Washington and Wells

Every Sunday for almost a year, I got off the Washington and Wells “L” stop in the Chicago Loop on Sunday morning. My roommates had attended Holy Trinity, and I loved their preaching. On this particular day (August 27th 2006 to be exact), I had recently told a summer fling that I wouldn't marry him. He asked me why, perplexed, and my reply was simple: "you don't love the Lord." He responded matter-of-factly, "but I like the Lord."

That Sunday, I worried that I hadn't given this Irishman more of a chance (what an accent he had!), and I remember getting on the “L” feeling self-conscious about my weight. Oh how I longed to be thinner, but then again didn't we all?

I led the congregation in prayer nonetheless that morning, and walked with one of my dearest friends, Wags, to a church picnic in Millenium Park. I don't remember what we ate, but I remember where we were standing when a gentleman walked up to me and thanked me for the prayer that I led that morning. We talked with ease and our conversation kept going until Wags pulled me aside to ask if I needed back-up. I didn't, and our conversation continued until I dreamily walked back to the Washington and Wells stop with Wags. "What did you think of him?" she asked cautiously, to which I honestly replied, "It doesn't really matter because Scott is way out of my league." 

We started dating that fall, were engaged in March, and married happily that Christmas. He continues to be a gentleman way out of my league, and I marvel at God's kindness to us both in bringing us together. I wish I could go back and infuse that starry-eyed 22-year-old with confidence. I wish I could help her see that the man she would love, wouldn't give a damn about her weight. That she didn't have to tightly clutch her dreams in fear that they wouldn't happen, but had the freedom to live with arms wide open to the adventure and beauty in the present.

We're all too afraid of holding our arms out in delight within our current circumstances. We worry about the future, when the future always takes care of itself regardless of our anxieties about it (as Jesus noted in Matthew 6:34). If we were more attentive to the present, we would recognize the sacredness of the life we're living now. Someday, we'll be telling stories about today.