. Before long I was sitting with her in church every week. I wanted to date her, but the risk of asking her out was too great. What if she said no? And why would she say yes? With all my self-confidence, I had enough sense to know I was in over my head. She was out of my league.
As the Homecoming Dance at her high school approached, she began to hint for me to take her. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I just couldn't, for one simple reason. I couldn't dance. I had never danced. After all, that's what people did in hell (or at least those who were going there.) I had always understood that the reason premarital sex was wrong was because it might lead to dancing.
But she wasn't brought up like me. She came from a dancin' family. The heathens. Her parents would even dance at home with all manner of music blaring on the HiFi. At my house we were listening to the Statesmen Quartet. At her house, it was Tom Jones and other hedonists. Hovie Lister or Tom Jones. You do the math.
So it came to pass that the day of the dance arrived. Because she had waited so long for me to ask her to go and I didn't, she had been forced to call James Henderson, an old childhood friend, who drove a Corvette, to take her. I knew he was coming. I also knew I had nobody to blame but myself. I hated myself for my social ineptness. How had I reached this age and not know how to dance? Oh yeah, it was my godly church and parents. The jerks.
I drove past her house in my little 1966 Simca (Google that and look at an image. It's humiliating.) There was his Corvette. The jerk. I could imagine them laughing inside the house. I could imagine how she would look, all dressed up in her miniskirt. (Remember she came from a bunch of heathens.) I could imagine them going to the dance and her dancing with him instead of me.
One good thing came out of that drive-by. I made up my mind to ask her out on a date. So the next week I did. She said "yes" and my world was turned aright. We went to see Barbara Streisand in "On A Clear Day You Can See Forever." It was a terrible movie, but I didn't care. I was with her. Afterward, we went to Pizza Villa and had a large pizza. She was beautiful in the glimmering candlelight. Something inside me came alive on that very night that has never waned in all these years.
On the drive home, I was trying to work up the nerve to do two things. 1. Ask her to go out again next week 2. Kiss her goodnight. As we pulled into the driveway and stopped, she said, "I had a really good time." "You did?" I asked. "Me too!" So I took the plunge. "Want to go out again next week?" "Sure, that would be fun," she answered. I think I heard the Hallelujah Chorus then. If not, I'm sure I did five seconds later.
For three years I dated her. I never even went out one time with anybody else. Then on May 10,1973 (her birthday), I asked her to marry me. We had gone to a Statesmen Quartet "singin'" (I swear) and then I drove her over to a nearby lake where I asked her to be my wife. She said yes.
I had asked her parents permission to propose to her and they had, reluctantly, said yes. I had told them we would marry after I finished college. I had just finished my freshman year. But the more we thought about it, waiting that long didn't make sense. (Remember I was a good boy and the Bible says it's better to marry than to burn. Her heathen ways allowed her to wear miniskirts. Figure it out.)
So she went back to her parents and asked, "What if we get married a year from now?" (This was May, remember.) They didn't like it, but agreed. "That worked well," we thought. So back to her parents she went again, "What if we get married in December?" They weren't happy about that at all, but saw that we were bent on it so they agreed. A few weeks later, Melanie went back: "We want to get married in July." Is there something you need to tell me? her mother asked. There wasn't. We were both virgins on our wedding night. Still, I'm sure both sets of parents must have sighed a great sigh of relief four months after we were married.
So that brings me to this date -- July 28. My Dad had always asked me not to marry until I was at least nineteen. So I turned nineteen on July 7 and married her three weeks later.
It was thirty-five years ago today that I married Melanie. Four children and three grandchildren later, here we are. What a time we have had. It has been awesome.
Melanie married a pastor. For almost 21 years we walked together in that role. Then since 1994, we've walked the path of "a traveling preacher." Through ministry trips, we've seen the world together - the Great Wall of China, Japanese temples, Big Ben,the Taj Majal, the fjords of Norway, wild animals on an African safari . . . the list goes on.
We've also known the hard times. Like most people, we've shed tears over disappointments, health issues, children, money, death. Normal stuff. But we've laughed a lot too. (I "married up" so I'm glad she still appreciates my humor.)
Melanie is the kind of wife any man would be thrilled to have. She is beautiful in every way. I realize that marrying the only girl I ever dated at 19 years old and being deeply in love all these years is rare. I would call it a fairy-tale, but those aren't real and this is. It's a God-thing. There's no other explanation.
So today, July 28 -- thirty-five years later I want to wish my wife a Happy Anniversary and express my love to her publicly. (Those of you who have read my blog from the beginning know I warned you that there would be personal things here too.)
Melanie, you really are the most precious gift I've been given in this world. Thank you for choosing every day for 35 years to share your life with me. I love you and plan to spend the rest of my life showing you that.
Wanna dance?
Our song when we were dating:
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