Never trust the judgement of a fourteen-year-old boy—at least when it comes to women. I know this to be true from personal experience. Come along for a little walk...
Sadie Hawkins Day. Do you remember when and where that started? You do if you read the comics any time from the late 1930’s through the 1970’s. The “Li’l Abner” strip. Sadie Hawkins and the other characters lived in the community of Dogpatch—a place described by its inhabitants and outsiders as being “the most miserable and unnecessary place on earth.” Sadie was thirty-five years old, the “homeliest gal in all them hills”, and still waiting for a suitor to come a-courtin’. So her pappy, Hekzebiah Hawkins, came up with a plan to get her hitched. It went like this: He declared a “Sadie Hawkins Day”—a day when all eligible bachelors would be required to race for their freedom, with Sadie in hot pursuit.
On race day, Hekzebiah lined up the men and announced, "When ah fires my gun, all o' yo' kin start a-runnin! When ah fires agin—after givin' yo' a fair start—Sadie starts a runnin'. Th' one she ketches'll be her husbin."
Sadie got her man, and the spinsters of Dogpatch loved the idea so much that they set an annual date to repeat the race. It was a good plan (at least in the comics). Then, what started in a comic strip, caught on in real life, and Sadie Hawkins Day parties sprung up all over—a day when girls could ask the guys for a date.
And this is how I first caught sight of the Swiss farm girl from the south end of Kidron.
At the age of fourteen, our freshman year, I was invited by a classmate to be her “date” to a Sadie Hawkins church youth party. The farm girl was there too. She was plain, with hair up in a bun, horn-rimmed glasses, not particularly attractive to my poor way of thinking. She had taken the easy way out, and was there with a cousin. I didn’t give her a second look or a second thought. Can’t really remember anything else about the party. I was too young, too shy, too uncomfortable—wishing I had said no to the request.
Two years later a Neuenschwander girl transferred from Dalton High School to the Junior class at Central Christian. She was the same bun-headed girl from the Sadie Hawkins party. She looked different now. Times were changing, and her long, thick hair hung nearly to her waist. She seemed like a nice girl, kind of quiet, but I was still blind.
It wasn’t very long into the school year and we were in English class. The long-haired girl sat a couple rows to my left. I remember looking over and staring at her. At this age, hormones were wreaking havoc with most boy’s ability to think intelligently about girls, and I was no exception.
I barely knew the girl, but as boys do, judged her by my immature standards. She wasn’t like the popular girls—the cheerleader type that all the boys ogled over—and she wasn’t made-up, and didn’t wear the latest fashion. I turned back to my books and said to myself, “Ugh.”
Now this is where it got interesting: I may have been the poster-child of immaturity and terrible judgement, but when I said “ugh” to myself, a voice in my head talked right back, clear as a bell, “You should not feel that way about her, she could be your wife some day.”
The words startled me! Not only was I having the feelings of a complete jerk, now I was hearing voices in my head.
I quickly answered back, “No! No way!”
I didn’t think much more about it, but as time went on, I began to notice the girl’s quiet and genuine personality. I observed how she hung out with the nice kids. She had her head on straight, and was an excellent scholar too. Then something else began changing. I began to notice how pretty she was, and how homely I was. Instead of looking down on her, I was now looking up to her, and realizing with shame that she was a much better person than me.
The beginning of our Senior year, one of my friends began dating the girl. I was happy for him, and a bit envious too. It didn’t work out though. He got the “Dear John” letter. I remember it well. He took it hard—very hard. He was my ride home from school that afternoon, and at the wheel of his dad’s Buick, he drove like a suicidal maniac. I feared for my life.
But this was my chance. I waited two weeks, and when the opportunity came to ask the girl to go with me to a christian movie, I walked up to her on wobbly legs, and a mouth that suddenly went bone dry.
“Are you planning to see go see ‘The Cross and the Switchblade?’ ”
“Yes,” she said, “I was planning to.”
“Would you want to go with me?”
“Sure.”
And… as they say, the rest is history.
But history is still in the making. I still love my Swiss farm girl from the south end of Kidron. A lot of life has happened since we said “I do”, and some of it I’d do over if I could. Together we raised four children, but it might also be accurate to say she raised five. Now that the kids are out on their own, we’re rediscovering how much fun it is to be just the two of us. I’d like to think I’m her strength—her knight in shining armor—but the truth is, neither of us is a whole person without the other.
In sharp contrast to the love we share, it is sad to acknowledge that today of all days—Valentines Day—the antithesis of love will pack out theaters all over. The Fifty Shades movie. That’s sad. Sad because it portrays such a twisted view of an infinitely beautiful thing called love. Sad because it will not just “entertain”, but reinforce the views of a selfish and destructive “love”. True love is anything but Grey. And that’s all I’m going to say about that…
One of my favorite authors penned the following words after going from a life of hate and murder, to a life-changing encounter with Jesus. He wrote these timeless words about love.
Love is patient,
Love is kind.
It does not envy,
It does not boast,
It is not proud.
It does not dishonor others,
It is not self-seeking,
It is not easily angered,
It keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil,
But rejoices with the truth.
It always protects,
Always trusts,
Always hopes,
Always perseveres.
Love never fails.
--1 Corinthians 13--
To my high school sweetheart and wife of many years...
I love waking up beside you. I love coming home to you after a day of work. When I return from my fast cleansing walks, out of breath and soaked with sweat, you enjoy hearing about the weather, the scenery, the people I’ve encountered, and the things I’ve learned along the way.
You’re my favorite artist with Fifty Shades of cotton fabric destined to be another well-planned quilt. You’re a patient wife, a wonderful Mom, and a loving Grandma. Happy Valentines Day, my dear! I love you!
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