bekahcubed

This is the next installment in a rather long series about how Daniel and I met–and have become engaged. Click on the “Our Story” tag for context.

We’d decided to talk sooner than Wednesday and had scheduled a call the next Monday–less than 50 hours from when we’d ended our six-hour Skype conversation–but it still seemed like much too long a wait.

I texted Daniel that very evening:

“So I thought maybe you should know…that I’m dating this man who’s rather amazing. I’m pretty much crazy about him.”

Daniel played right along:

“Really? Maybe he and I should meet some time.”

Sunday morning, Daniel’s text came 15 minutes before I started teaching Sunday school and managed to completely fluster me. How was I supposed to teach, to be normal, when “Good morning, beautiful one” was running through my head?

Monday morning, I posted “In Which Words Fall Short”–and posted a link to Daniel’s Facebook wall, with the comment: “Alternately titled ‘In which I make my claim’.”

A little later that morning, Daniel announced to Facebook that he had a girlfriend (me!). Between my blog post and his Facebook wall post, the comments came pouring in.

I confess that I was distracted that day, checking up on blog comments and Facebook comments, enjoying everyone’s reaction, but mostly enjoying the fact that he was mine and I his.

When we talked that evening, Daniel mentioned that he’d received my birthday card.

I groaned at the thought.

I’d sent the card when things were undefined, when I was in love with him but didn’t feel the freedom to tell him how I felt.

It was a silly card, my personal greeting was lighthearted and bland.

I told Daniel that I was sorry, that I had wanted to wish him happy birthday with something more meaningful than e-mail or a Facebook wall post. But my card ended up insufficient in my eyes, so trite compared to what I now wanted to say (and finally had the freedom to express.)

I tried to make it up the next day (Daniel’s actual birthday) by sending him birthday wishes via every channel available – I emailed him a happy birthday, wrote it on his Facebook wall, texted him, and at last told him when we talked that evening.

Yes, the 50 hour gap between when we hung up on Saturday and when we spoke on Monday was too much. We were now set for a new schedule of conversation–talking every day.

At long last, I am picking up Daniel’s and my story again. Click on the “Our Story” tag for context.

We had a barbecue that evening with a bunch of folk from church.

As we were standing around the kitchen, shooting the breeze, Anna led off with a query: “You wanna tell everyone what you were talking about with your BOYFRIEND for SIX HOURS this afternoon with the DOOR CLOSED?”

Cathy, ever conscious of my heart, cautioned Anna against using “boyfriend”-until I interjected that, actually, Daniel WAS now my boyfriend.

This, of course, rather shocked everyone–and brought on questions in abundance.

Was it a little abrupt, a little uncaring, to tell Anna this way, at the same time as I told everyone?

I’m not sure. Perhaps. But she was the one who had brought it up.

And yes, we had spent six hours talking that afternoon.

We’d gotten to two, maybe three, hours in when Daniel asked me what my plans were for the rest of the day.

I didn’t have any fixed plans except for the barbecue that evening at seven–and neither of us really wanted to hang up. So we kept talking, with the occasional potty break, right up to six.

At six, when I hung up, I went into Anna’s room and asked her if she was ready to go. She got ready and we went to the barbecue–where she asked the needle-ing question that “outed” us to my dozen or so closest friends.

Of course, everyone had questions–and I got to spend a fair bit of the evening talking about Daniel (which, as he’s one of my very favorite topics, was quite welcome.)

I was in the throes of young love, already counting down the time until I could talk to my BOYFRIEND again (except, ugh, we’d discussed those terms and decided we didn’t like them at all. BOYfriend? GIRLfriend? He is not a boy, but a man who I love. He considers me not a girl, but a woman.)

It made me antsy, sitting there among my dearest friends, enjoying their company but wishing that Daniel (who I’d of yet not met in person) were there with us–or that I were in Wichita with him.

This is a continuation of Daniel’s and my story. Click on the “Our Story” tag for context.

Thankfully, when Daniel said that he loved me, he didn’t expect an immediate response from me.

He wouldn’t have gotten it even if he did expect it. I was flabbergasted.

Elisabeth Elliot’s words from Passion and Purity were running through my mind:

“My father counseled his four sons never to say, ‘I love you’ to a woman until they were ready to follow immediately with ‘Will you marry me?'”

Daniel had said “I love you.” He had not asked me to marry him. He had said he wanted to marry me someday.

He loved me?

Wasn’t it a little sudden for that? How could he love me? Did he really know me well enough to love me? Surely he just hadn’t seen enough to know that he didn’t really love me.

But I trusted Daniel, I loved Daniel. I couldn’t pooh-pooh what he’d just said, couldn’t presume that he was just throwing out meaningless words for emotions’ sake.

He said he loved me.

The thoughts kept whirling and twirling as Daniel continued speaking.

When he stopped, my lips spoke a patent untruth:

“I think I love you too.”

This, from the girl who’d been telling God and her journal all week that she loved Daniel. This, from the girl who’d been entreating God to tell her whether she would marry Daniel.

Now, faced with his confession of love for her, she replies “I think I love you too”?

I did.

In my defense, I’d been questioning my own capability to love all week as well. How did I know this was not mere infatuation? I asked myself. Did I even know him well enough to love him?

And saying “I love you” has never been something that comes particularly easy to me. I’m not one of those types who tacks an “I love you” at the end of every phone conversation.

This was something new, something new entirely for me.

So you can’t blame me for being shy (can you?)

Then again, a third possible explanation for my half-truth response could be that I’d been humming an old Partridge family tune all week long:

“I think I love you
So what am I so afraid of?”

Whatever the exact reason, I told him I thought I loved him.

Whether he caught it or not, he didn’t say anything about my noncommittal response.

What exactly came next, I’m not sure, but eventually I asked Daniel: “So, does this mean that I’m your… girlfriend?”

This is a continuation of Daniel’s and my story. Click on the “Our Story” tag for context.

Daniel and I Skyped that Saturday, our second Saturday Skype date. We had the normal sort of conversation, talk about everyday things, about ideas, whatever.

I mentioned Cathy’s question, about whether I’d told my family about the two of us. I briefly described my conversation with John, how I’d had to badger him, but eventually I managed to get ahold of him so I could tell him about Daniel.

It was odd, this–talking to Daniel about talking to other people about him. It felt even more weird because there wasn’t really any formal understanding between Daniel and I. So what exactly was I telling my family?

And how did I describe to Daniel what I was telling my family?

I suppose if I’d thought about it in advance, I might not have chosen to tell Daniel about telling my family. I might have shirked from the awkwardness, feared I’d be trying to force Daniel’s hand.

But I wasn’t thinking in advance, was simply sharing my life with Daniel. That’s what we did, after all. We were amazingly candid with one another, had always been. It was (is) one of the things I love most about our relationship.

And, in this case, it turned out rather well.

After hearing my story and commenting appropriately in all the right spots (acknowledging, for example, that brothers have the right and responsibility of talking tough at their sisters’ dates), Daniel asked me if he needed to define the relationship.

I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. Did he need to define the relationship?

Was I interested in having him define the relationship? Certainly. But I didn’t want to tell him that yes, I wanted him to define the relationship, lest I somehow force him to say something he didn’t mean.

Daniel saw my tentativeness and clarified what he’d meant. “It’s just that I’m noticing how you’ve had a hard time figuring out what words to use to describe you and me to your family, and how to describe what you’ve told your family to me. Would it be helpful…”

He didn’t wait for me to answer.

“Rebekah, I love you. I don’t know entirely if it’s God’s will or not, but I’d be very hurt if I didn’t end up marrying you.”

Did he just say what I thought he just said?

Did he just tell me he loved me?

I was listening dazed as he told me that he’d wrestled before today’s conversation with whether he would tell me what he was thinking. He’d been undecided at the start of our conversation, but now, well, he’d decided and had said it.

He loved me. He hoped to marry me someday.

This is a continuation of Daniel’s and my story. Click on the “Our Story” tag for context.

Cathy asked me that Friday, when I was telling her about my scheduled date, whether my family knew about Daniel.

I confidently assured them that they did–before backtracking.

Truth was, I hadn’t ever mentioned Daniel to my brother who is stationed with his wife in Okinawa. John had no idea.

I was determined to rectify the situation, and Friday night happens to be the perfect time for doing so–since I could stay up late and catch John in the midmorning.

I sent John a message that I wanted to Skype with him. He didn’t respond back very quickly, so I texted him. He didn’t respond then, so I messaged his wife.

Finally, I got a text back from John.

“Why do you wanna talk to me?”

“I just do,” I responded.

John’s reply was: “Whoever he is, I don’t like him.”

I was flabbergasted. “Who told?”

To which John responded something to the effect of: “lol, that was a lucky guess. I was teasing. If he makes you happy, I’m very happy for you.”

John eventually did come home from the basketball game he was playing, and the two of us (and Kaytee) Skyped a bit.

We didn’t have much to say. The conversation ended up being pretty short. But I let John know that I was corresponding with Daniel, that he had asked me out and that we had a date planned.

I don’t remember exactly how John responded, but I’m pretty sure he included the standard line about a six week training course (with each brother) and maybe threw in a “He’d better fly you and him to Okinawa so I can see if I approve.”

Since John usually asks, whenever we talk, whether there’re any guys he needs to beat up for me, I informed him in advance that this was one man I definitely did NOT want him to beat up. I wanted to keep Daniel around, I said.

John was less than convinced.

A guy has to have the threat of being beaten up by a girl’s brothers. No, a guy needs to be beaten up by a girl’s brothers. That way, if he sticks around, you know he really loves you.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to put Daniel to that sort of test-but I knew that, at least on this front, such a test was unlikely.

I told John so, citing his distance as a complicating factor.

John assured me that he could easily hop a cargo plane and fly back to the States for a confrontation. He could also mobilize the home troops–my remaining three brothers (and most especially his fellow Marine brother)–to make sure the job got done properly.

I told him thanks, but no thanks, and we ended our conversation.

I could now tell Cathy, without any falsehood, that my whole family knew about Daniel.

Now I had only to meet him.

Two weeks.

Forever.

This is a continuation of Daniel’s and my story. Click on the “Our Story” tag for context.

Arranging a date with someone you haven’t met before, who lives quite a distance from you, can be an interesting proposition. And so it was for Daniel and I.

Where could we meet that wouldn’t be terribly inconvenient for either of us? Where could we meet that would let both of us be comfortable? Where could we meet without incurring huge costs in hotel rooms (since our respective homes are too far apart to allow for day trips)?

What’s more, when could we meet that wouldn’t conflict with our various work and church responsibilities? Daniel had just taken off several days for his retreat, I had state surveyors due any moment. I taught Sunday School, Daniel had weekend small groups.

But Daniel considered those details carefully and arrived at a weekend three weekends out. We’d meet in Lincoln (allowing us to stay at our respective parents’ houses) and go to a museum and do dinner on a Saturday afternoon.

I texted my excitement to my mother the next morning.

“I’ve got a da-ate!”

Mom just laughed at me.

I’d taken to calling Mom during my commute at least once a week, asking her advice and telling her what was going on. She definitely seemed amused by certain aspects of Daniel’s and my relationship–and this one was apparently one of those aspects.

But I was over the moon.

Scheduling a real date, an in-person date, meant that this was on its way to maybe becoming a bona-fide “relationship” (Boy, I hate that term for romantic attachments.)

I couldn’t really say we were dating, but we were about to take the first step towards it.

Yes, yes, YES! I was so excited.

But I reminded myself, as I talked with Cathy that Friday, that Daniel had not declared intentions towards me. I could not claim him as my own, could not let myself think of him beyond what I’d been given permission to think of him. I must stay where we were at, must not allow my mind to travel down the line of wish-fors.

I had something concrete: a date on the books. That was enough for joy. I would not, could not go beyond that in my thoughts.

So far, I’d been taking things day by day, week by week, from one biweekly phone call, one semi-regular letter to the next. Now the time frame expanded and I had the promise that we’d still be talking two and a half weeks down the road, when we’d meet face to face at last.