20 Years.

It was January of 2004.

I finished my first semester of seminary and the first season of my first church job where my dad wasn’t the pastor.
The semester and 2003 ended on a fairly sour note.
I had gotten myself into a bit of trouble at church.
It was mainly out of my naivety that I found myself in hot water.
Basically, ministry isn’t a one-size-fits-all.
While on paper it may seem like a good idea to treat everyone the same way, in reality, people receive things differently. What may be okay for one person might be offensive to another. And vice versa.

That cloud was hanging over me all break.

The respite that was supposed to be refreshing was instead a heavy season of sunshine and beaches. (I lived in Hawaii. It was a nice break leaving DC’s winter to come home to Hawaii’s “winter.”)
I wanted to go back and I didn’t want to go back.
I wanted to go back to make things right.
I didn’t want to go back because I didn’t want to confront this.
How one can desire two opposite things is a factory default in us humans.
Regardless of how I felt, I had to go back.
I had five more semesters to go. Duty called.
Weather is relative because I most likely left the blaring highs of Hawaii’s upper 70s for the actual winter of the East Coast.

When I checked in at church, the EM pastor greeted me and introduced me to their new children’s pastor, who was also starting her first semester of seminary.
We exchanged hellos and names, and then she started asking questions like she was interviewing me.
“What do you plan to do after seminary?”
“Do you have a 5-year plan? A 10-year plan?”
And so forth.
I don’t think she even gave me enough time to answer a question before moving on to the next one.
After being drilled about future plans I didn’t have, I went to see what work I needed to catch up on.
But I do remember thinking she was pretty. A bit crazy, maybe. But definitely pretty.

The next few weeks, we’d spend a lot of time together.
We had the same schedule, both school- and work-wise. We’d often commute to church together since we had to be there at the same time.
We’d often go out for dinner together. Sometimes just the two of us. Sometimes with a group of friends because, you see, the last call for dinner in the cafeteria was 5:30 p.m. FIVE. THIRTY. PEE. EM.

While the seminary was heavily recruiting students straight out of undergrad, they didn’t do much to reflect the habits of 20-somethings on their campus.
Dinner at 5:30? C’mon.
Hopefully, since the 20 years since we graduated, they’ve done more to cater to the students living on campus. 5:30 p.m. Psh.

She was the person I spent most of my time with since the new semester started.
And one day, I decided to shoot my shot.
I asked her to dinner and a movie, the movie being 50 First Dates.
She said, “Let’s go.”
Great, I thought. Our first date.
We showed up to the restaurant, only to find our mutual friend, “Dave,” waiting for us.

Oh.
Not a first date.

Way later in the future, she’d argue that it wasn’t a date because I never said the word “date.”
I’d respond, “Dinner and a movie implies that it’s a date.”
She’d counter, “We went to dinners and movies all the time. How was I supposed to know this was any different?”
We’ll just always agree to disagree.

About a year or so in, I knew this one should go the distance.
I’d never shopped for a ring before. I didn’t know how this worked or where to even go. And because I’m an advertiser’s dream, I went to Jared’s because all I could think of was “he went to Jared’s.” Only, I was in there for 10 minutes and no one came to help me.

I said, screw this, and left. Probably some kind of divine providence.
Instead, I found a well-rated local jewelry store and purchased the ring.
And yes, it did cost me three months of my measly part-time salary at a Korean church.
Part-time church salary is already a code word for: underpaid. Add “Korean” to it and it means: indentured servant.

Now there was only one problem.

I had no idea where to hide the ring.
You see, the seminary was still figuring out how to adjust to students living on campus 24/7. Seminary was usually set up for commuters because most folks were second-career folks.
So the school lumped the five of us into what used to be the president’s house. (Of the seminary, not of the nation. That’d be the White House.)
I shared a room with an international student.
Then we had another male student who had his own room. He was always emo.
And then the primary room was taken by my then-girlfriend and her roommate.
There was one extra room downstairs that no one used. So I took it, giving my roommate his own room.
The only downside was that I didn’t have my own shower. So I’d have to “sneak” (because he was already sleeping) into his (our) room to take a shower.
All this to say, we were always hanging out.

Oh. Forgot to mention this key part.
Her car had gotten rear-ended and it was considered a total loss. But because we were always together, she didn’t need her car. We were always commuting together, and when she needed to be somewhere, she could take my car.

Okay.
So, I have the ring.
I need to hide the evidence. Hiding the ring was easy. Pocket. Dresser. A drawer somewhere in my room. However, I knew that she was going to be downstairs waiting for me... sooooo...
I couldn’t take the bag and paperwork with me.
It was too obvious if I hid it on my person.
If only I had brought my backpack with me then.

See, my ultimate plan was to propose during the summer.
My brother was going to visit and we had made plans to go to Ocean City, and my goal was to propose to her on the boardwalk with my brother’s help.
I didn’t have the specifics yet, but that was the general plan.

Anyhoo, I put the paperwork (receipts and such) in the glove compartment.
I stuffed the bag with the name of the jewelry store underneath the driver’s seat from the back.
Problem solved, right?
W.R.O.N.G.

Well.

She was borrowing my car one day and had to make a sudden stop or something and spilled her Diet Coke all over the car. She always kept napkins in the glove compartment (and still does). I never kept anything in the glove compartment except the things the car came with.
Naturally, she reached for the glove compartment to retrieve some napkins to clean up the mess when she saw a yellow paper that had some revealing information.
Then she had to clean parts of the back of the car only to find a bag with the name of a jewelry store.

Listen.
Hindsight and all...
Yes, I realize that hiding stuff in the car that we shared was not the brightest of moves.
HOWEVER.
However.

If this were to happen to me... if I had accidentally stumbled upon something that looked like it’d be a surprise... I would’ve kept my mouth shut and seen how this all played out.

But noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo...

That’s not how she rolls.
As soon as she got back, she said to me, “I think I saw something in your car that I wasn’t supposed to see.”
It’d been a few weeks since I bought the ring, so I had no idea what she was referring to.
“There’s nothing in the car that’s... like something you can’t see.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Well, I spilled Diet Coke in your car and went to grab some napkins in the glove compartment...”
Shit.
Now I remembered what I left in the car.
“...and I saw a glimpse of this receipt that had the words ring and...”
I started to panic. I can’t tell her that I’m training to be a UFC fighter and was making myself an octagon ring. (C’mon. Friends, anyone?)
“cut, clarity, and karat....”
Oh.
Even if I said I was training to be in the UFC, cut, clarity, and karat were something I couldn’t lie about.
“And then when I was cleaning the back of the car, I found this bag...”
Good Lord, Ms. Nosy.

“Oh... uh... that’s a youth’s ring that I’m hiding because he has a surprise for his girlfriend.”
What a horrible lie.
But that youth’s parents owned a jewelry store... And just now... in the year of our Lord 2026, I wonder why I never went to their store to get a ring...

It was such a weak lie.
She knew it.
I knew it.
Everyone I told this story to later knew how weak of a lie it was.
But we left it at that for now.

Some time later, my brother was in town.
We were going to Ocean City in a week or so, and I still hadn’t planned out exactly how I was going to propose.

Well, on a Saturday night, there was a heavy storm that swept through DC.
It knocked the power out. This was before people used their cell phones as alarm clocks. Good God, I’m old...
I woke up and it was 8:55 a.m. All the electronic clocks were blinking. Everybody in the house was still sleeping. Only problem was, her service started at 9 a.m. Our youth service started at 10 a.m., so while this wasn’t ideal, I was still going to make it to church.
Just as I was about to knock on her door to wake her up, she came out into the hallway and said, “What time is it??”
I told her that by the time we got to church, it would be 9:30, maybe 9:45, and the Sunday school stuff would be nearly over.
So I told her to call her pastor, apologize, and just stay in and try to get more rest.
When my brother and I got back home from church, I found her in my room, curled up in my bed.

My brother set his stuff down and started playing Madden 06.
“I feel so awful. What kind of children’s pastor misses worship?”
She was being so hard on herself.
Finally, I asked, “Hey, what can I do to help you feel better?”

After a moment’s pause, she said, “Well... there is one thing...”
Me, completely oblivious: “Sure, what?”
“I want to see it.”
I knew exactly what she was referring to.
“Uh... well... that’s kind of tricky.”
“I mean, it’s in your room somewhere, right? So, I just want to see it.”
“Well... I mean... I don’t know...”
“Please?”
“Here’s the thing. I don’t think I can just show you the ring and then call it a day. I think if you see the ring, the question has to follow.”
There was a moment of contemplation, and she said, “I wanna see it!”
“You know what that means, right?”
“I don’t care. I want to see the ring.”
So I got up and got the ring.
I came back to where she was sitting, and I’m fixing to get on one knee when she said,
“You are not going to propose to me while your brother is in the room playing video games!”
Oh yeah...
I had completely forgotten my brother was in the room.
Later, at the wedding reception, during his best man’s speech, he’d recall this being one of the most awkward moments of his life.

So, we got up, I took her to the closet that wasn’t being utilized, and I asked her to marry me. Obviously she said “yes.”
Yes, everybody. I proposed to my wife in a closet.

During that best man’s speech, my brother ended it with something like, “Your proposal was a one out of ten. But I hope your lives together will be an 11.”

Today, we celebrate 20 years.
I can’t believe two decades have passed this fast.
But as they say, time flies when you’re having fun.

Here’s to you for putting up with me for the past 22 years.
Despite all my bungling and fumbling throughout the years, you’re still here.

And here’s to us.
May love and laughter and grace continue to be the hallmarks of the life we’ve built together.

I’m so grateful for a partner like you.
You’ve only gotten prettier as the years have passed. Still a little crazy, for sure. But I don’t know how much of that is my fault by now.

I love you with all that I am and with all that I have.
Twenty-one years ago, I asked you a question in a seminary closet.
I’m grateful every day that you said yes.

Here’s to many more years together!