My sister once told me that she had no idea when I'd get married (I'm sure my well-carved independence made many wonder if I ever would), but that when it did happen, it would go fast.

Still, this didn't seem to reduce my sister's confusion when--two days after I stepped off the plane from a three-month sabbatical in Australia--I announced to her that I was getting married. Had I been dating someone when I set off on my travels, it might not have seemed so ludicruous. But I hadn't been. In fact, I decided to skip the whole dating part entirely.

It all began at the Starbucks on 96th Street somewhere during the spring of my senior year of college.
 

I was home for spring break, and my mother (who had recently started working at the world's most popular coffee company) just happened to introduce me to a ruggedly handsome fellow barista.

I still say the first time we met was at that Starbucks on 96th Street. Michael insists it was one Sunday at my parents church. Either way, a match was made, but it wouldn't find something to hold onto for another five years.

I always thought the comment, "It might be the right person, just the wrong time," was a cheap way to lie--an easier route than simply saying, "I'm sorry it didn't work out." But in our case, the truism turned out to be true after all.

I needed to find my wings, my voice, and my utter dependence on my God, somewhere out East. Michael needed to wade through a season of finding his calling in beautiful community. We both went through our share of relational bruises. And I think we both found kinder, softer, humbler versions of ourselves on the other end of the line on October 5th, 2009—the day I finally swallowed my pride in order to rekindle a friendship I knew I was missing out on.

Seven months, one massive overseas excursion for me, a dozen Skype dates, an emotional reunion at the Indianapolis airport, a proposal, a thousand dreams discussed, a couple of tense moments, a few tears, and a growing appreciation for the language of grace—Michael and I stand on the brink of our wedding. Nineteen days appear at once an endless ocean and a sprint to the finish line.
It is for this one I have long-prayed—and said ‘no’ to others. It is by this one that I am learning I am not always right. And it is from this one that I can see afresh the hand of the One who has ordered and provided through every uncertain step, and will carry on through each one yet to come.