Where do I even begin with this post? Words truly cannot express the emotions I am feeling at this time. I know that a good writer is supposedly able to capture and express emotions by a few choice and powerful words, but I would argue that sometimes no amount of writing can portray the deepest of feelings. And that is alright.
On January 19, 2012 Ross asked me to marry him. I said yes. If anyone reading this thinks our relationship is a perfect fairytale, they are dead wrong. But it is a relationship that I would never trade for a perfect fairytale. After 5 years, 3 break ups, buckets of tears, and loads of immaturity, I can safely say that our small journey has been no walk in the park. And nor would I recommend our path to anyone. But I would not change a single thing. It is funny you can look back on life and see the pain, but realize that you wouldn't have learned or changed without it. That, my friends, is sanctification.
Was that last paragraph a little bit un-romantic and anti-climactic, considering the joyous position I am in as a future bride? Possibly. But is it true? Yes. And is it almost impossible to describe the deep joy I feel as I prepare to wed this wonderful man? Absolutely.
We met in October of 2006. We were both 15. We met through speech and debate, which is utterly embarrassing and totally hilarious at the same time. I was a 15 year old air-head, with lots of make-up and an Alabama sweatshirt on. He was a really skinny, tall kid in a blue dress shirt and wallabees. What did I notice first? That curly hair, of course. I remember sitting on the ground with Anna Stewart and saying, “Who is that cute guy? He looks like my next boyfriend! I'm gonna introduce myself.” At 15 years old, a lot of terrible ideas actually seem like a good game plan. Thankfully, Anna's common sense took control of the situation and kept me from ruining my entire future. So I forced myself to sit on the ground and just stare at God's beautiful creation from a distance. At one point, I “strategically” moved to a place where Rebecca Lee was forced to introduce us... and the rest is history.
Actually, not really. Here is the first documented photo of us, April 2007. 16 years old, in that beautiful 15 passenger van owned by the Lee family.
We lived for debate meetings on Friday afternoons. For days, I would begin planning my outfit for the next meeting. I would fix my hair, put on the cutest clothes my high school wardrobe held, and drench myself in perfume so that I smelled up to high heaven as soon as I exited the car...I swear, people could smell me from miles around. These are not proud days. I was the bad child, prancing around in my high heels and perfume. Everyone said it wouldn't last...and appearances seemed to prove that we didn't have a very strong foundation for such a young love as ours. And, if it hadn't been for the protection and guidance of our parents, we probably wouldn't have. I am so thankful that our parents cared about us enough to keep us from getting carried away. We weren't allowed to go on dates or talk on the phone or spend any alone time...which was the Lord protecting us from ourselves.
I can't even tell you all the fun times we had with our group of friends. Spending weekends in a different city with all your friends competing against each other is a blast. And a very unique way to get to know someone. As debate season progressed, we both had our fair share of wins and losses. Well, he had his fair share of wins, and I had my fair share of complete losses, due to my utter disrespect for anything the slightest bit intelligent. Who cares what comes out your mouth, as long as you look cute doing it – right? Wrong. He won 1st place speaker at nationals...and I did not. Once again, I was forced to live vicariously through the brilliant Ross Wesson. It seems to be a re-occurring theme in my life.
Although I would never recommend a long, highschool relationship to anyone, there is something to be said for growing up with a person. There is a connection that only comes from experiencing so many different phases of life together. And there is character that is proven time and time again, and for that I am so very grateful.
The season of fun times ended as I packed my bags to move to Atlanta my senior year of highschool, amid many tears and heart-wrenching goodbyes. He came to help “move us in”, and that is when he gave me my first gift. It was a little silver necklace from American Eagle, and I wore it so much that the silver somehow magically disappeared and it ended up turning orange.
I would have to write an entire book if I was going to recount all the memories I have of our growing-up years. Someday I might do that, but for now this will have to do. One of the funniest memories I have of my immature teenage emotions involve a particular Valentine's Day in 2009. February of our senior year. He was in Louisiana at a debate tournament, and I was in Atlanta doing school and wishing my life away. He sent me a valentine's day card in the mail... and it said, “You might be a redneck if your idea of a romantic gift is matching camo vests.” I remember being so disappointed by the unromantic-ness of the card that.....i cried. Yes, I cried. Definitely not one of my prouder moments.
Then came college, and a break up, and much growth during that time apart. We went to beach project the summer after our freshman year, Oh the fun times. Double dates with our dear friends malcolm and julie...hours and hours spent in the sun and sand...renting jet skis and riding them around the bay...driving out to Seaside for July 4th and almost strangling each other after riding in the back seat for 3 hours together...roller skating, seafood, 80's prom, water balloon fights, the list goes on.
The story doesn't end in happily ever after...yet. There is more to come. But, unfortunately, I cannot spend my entire life on my computer...so the rest of the story will be continued at a later date.
