bekahcubed

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.

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

That Wednesday morning, I read I John, as was my daily habit.

This time, I John 2:15-17 stuck out to me:

“Do not love the world or the things of the world.”

I wrote my prayer to the Lord:

“I affirm that this is Your word and that all Your words are true and good. Yet what are these things of the world that we are not to love? Is Daniel of this world, such that I should not love him? Do I set my affections to much upon him?”

I read on:

“If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him.”

I knew this to be true. I also knew that the love of the Father was in me. God had called me by name, had demonstrated His love to my delight. And I believed it to be God’s love, working through me, that had desired to show love to Daniel the previous week by asking about his trip.

I just hadn’t expected that kind of love to morph into this kind of love.

Was this an unholy, fleshly desire?

I John 2:16 says:

“For all that is in the world–the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions–is not from the Father but is from the world.”

I wrestled with the desires I had toward Daniel. Were these worldly, fleshly desires?

I wrote my raw prayer to the Lord:

“I want, Lord, to desire You above all things. I want, Lord, whatever You desire. But I also want Daniel. I want to know everything there is to know about him. Yet, if you don’t want that for me, for Daniel and me, I don’t want it. Not my will but Yours be done.

Consecrate me, Lord, set me apart for Your service. Consecrate Daniel. And should You will to consecrate us together unto You, would You reveal that to Daniel–and give him wisdom in communicating that to me.”

That night, after a long conversation, Daniel told me he had a question he wanted to ask me. He sounded a bit tentative, told me he was a bit nervous. But he asked nonetheless:

“Rebekah, would you…go on a date with me?”

I’d asked God to lead Daniel as he led me. I’d asked God to help me respond to Daniel’s leadership in a holy fashion.

And by this time, I knew exactly how to respond:

“(Internally) HECK YES!
(Externally) I’d love to go on a date with you.”

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

How could I be in love with this man?

Was that even possible?

We’d known each other only two months, had only ever written each other or talked on the phone.

I’d never seen his face, never held his hand (not even shaken it).

Yet I asked God a question as I dressed for work the next morning.

“Lord, will I marry Daniel Garcia?”

God’s reply was clear and forceful: “I know. And when it is time for you to know, I will tell Daniel.”

I wrote in my journal: “Thus begins the waiting game. Now that I am officially crazy about this man…Now I must learn whether I trust him to listen to God and be obedient.”

In the meantime, I must guard my heart. I was determined to guard my heart, to not imagine beyond what Daniel said.

After our first Skype date that next Saturday, I didn’t know exactly what to think–except that my heart was fighting against my mind’s restraining reigns.

Daniel had asked me what made me feel special–what someone else does for me that makes me feel special.

I didn’t know how to answer, couldn’t answer, didn’t answer just then.

The truth was that he made me feel special. He made me feel special when he shared his heart with me. When he talked about how my note had made him feel. When I’d trailed off before completing a sentence only to have him pick up the thread, knowing my mind completely. He made me feel special with his intent attention to my face as I talked. He made me feel special by asking what makes me feel special.

It was ridiculous, I thought, how a man I’d never met in person could so move me.

And move me he did.

Talking to him excited me, thrilled me. I quickly grew to love sharing my every thought with him and hearing all of his thoughts. My heart beat wildly when he shared his heart with me.

Be that as it may, he’d not declared any official intentions towards me. I knew he was interested in me, from what he’d shared. But we’d still not even discussed meeting in person; were still only talking during our regularly scheduled biweekly calls. I mustn’t let myself consider him my boyfriend, mustn’t let myself imagine him my husband.

However much he moved me, I was determined to follow his lead, not to wrest it from him.

I waited a painfully long four days between our Saturday Skype and our next Wednesday conversation, willing myself not to write him or text him every day in between.

I wrestled with God in the in-between, sharing my feelings about Daniel, asking God to make His will known.

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

Daniel got back to me after a day or so, and we arranged another telephone conversation.

This time I was determined to listen more than talk.

And, for once, I did.

I asked Daniel to tell me about his trip (letting him know that I also wanted to hear what he ate :-P) and then listened as he recounted his story in detail.

I would later describe the conversation to my friends with wonder:

So you know how I tell about my weekend? My story goes something like, “Uh, well, we had a firepit at my parent’s house and I took some pictures of the Little Miss. Other than that, I pretty much didn’t do anything exciting. I suppose, um, oh yeah, there was this AWFUL fog on the way home from Lincoln and it took me twice as long to get home because I couldn’t see. Oh–I forgot to mention that I talked to my boss on Friday and he said…” That’s not the way Daniel’s story was at all.

His was very linear, very minute. He described each event in great detail, including exactly where he was at and even which ingredients he used in his omelets.

But it wasn’t a dry recitation of “And then I went here and did that.”

This wasn’t just a recital of facts. He wasn’t just telling me where he’d gone, what he’d done, what he’d ate.

He was telling me what he was thinking, what he was feeling. He was telling me about his fears, about his anxieties, about what excites him.

He was sharing his heart with me.

Yes, I’d liked Daniel before that conversation. I’d enjoyed corresponding with him, conversing with him. I’d experienced the union of our two minds. I’d appreciated the way he thought about issues.

But this was different. My attraction to him grew with every detail. I was amazed at how different this man was than I, how detailed his mind could be. I was impressed with his love for the Lord, his desire to be obedient to God. I was humbled by his honesty about his fears and worries.

And then he described how he’d driven out of the mountains a bit to where he could get cell phone reception to call his mother, how he’d read my Facebook message. He described how my message had made him excited and nervous, how he’d thought “Wow, she sounds interested.”

Hearing that, I realized that I was. I was very interested.

I might even be beyond interested.

I might be in love with this man whose heart I’d just heard.