(I have been asked to join a class on storytelling and evangelism at my church over the next couple of months. During the first session we are each to tell one of our favorite stories. Here is one of mine.)
It was mid-February in 1988, and I was living in a studio apartment near downtown Denver, Colorado. Though I had finished my graduate program in journalism, I continued to pick up temp assignments, hoping for my career to begin. Since I was between jobs, provisions were running low.
When Lee, a friend from church, called to inquire whether I was going on the church retreat to Glorieta, New Mexico with the rest of the group, I had to admit I could not afford to go. I could barely afford a cup of coffee and was considering restaurant work for the free employee meal. The next thing I knew he was offering to pay my way. I wondered if meals were included.
His offer was problematic for two reasons: 1) It felt way too much like a date and I didn't want to mess up a perfectly good friendship, and 2) Even though he hadn't asked, he would probably want me to ride with him from Colorado to New Mexico and that would seem even more like we were dating, when clearly we were not.
I told him I would accept his offer. He then wanted to know if I would ride with him.
On the way to Glorieta we listened to music and barely spoke. I was grateful for the change of scenery and the dinner that awaited me. I was not prepared for our pastor to greet us at the entrance with a big smile on his face or the friends I hadn't seen in awhile who assumed Lee and I were together. We were not together . . . as he paid for my room and helped me with my bags.
By lunchtime of the following day, I had prayed that God would give me direction for my life. I was considering becoming a missionary with Wycliffe Bible Translators since at the tender age of 26 I was almost an old maid by the standards of my small home town. I would go to some faraway land and spend my remaining years serving God, with only words and the Holy Spirit to keep me company.
In the cafeteria, a group of my friends were getting ready to head to Santa Fe for the afternoon break before the chapel service that evening. Though I wanted to see the galleries, I also needed time to myself and turned down the invitation to join them. No sooner had they left the table did this overwhelming loneliness take hold. I had been living alone for years and when I was not working, I spent much of my time alone. This is the life a writer longs for, yet in that moment I realized I was hoping I would have someone to talk to, even for a couple of hours.
Looking up, there, directly in front of me on the other side of the cafeteria, sat Lee.
As I approached his table, the group of friends he was with quickly excused themselves, laughing quietly and whispering, leaving the two of us alone together.
"Would you like to go into Santa Fe?" he asked.
"I'd love to!" I said, not believing what I was saying or how I was saying it.
We walked the streets of Santa Fe window-shopping and admiring the art. As we re-entered the retreat center a few hours later, Lee asked if I would sit with him during chapel. Oh yes, how thrilled this unfamiliar person who now somehow conducted my life was. I even went back to my room to change my clothes and fix my hair. One of my roommates demanded to know who I was trying to impress. I naturally lied . . . to my friend . . . on a church retreat. It is a wonder God ever answers my prayers!
Finding Lee in the chapel, the entire pew of people got up and moved when they saw me coming. They were of course laughing quietly and whispering, as I made myself comfortable next to Lee.
All I really remember of that church service was when the first pastor got up to give his sermon, it was about provision. I started to think about how this retreat was provided to me and how food was provided when I had run out, and how the man sitting next to me was . . . GOD'S PROVISION! I suddenly knew with absolute certainty that Lee Shores was going to be my husband, and like every girl who is proposed to, even supernaturally, I burst into tears. This caused people to pass the box of tissues as Lee put his arm around me. No one knew what was wrong (or right) and I could not begin to tell them.
Our return trip to Denver was filled with our life stories, our views on certain topics, books we had read, music we enjoyed, and just about everything else we could think of to share with each other. So convinced was I that I had heard the voice of God, I took perhaps the biggest chance I could have and said to Lee, "I no longer see you as just a friend."
"I feel exactly the same way about you," was his answer.
(A month later, we were sitting on his couch when he asked if it would be too wild if he asked me to marry him. I told him that it would be too wild, but I would probably say yes. "Will you marry me?" he asked. "Yes," I said. After an awkward pause we agreed we should probably get to know each other. "When should we get married?" I asked. "Before I turn 35," he said. "How old are you now?" Thirty years later, we are still getting to know each other.)
It was mid-February in 1988, and I was living in a studio apartment near downtown Denver, Colorado. Though I had finished my graduate program in journalism, I continued to pick up temp assignments, hoping for my career to begin. Since I was between jobs, provisions were running low.
When Lee, a friend from church, called to inquire whether I was going on the church retreat to Glorieta, New Mexico with the rest of the group, I had to admit I could not afford to go. I could barely afford a cup of coffee and was considering restaurant work for the free employee meal. The next thing I knew he was offering to pay my way. I wondered if meals were included.
His offer was problematic for two reasons: 1) It felt way too much like a date and I didn't want to mess up a perfectly good friendship, and 2) Even though he hadn't asked, he would probably want me to ride with him from Colorado to New Mexico and that would seem even more like we were dating, when clearly we were not.
I told him I would accept his offer. He then wanted to know if I would ride with him.
On the way to Glorieta we listened to music and barely spoke. I was grateful for the change of scenery and the dinner that awaited me. I was not prepared for our pastor to greet us at the entrance with a big smile on his face or the friends I hadn't seen in awhile who assumed Lee and I were together. We were not together . . . as he paid for my room and helped me with my bags.
By lunchtime of the following day, I had prayed that God would give me direction for my life. I was considering becoming a missionary with Wycliffe Bible Translators since at the tender age of 26 I was almost an old maid by the standards of my small home town. I would go to some faraway land and spend my remaining years serving God, with only words and the Holy Spirit to keep me company.
In the cafeteria, a group of my friends were getting ready to head to Santa Fe for the afternoon break before the chapel service that evening. Though I wanted to see the galleries, I also needed time to myself and turned down the invitation to join them. No sooner had they left the table did this overwhelming loneliness take hold. I had been living alone for years and when I was not working, I spent much of my time alone. This is the life a writer longs for, yet in that moment I realized I was hoping I would have someone to talk to, even for a couple of hours.
Looking up, there, directly in front of me on the other side of the cafeteria, sat Lee.
As I approached his table, the group of friends he was with quickly excused themselves, laughing quietly and whispering, leaving the two of us alone together.
"Would you like to go into Santa Fe?" he asked.
"I'd love to!" I said, not believing what I was saying or how I was saying it.
We walked the streets of Santa Fe window-shopping and admiring the art. As we re-entered the retreat center a few hours later, Lee asked if I would sit with him during chapel. Oh yes, how thrilled this unfamiliar person who now somehow conducted my life was. I even went back to my room to change my clothes and fix my hair. One of my roommates demanded to know who I was trying to impress. I naturally lied . . . to my friend . . . on a church retreat. It is a wonder God ever answers my prayers!
Finding Lee in the chapel, the entire pew of people got up and moved when they saw me coming. They were of course laughing quietly and whispering, as I made myself comfortable next to Lee.
All I really remember of that church service was when the first pastor got up to give his sermon, it was about provision. I started to think about how this retreat was provided to me and how food was provided when I had run out, and how the man sitting next to me was . . . GOD'S PROVISION! I suddenly knew with absolute certainty that Lee Shores was going to be my husband, and like every girl who is proposed to, even supernaturally, I burst into tears. This caused people to pass the box of tissues as Lee put his arm around me. No one knew what was wrong (or right) and I could not begin to tell them.
Our return trip to Denver was filled with our life stories, our views on certain topics, books we had read, music we enjoyed, and just about everything else we could think of to share with each other. So convinced was I that I had heard the voice of God, I took perhaps the biggest chance I could have and said to Lee, "I no longer see you as just a friend."
"I feel exactly the same way about you," was his answer.
(A month later, we were sitting on his couch when he asked if it would be too wild if he asked me to marry him. I told him that it would be too wild, but I would probably say yes. "Will you marry me?" he asked. "Yes," I said. After an awkward pause we agreed we should probably get to know each other. "When should we get married?" I asked. "Before I turn 35," he said. "How old are you now?" Thirty years later, we are still getting to know each other.)
