In the late months of 1999, while the world was busy worrying about the impending computer apocalypse, I was preparing myself for a complete overhaul of my own life's trajectory. After several semesters of study at BYU, I had made the difficult decision to change majors-- and schools-- to a program that was only offered at Utah State.
This was a move that took me completely out of my comfort zone. I am definitely not a creature that craves change, and here I was leaving the familiar for a step in the dark. But after some difficult and trying times in Provo-- including an on-again-off-again battle with crippling depression-- I was ready for a new chapter.
And so it was that while I was unpacking my things into my new dorm room, alone on a cold January day, two boys walked into my apartment looking for my roommates. One of the two struck me as decidedly off-putting. Shaved head. Goatee. In fact, he hardly spoke more than a couple of words directly to me before withdrawing completely from the conversation. Bryson. Let's just say our first meeting was not what you might describe as auspicious. He was rough, reserved, and estranged from anything spiritually related. I was doubtful that we would ever become friends, much less anything more.
But we
did become friends.
At first it was little more than a back-and-forth banter that was certain to arise every time we were in the same room together. Over time, however, the banter became warmer and a bit more playful as we began to understand one another better.
He discovered that I wasn't just some self-righteous
Zoobie out to judge him by appearances.
I discovered that his rough demeanor was merely a defense mechanism built up over time, due to a life full of what can mildly be called "hard knocks."
Walls that had been meticulously crafted began to open up and crumble.
Our friendship continued to deepen after I had my heart broken, beaten, and shattered by a boy I thought I was going to marry. Ironically, that person had appeared to be perfect for me in every way.
Appearances can be so terribly deceiving.
But I found a listening ear in Bryson. I opened my heart to him, sharing hopes and fears with him that I hadn't dared speak to anyone else. I told him of my dark battles with depression, of my spiritual struggles. He confided in me about his past-- heart-wrenching experiences, that brought a whole new level of understanding to my eyes. He became my best friend. He was my confidant, my comfort, my rock.
And then one night he kissed me.
You would think that this might be a good thing, but the next morning I woke up slightly panic-stricken.
This had not been the plan. I did not want to ruin a perfectly good friendship with the complications of a rebound romance. After all, that's all it was, wasn't it? That's what all my friends thought, anyway. On the surface, we seemed such polar opposites that our relationship was most certainly doomed. It would never work. That's what people said.
But Bryson knew better.
He knew long before I did.
Thank heavens he is a patient man.
And over the course of time, I watched as he transformed before my eyes. The jaded and cynical person I had first met simply didn't exist anymore. The real Bryson, sincere and compassionate, emerged. A deeply personal spiritual experience restored his faith in a loving God. There was a light that returned to his eyes.
We grew closer and closer over time, and he never gave up on me. It wasn't until he left to work a summer job in Moab, many hours away, that I felt his loss acutely. I began to recognize my feelings for what they were. And on a day trip to Arches National Park that summer with him, I finally admitted to myself that I was hopelessly in love.
Absolutely hopeless.
After that summer apart, there were few moments that we weren't together. I discovered what it was like to truly love and be loved in return. He flew out to Chicago to visit me. We saw the sights of the city, and traveled to Nauvoo with my family. And soon after, on a beautiful evening in late September at the old amphitheater on Old Main Hill, Bryson proposed. Cradled in the shadow of the Utah State campus where we had first met; with the beauty of the Logan Temple and the Wellsville Mountains before us. It couldn't have been more perfect.
We were married on a blustery spring morning in the Chicago Temple nearly ten years ago. And, as most good love stories end, we have lived happily ever after. Which is not to say that everything in our lives has been perfect. It hasn't. We have had our share of trials and difficulties. But through it all, our love for one another has never been in question. And it, along with our faith, has always seen us through.
That's the wonderful thing about marrying your best friend.
Through thick and thin, our love has only continued to grow for one another. Not a day goes by that I don't stop and express my gratitude to God that our paths were led to one another on that cold January day so long ago. And how the journey we have taken together has shaped and molded us into the people we are today.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand
Who saith "A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!''
- Robert Browning
Here's to the next ten years, and beyond.
I adore you, Bryson.
• • •
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They have been with me as I have cultivated the little patch of ground surrounding our home, helping as I gradually coaxed it into a garden bursting with the fruits of the earth.
