I'm getting Nostalgic

I have crossed the threshold.  

I have now been with Jotham longer than I've been without.

Twenty years ago this past Holiday we started dating.

Twenty years ago.

In my first solid recollection of him, 

he is politely explaining to me that his name is not Jethro.

We had just rotated partners in our social dance class at Ricks college.  

He then took my hand and I followed his strong, steady lead across the dance floor.

After that first encounter, I'd look for him every Monday and Wednesday in class.

I remember liking his shoes and how he always seemed excited to dance with me.

It was easy to overlook his cheesy high-fives, he was so confident, happy and fun to talk to.

Plus, he was a very smooth dancer.

It was the last class before Thanksgiving break when

he discovered I had dreams of studying abroad in Spain. 

So, he invited me over to his apartment to look at pictures 

because he had recently returned from his mission in...

you'll never guess... 

Spain!

Of course I eagerly accepted and we scheduled a date for 6 o'clock

a few days after we returned from the holiday break, 

I wrote down his address and that was it.

Fast forward one week and several days later.

The appointed day arrived and I hadn't seen or heard from him 

since class the week and a half before,  I didn't have his phone number to call 

and quite honestly, I was nervous to walk all the way across campus 

to meet this strangely intriguing boy in an unfamiliar part of town, 

alone and in the dark.

I wanted to go. I was just chicken.

So, I fretted and I stewed.

5:30, 5:45 and then six o'clock came and went and I didn't go.

I didn't go.

But then about an hour later when I still stewing about it...

my roommates finally convinced me to just go.

So I bundled up in my hand-me down red wool coat and brown

Paddington bear hat and headed out into the freezing cold, Rexburg night.

I showed up to his place over an hour late, 

but he didn't say anything.

We sat down on this nasty, old, orange and brown couch that

 must have been a fixture in that poor college apartment for the past 30 years.

He pulled out the mission albums and we spent the next wonderful 

hour or so looking, longing, laughing and talking about Spain.

  

At one point he put his hand on my knee and 

I swear I swooned just a tiny bit.

We laughed at his roommate who'd recently put his stinky shoes 

in the oven to dry and then forgot to take them out and burnt them.

Eventually he walked me to the door to say good bye.

It was then and there with the dreary prospect of having to traverse 

back across campus, alone and in the dark, 

that the romantic in me formulated a small test.  

"If he walks me home, I'll know what kind of guy he really is.

Fingers crossed, I think I could really like him.

I sure hope he's the kind of guy that walks girls home."

Pretty soon we were on the porch, still chatting.

Before long, I'm on the sidewalk, he's still beside me but not dressed 

for the weather and I'm realizing he's not going to pass the test.

My hopes dashed, my test failed.  I step away from him and hunker down

against the cold night and start heading home, alone, and then he calls out.

At the last possible moment. He.Calls.Out.

and offers to 

walk...me...home.

 Our next date is blurry.

It was a murder mystery game and that's about all I remember.

But it was the next date that sealed my fate.

I smile just thinking about it.

He'd asked me to the Christmas dance and I was excited about it

because, remember? He's a pretty fantastic dance partner.

In preparation for the group pre-dance activities, Jotham had located a local family 

without a Christmas tree. The mother had just abandoned 

her family and left a father overwhelmed with a passel of small children.

So, we spent the afternoon together stringing popcorn 

and making ornaments. I was especially fond of the

ones we made out of buttons and jingle bells.

I took one home with me that night. It's now framed 

and one of my favorite holiday decorations to display.

Our special assignment had been to craft  

an angel for the tree topper out of white felt and a wooden ball. 

Then just before dinner we delivered that tree and helped the family decorate it.

It was a small, simple service project but what impressed me most 

was that Jotham and his roommates had planned it all.  

Poor college boys without a lot of craft supplies.  

Not to say that the tree might have left a little something to be desired,  

but it was the fact that out of all the fun activities that we could have done 

that December and he chose to serve.

Choosing to make a little something good out of nothing much at all,

add in a few craft supplies.

And he completely stole my heart

and hasn't given it back since.

Here's to the next twenty years!