My freshman year in college I went on three dates, and the first of those was the first date I'd ever had. I went out with three different girls which tells you about how each went. The absence of a second date wasn't my idea.
My sophomore year started with great promise because it brought a new group of freshman girls who didn't know me and might therefore mean the possibility of date #4. The key, however, was to strike early before they had a chance to learn I was a dweeb with absolutely no social skills. The scrawny part was obvious, but the absence of a personality could be hidden, at least for a month or so.
The second weekend of school the college hosted a mixer social and my roommate, who was something of a casanova and had already staked out his first target, talked me into asking one of those freshman girls to go out for ice cream afterward so we could double. To my surprise she said yes.
I now know that when she got back to her dorm she told the other girls she'd been on a date with Craig MacDonald. She was somewhat awestruck by an invitation to ice cream from an upperclassman and so interpreted their surprise as confirmation that she'd been honored. Only later did she learn their surprise was that she'd agreed.
Pam and I went on subsequent dates. In fact, neither of us dated anyone else from that point on. Hers was the first hand I held, hers the first lips I kissed. Two and a half years later we had a Las Vegas wedding, but only because that was her home town. We were so young - I was 20, she 19 - that even in Nevada they required our parents to sign our application for a marriage license. Four years after that I graduated and took what was to be my first pastoral position at a tiny dysfunctional church in San Clemente, CA. Since then we've served a total of churches five churches in three states, and in the middle of that stretch I spent 10 years teaching at a Bible college in Michigan. Forty-one years of ministry, together.
We raised two great boys who turned out to be great husbands, fathers, and servants of God. We've been through all the ups and downs that characterize any marriage, struggles external and internal. I've screwed up more than I want to think about, but here we are almost 43 years later, more one than we've ever been.
Deo volente, five months from now we'll move to an incredibly beautiful 3-acre place northwest of Elmira, Oregon and be, for the first time since 1974, just the two of us. No church to pastor, no classes to teach, just us. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to that.
Why this sudden burst of reflective nostalgia?
It's been a rough few weeks and today hasn't been a lot of fun. I'm currently sitting in a Paradise Bakery where I just spent a couple of hours wrestling with Sunday's sermon. I thought maybe getting out of the house would help me focus. Meh.
About 15 minutes ago an older couple walked by me with their trays trying to decide which booth they should choose. I couldn't hear anything she said, but even over Haydn in my ear buds I could hear him berating her for her foolishness at thinking that was a good booth. She never could make good choices.
I felt sorry for both of them. Her for having to put up with that kind of disrespect and him for his self-imposed misery.
And I thanked God for my blessing and the next stage of life we'll enjoy. Together.
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