I talked a couple weeks back about my best day professionally, so it makes sense that I talk about my best day personally. Folks who know me well could probably guess this, having heard this story about eleventy billion times, but I love thinking about it, so I’m going to tell the story again anyway.

Before I get to the actual best day, let me back up and give some context. It was 2017, and I was slowly coming out of the darkest season of my life. My divorce had been final for a little over two years, though my marriage had been over literally years before the papers were signed, and I spent a long time hating myself. And when I say a long time, I don’t mean weeks or even months. I mean years. I felt like a complete failure. I am a Christian and detested the thought of divorce, and, despite my not making the choice to end our marriage, I felt a deep, abiding sense of guilt over being a person who would allow my marriage to deteriorate to the point that it could end. But my church family slowly loved me back to a point where I could accept grace. Two families in particular, the Delgados and the Schoenhuts, carried me for a long time while I couldn’t walk. They happily made me their fifth wheel in all their couple activities and they just loved me until I finally believed I was worthy of love and forgiveness.

That leads to the story that leads to the story. It was a Friday in late October, and I had a booth at the WV Book Festival. My plan was to stop in Ripley on my way home from the first day of the festival to watch the PHS football team play. As I stood in line for a ticket, my phone buzzed. I was surprised to see it was from my cousin Alexis. She’s not technically my cousin, but she is in every way that matters. She’s just the best. Anyway, I’d posted a joke on Facebook about not being a chick magnet. When she read it, she told me in the text, she thought of her best friend, a woman named Sarah, who is, she said, really pretty. She wondered if maybe I’d like to meet her. My initial response was to say no. First, if she was really pretty like Alexis said, she wouldn’t be interested in a potato like me. And second, I had come to a point in my life where I was coming to grips with being an old curmudgeon who just taught school and went to church and wrote books until I died. Yes, if I was honest with myself, I had a desire to find a true partner. Someone I could love and shelter and take care of and who could also take care of me. Additionally, one of the greatest regrets of my life up to that time was not being a father. But maybe God’s plan was for me to take all my parental love and shower it on my students. I was okay with that.

But a little tiny voice kept whispering in my ear to ask questions. So I texted Alexis back, asking what she could tell me about this Sarah person. She told me she had been divorced for a long time, had a daughter named Lauren, and was–gulp–ten years my junior. But, Alexis said, Sarah knew I was older and was okay with that. She was also, I learned, aware of me and was willing to go out with me if I was interested. I found out later that she had been in a similar place, ready to grow old single, but with a desire down deep for a partner, someone to treasure and adore her and her daughter. Alexis told me Sarah’s full name and that she lived in Marietta in case I wanted to check her out on Facebook.

Check her out I did, and it became quickly apparent she was way too pretty for me. She was young and had a smile that made my heart feel funny. Her long, flowing hair and vibrant face were just too beautiful for words. And she was a woman of God and clearly a devoted mom to her adorable redheaded daughter. To sum it up, she was the big leagues, and I was, at best, American Legion ball. And, Alexis assured me, she would say yes if I asked her out, so there clearly had to be something deeply flawed in her personality.

But that voice just kept whispering. All that evening and well into the next day, it kept telling me to take the chance. As I sat in my booth at the book festival, selling absolutely no books, I finally screwed up the courage to text her, telling her who I was. To my shock, she actually replied. I asked if I should call. No, she said, she preferred texting. So I texted back, asking her out to coffee. I’d read somewhere that coffee is a safer choice, as a meal can last forever if the date is going badly. She said she didn’t like coffee, but she’d go out for hot chocolate. Didn’t like coffee? Strike one. I’m happy to report she never made it to strike two. I decided to risk it anyway, so we agreed to meet on November 1st at a place in Marietta called Jeremiah’s because it was close to her work and happened to be where I had a meeting later that same evening.

Okay, so now we’re finally to the story. After a long, nervous day at school, I made my way to Jeremiah’s a few minutes early and waited for her. I kept having to remind myself to breathe as the clock turned. Finally, in she walked. I was transfixed. My heart, already racing, went into humminbird mode. How could the pictures have been so wrong? She wasn’t beautiful. She was spectacular. When she smiled, angels sang, and when she laughed, birds everywhere were humbled into silence. We talked easily, as if we had known each other forever. She was smart and witty and kind and just too perfect for words. By the time the date ended, I knew I needed to see her again. I wasn’t sure I was brave enough to ask, though. Apparently I was, as, before I even realized I was doing it, I quickly blurted out a request for a second date, to which she happily consented. That second date is really the story.

We agreed to dinner at DaVinci’s in Williamstown on November 5th. It was a Sunday. In the interim, we had texted nonstop. I was deeply smitten, and, I hoped against hope, so was she. We were both open books, holding no secrets. We told our stories of heartbreak and talked of our faith journeys. Finally, the day came. Somehow, she was prettier than she had been the last time I’d seen her. We couldn’t keep our eyes off each other and we couldn’t stop talking long enough to be bothered with even looking at the menu. I imagine the server was getting tired of coming back only to find we still weren’t ready. After the third try, we tore ourselves away from one another long enough to order. The salads came, and I wanted to pray, but was afraid to seem like a goody-goody. But the voice told me to go for it. I held out my hand and asked if we could pray before we ate. She put her hand in mine. As I prayed, that’s when it happened. She gently caressed the back of my hand with her dainty thumb. My heart swelled. My body filled with warmth. The voice whispered, “She’s the one. You’re going to marry her. You love her.”

I felt a joy like I’d never experienced before that day. A joy I didn’t know was even possible. I felt like God had made me to love her and her to love me. And he’d guided us through horrible heartbreak and humiliation, with the loving support of brothers and sisters in Christ, to bring us to a point where we could love and be loved in a way we each deserved. As impossible as it seems, I love her more today than then. She is my best friend and lover and my steady rock. God is good.