J&T: A piece of our story

Besides a detailed account of our few weeks together, I haven’t written much about my relationship with J. It’s not because he has been pushed to the periphery of my life–he has been invading every nook and cranny! But I guess those were the nooks and crannies I once used to write on my blog.

Months ago, a reader asked me to tell our story. So here it is from my perspective…

We met at a wedding, our siblings’ wedding, to be exact. My older brother and J’s younger sister married each other in the summer of 2018.

You’d think that we both would have had romance on the brain in such a setting. Yet, he was based in China and I had just moved to Spain. Our minds were on our respective work, not romance. When I think hard enough, I remember things about him from that weekend–like when I tripped on my too-long skirt and he tried to blame my clumsiness on himself–but I can’t remember what he was wearing the first time I saw him or anything of the sort. He remembers even less than I do.

At the Sunday potluck, we chatted with each other. Our conversation was enthusiastic because, as overseas workers, we could connect in ways that we couldn’t connect with just anybody. He asked to be added to my newsletter mailing list.

I went back to Spain. He finished school and returned to China. I contacted him once about an article I was writing and he sent me some information. That was our only personal contact for five years.

His church became one of my supporting churches for two years. I was delighted because I already knew some of the congregation. I also knew his family. (When our siblings were dating back in 2017, I had made a point to travel to Ohio. Twice. And J was in China both of those times.)

In 2019, he returned to Ohio to finish his Master of Science with the intention of moving back to China. And then the pandemic happened, and he found himself planted Stateside indefinitely. Over the next several years, he made trips to Illinois to visit his sister, my brother, and our mutual nephews. I returned to Illinois as well, for a vacation or a home assignment, but our paths didn’t cross, and neither of us considered that they didn’t.

Then while I was on home assignment summer of 2023, I gave a talk at his church. J and I chatted a little that Wednesday evening, but I did a little chatting with a lot of people and nothing felt unusual. I was at the beginning of a long trip and was dealing with ongoing health symptoms I had become an expert at suppressing. Had I been a little more in tune with my surroundings that evening, perhaps I would have seen that quiet question mark above J’s head. But I continued my trip, clueless.

Still, he said nothing. Not that I was expecting him to have anything to say. In retrospect, it was as if, in my mind, he was married to China and therefore ineligible.

Toward the end of my time in the States that summer, he and his parents came to Illinois to visit his sister… the same day I left for Indiana.

It seemed that God was keeping us apart. And I think, in a sense, He was.

While in Indiana, I found a name for the symptoms I’d had for more than a dozen years, the symptoms that were getting progressively harder to suppress.

I started treatment after returning to Spain. Within a month, I recorded in my journal that I was beginning to feel better. I knew I wasn’t completely healed, but I was on my way. I had lots to be thankful for that Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving was also the time that J, who had been praying for me in the meantime, sensed that the time was right. He emailed me that weekend.

I woke up at 5 a.m. to take the day’s first dose of treatment. As I crawled back into bed that Sunday morning, I saw I had an email from J. I immediately assumed that he was writing to say he was moving back to China and could I please take him off my newsletter list?

Or.

I didn’t stop to ponder; I just tapped the notification and opened the email that would change my life. Stunned, I lay in bed, lost in thought until my alarm went off.

He didn’t get an answer right away; I had a lot to think through. The truth is, as older singles, we both valued our respective single lives. Could this really be God’s next step for us? I knew I would need to mourn that first layer of loss before I responded to his email. Finally, with both trepidation and excitement, I wrote back, mostly with questions he had given me permission to ask: What about China? How did he feel about singleness?

Our initial emails were full of questions as we tried to sort out if forward were the best direction for us.

Deep down, I had a sense our relationship would work out, which was based on what I knew about him, his family, and his church. At its core, that inner sense was: “Of course. Why didn’t we think of this before?”

We wrote back and forth for a bit and then were ready to make our relationship more official around Christmas. Our families were shocked and excited. Our friends were shocked and excited. At last, these two “permanent singles” were dating!

Starting a relationship while 4,000 miles apart wasn’t for the faint of heart, but I’ll skip over those layers for now. One month after our first official phone date and just when I was admitting to myself how much I liked him, J was nominated to become a pastor in his home church. The next Sunday, one man would be chosen by lot and ordained.

He wrote to me on Monday morning, and all I could do was fall on my knees.

We both had lots of feelings that week. We tried phone calls but found we didn’t have a lot of words. Tears came at unexpected moments. I wasn’t mourning; I was overwhelmed. How could I support him when I was feeling so weak myself? What exactly was the new girlfriend’s role?

The events of that week drew us together in ways neither of us could have anticipated. Our relationship deepened to a level we would have said we weren’t ready for. We learned to trust each other.

I watched the ordination over WhatsApp, tears flowing as J was chosen to serve as a pastor in his home church.

Then we picked up and kept going, in both praise and uncertainty.

He came to visit Spain in May. We had 19 whole days on the same continent. During that time, we finished falling in love and seriously talked about a future together.

Three months later, I spent three weeks Stateside, in my home community and his. Right in the middle of our time together, J asked me to marry him. Even though I had known it was coming soon, he managed to surprise me. (Well, he surprised both of us, but that’s another story. 😉 )

Then came the whirlwind of excited decision-making in the week before I returned to Spain. Spain is where I am now. The whirlwind hasn’t stopped and likely won’t as I close down my life here, move back to the States, and plan a wedding.

But I’m surprised to find how much joy is in the whirlwind too.

This message has been approved by J. 😉

Part one: A palace and a hostel

It wasn’t cold feet. More like good ol’ butterflies jitterbugging in my belly as I nibbled rice cakes and watched his flight information from my phone. After 5 whole months of communicating, we would finally see each other… and in a completely different capacity than when we had seen each other last.

I wanted to savor the moments without really knowing how.

We had both missed a night of sleep–J on his flight and I on my overnight bus–and here we were, on the point of meeting in the Madrid-Barajas Airport, both sleep-deprived and with questionable hygiene. If we couldn’t like each other like this, we probably wouldn’t like each other for other reasons either.

When his flight arrived, I stood at the arrivals door in a near-panic, only to find that when we were face to face, he was exactly who I knew he would be. No surprises. In fact, the only surprise for both of us was how un-awkward we felt together. Like old friends or comfortable siblings with an extra layer of excitement exactly because we weren’t.

We bumbled around in terminal 4 until we found the right train to downtown. Our Airbnb rooms had canceled on us at some point during the night. So we stood in the middle of the downtown Atocha station, booking the hostel I had been determined to avoid.

Doesn’t the very word “hostel” strike a chord of dread in your heart? It sure did in mine! I imagined a dilapidated row of bunk beds, scummy showers, and an aura of unwelcome free love. J was accommodating to my fears, but our pickings were slim at this point. So a hostel it was. And, (spoiler alert!) it wasn’t at all what I had been picturing.

Since it was still morning and we couldn’t check in to our hostel until the afternoon, we wandered Retiro Park, enjoying nature, street musicians, and even a man reading poetry aloud among bright rose bushes. We sat on a bench to watch people and talk.

In our search for lunch, we walked through the Puerta del Sol, a plaza which just happened to be overflowing with people because of some sort of celebration. We watched red and yellow parachutes descend from the sky like Spanish flags, the parachuters guiding themselves to a giant stage.

At this point, J was drooping with jetlag and I kept a wary eye on him as we pushed through the crowd. We found a place to eat, and, at the server’s recommendations, ordered a plate of cured meats and cheese and pulpo a feira. The octopus was doubtless the best I’d ever tasted and we left the restaurant with enough “umph” to tour the Royal Palace.

platters of octupus and tray with cured meat and cheese

We walked to the end of an impossibly long and stagnant line. After waiting a few minutes, J politely asked the couple in front of us if we were waiting in the right line (at least, I can only assume that’s what he asked, since the conversation happened in Mandarin) and we discovered that indeed we weren’t. After relocating, we were soon granted entrance and wandered through the rooms, gaping at the ornate decor. Palaces are so curious. Do people really want to live amidst so much useless wealth? Or is it only for tourists to come and gape?

We left the palace, luggage in tow–J with his backpack for the entire 3 week visit and me with my equally-heavy backpack for a mere 3 days. We checked in at our hostel. I know I already slipped you the spoiler, but imagine a friendly clerk, a relaxed atmosphere, privacy curtains on each bunk, and all-inclusive bathroom stalls–shower, sink, toilet–with doors that locked! I didn’t even have to put on a brave front.

The rest of the evening was filled with a walk and a talk before we headed back to the hostel for a supper of leftovers, snacks, and a much-needed cup of tea.

With the best of intentions

I weathered another round of what I assumed to be food poisoning. Tired of hanging out in the bathroom, I put on a brave face to hostess visitors, babysit, teach an English class, and drop by the neighbor’s with a plate of crepes.

But when holes were poked in my food poisoning theory, suddenly my bright shades of resiliency and selflessness took on a contaminated hue.

I had been so sure I could trace it back to those fried sardines…

I took a too-late day of quarantine to keep me from infecting the rest of the world. The next morning I dropped by the post office and the grocery store. On the way home, I noticed I was being dogged by the persistent admirer who, after a clarifying encounter months earlier, had vanished from my life. Until now. And there he was, looking bigger, older, and maybe even a little more unhinged than the last time I had seen him.

My intention to weave myself into this community’s tapestry put me in his way. Or maybe he put himself in my way. Or maybe we’re simply two clashing fibers woven side by side, which is bound to happen now and then in every community. Just wishing him away rather than confronting him probably was never the answer.

Why do best intentions sometimes sour?

My recent decision in the best interest of all turned out to be in the best interest of none… and involved a fair amount of straightening out.

I suppose it’s fanciful to believe that sacrifice can validate decisions. Still, why do some of the decisions we make, even at our own expense, turn out to be the wrong ones?

Maybe it’s because we don’t understand the big picture. Or because our decisions are not the only decisions affecting lives.

When we take a spill on our good intention bicycle, the true measure of resiliency and selflessness may be found in our ability to stand up, gently brush the gravel from the crevices of our knees and continue on our way.

And be grateful when others forgive our mistakes and miscalculations.

And thank God for the neighborly shopkeeper who is standing in his doorway to watch us safely home.

Photo by Dmitrii Vaccinium on Unsplash

That I’ll probably be a snowbird and other things you might not know about me

It’s true. I’ll probably be the old lady who moves to Florida every winter. I used to scorn the idea, but as I get older, I understand that cold makes joints stiff. And that’s why I think I’ll be a snowbird.
I only drink decaffeinated coffee because caffeinated coffee makes my heart race, my hands shake, my stomach growl. Speaking of being old…
I don’t drive a car here in Spain.
I’m scared of filling up with fuel at unknown fuel stations. (It’s good I no longer drive!)
I was 27 before I tore down my guard enough to realize that my Savior loved me unconditionally.
People tell me I’m a lot like my grandma, which I don’t mind at all because she was a special lady.
I love to DIY (or would that be “DIM: do it myself”?), but often still use store products because, well, they often work better.
I hardly eat bread. No, I’m not gluten-intolerant. I just don’t like it very well. I am my father’s daughter, I guess, because I would declare along with him that most of it is too “stuffy.”
I have a vein in my forehead that bulges every time I get worked up, for the good or bad. (My sister suggested I put this one in here; I think she likes my bulgy vein.)
I love plants but I have a hard time keeping them alive. I must have a toxic aura.
When I was little, I had a crush on Jimmy Stewart… until I found out he was no longer living. Come to think of it, I had a crush on Disney’s animated Robin Hood too…

That’s all folks. All of the rest of me is as expected and normal. 🙂 I wouldn’t mind hearing some of the lesser known youisms too!