He's Okay.

August 1998.  My second day on the campus of the small Christian college I would attend for one year of my life.  Morning classes had gone smoothly, nothing remarkable to report.  I took a few notes and met a few people, among them a young man named Charles.  Poor Charles, I can't even tell you his last name.  I remember nothing of Charles beyond meeting him and later mistaking someone else for him.  Not much of a claim to fame...

Anyhow, the morning had gone well enough and as I searched the cafeteria for a place to sit, I spied a table near the middle of the cafeteria.  I'm not sure if friends of mine were already seated there or if it just happened to be open enough for me not to feel like I'd be intruding on its current occupants.  Whatever the case, I sat down, looked at the boy sitting across the table and down a few seats, and thinking I'd met him earlier in the day, attempted to strike up a conversation.

"Charles, right?"  (Now you see why I prefer writing to speaking...  I'm such an uninspired conversationalist.)

Stuffing a forkful of food in his mouth, my victim responded, "No.  Geoff."

And there you have it, the oh-so-romantic introduction of Lisa to the love of her life.  


And yet there was something in that brief, inglorious exchange.  It wasn't love at first sight, but something a little more unusual.  Images of future love, laughter, and little ones did not pass before my eyes.  It would be much, much longer before such thoughts even began to form.  That first meeting was just a simple exchange in which I knew, almost instinctually, that this guy was okay.  Being "okay" may not sound like much of a compliment, unless you are someone who has met someone who is automatically okay.  It's wonderful when you get that feeling right of the bat, and even more wonderful when your initial impression stands the test of more than a decade.  I knew, from the moment I met him with a mouthful of cafeteria food, that there would be a lot of things about me that he would completely understand, and those things he couldn't understand, he would accept.  I hadn't the slightest inkling how very much he would be called upon to understand and accept in the years to come, but I was right about him.

And so as we prepare to celebrate our eleventh anniversary, I thank my husband for enduring all of my quirks so graciously, for listening to me cry over things big and little, for laughing with me and sometimes helping me laugh at myself, for making four beautiful, amazing dreams come true, and for coming home at the end of every long, hard day of work, sometimes to be greeted by a long, hard evening of telling kids to eat their dinner and do their chores while listening to the wife recite every significant and insignificant detail of what happened between the hours of 8 a.m. and 6 p.m.  Thank you for your amazing patience, understanding, and acceptance.

I don't know what sort of fellow Charles turned out to be.  I do know that I'm very glad I didn't sit down across the table from him.  I'm glad that I met Geoff that day, in that way, and am so happy to tell you that Geoff has never failed to be "okay."

Happy anniversary, Love.