“…thou shalt remember…” —Deuteronomy
The prelude:
My dad is diagnosed with a return of his breast cancer, now stage four, in 2000. It has spread throughout his body.
I get a job at Saint Joseph Hospital as a rotating outpatient registration associate, or whatever business-speak name the position had at the time.
Dad nearly dies following complications from one of a number of surgeries; treatment is crucially delayed because my overtaxed mother is also caring for my sister who is experiencing extreme postoperative pain from a procedure at the same time.
I apply for and narrowly fail to secure a team leader position for which I am extremely qualified at Saint Joseph Hospital that would move me permanently away from the main hospital campus.
A growing dissatisfaction both with life and each other prompts the conclusion of an unhealthy on-and-off dating relationship with a college student in Lansing.
… Except for a couple of weeks attending a very contemporary assembly on the U of M campus, I have not attended church on a regular basis in four years …
2002
September
My department rotates me away from my favorite location to my least favorite, the busy and relatively dull outpatient lab/radiology suite in the Reichert building.
Friday, September 27
Afternoon
A slow day at the lab yields relaxed small talk between the registration, lab, and radiology departments. Elaine Ford, the gregarious team leader of radiology scheduling, mischievously begins asking me about my relationship status before abruptly getting to her actual point, which was a scheduler that worked for her: “So, what do you think of Tracy?”
“Tracy” has a couple of department coworkers that attend her church, and they conspire with Elaine to invite me to a church service that evening, a Friday revival service with Todd Sivnksty preaching (1) at a Baptist church so that we can “meet.” The service is at 7 pm. I agree.
At this point I should mention that my response to the question about Tracy, externally, was something along the lines of “she’s nice” or “she’s cute.” My internal response was significantly more enthusiastic; I was definitely interested. As a bonus, I knew I should probably go to church. Even a Baptist one, easily the denomination I had the most contempt for at the time.
6:15 pm
I attempt to arrive at the church very early to avoid the “Hey everyone, let’s meet the visitor!” effect of coming in close to the starting time. I had previously declined offers to get directions to the church, confident that my navigational abilities and trusty Mapquest experience would allow me to find the place with no trouble. I had not considered the fact that the church had built a new building a quarter mile away whose location was not listed in the mapping programs of the time.
6:58 pm
I actually make it into the church and experience the “Hey everyone, let’s meet the visitor!” effect. One of the people who meets me is Tracy, who looks terrific and has a big smile. She has to leave quickly to sing in choir; I attempt to blend in with the Baptist congregation by sitting in the back row.
7:30 ish
As I listen to the preaching, God impresses on me a strong sense that I am a child of God. After years of drifting and self-consumption and sin, and without strong teaching on eternal security, I had been unsure about my eternal fate, simply because I knew I wasn’t that great of a guy and I didn’t think I deserved it. (2) The Holy Spirit, through the preaching of the Bible, reminded me that I had trusted Christ as savior at a younger age, and that I was a child of God. That was a good feeling.
8:15 pm
The service ends. The pastor shakes my hand at the door and asks me, “Are you saved?” I respond, with a renewed joy and confidence, “Yes I am!” I meet again with Tracy and we begin to chat. As we exit the building with other attenders, I meet Tracy’s mother very briefly. Tracy drove from work, so Tracy’s mother says, “We’ll see you at home.” I learn later that this included an unstated but understood modifier that the “seeing” was expected to occur “at the same time we get home ourselves.”
8:20 pm
Tracy and I walk to her car, chatting. She opens the door and stands in the crook between the door and the car, while I stand a respectful distance, and we talk.
8:40 pm
We are the last ones in the parking lot. We speak on a wide range of topics, largely small talk. We speak of friends, including ones we know that are similar to each other. What we did before we worked at the hospital. What our families are like. One particularly interesting anecdote she shares regards her brother Joe, who a month earlier had been jumped in a K-Mart parking lot by a couple of guys that wanted to steal his new jacket. Joe roughed them up instead, drawing blood and knocking out teeth.
9 or 10 pm
While we are conversing, Tracy’s mother is apparently quite worried that she has not returned home. She may or may not be concerned that her daughter was last seen with a scruffy, Arabic-looking stranger apparently known from work. Attempts to call on her cell phone yield no results, since Tracy has no minutes on her phone. A bit later, Tracy’s mom will ask her son, Joe, to take the half-hour trip back to the church to look for his sister.
11:30 pm
Tracy and I continue to talk, oblivious to the time. We see a pair of headlights at the end of the dirt driveway, unusual for a location so remote. Tracy sees them and idly speculates: “I wonder if that’s my brother.”
11:30:15 pm
The headlights resolve into an old pickup truck, which then powerslides into the parking lot at full opposite lock. Tracy answers her previous inquiry:
“It is my brother…”
“I hope he doesn’t hurt you.”
11:30:30 pm
Tracy’s brother, Joe, fully capable of defeating multiple assailants in a fistfight, jumps out of his truck holding a baseball bat.
11:30:40 pm
Tracy’s brother, Joe, naturally gifted at handling himself in stressful situations when he perceives potential danger, surveys the situation. After a worrying half-hour drive to the church searching for his sister or her car in every ditch, he saw her car in the lot, but due to the lighting it appeared abandoned. When he stopped his truck nearby, he saw that we were in fact standing and holding a nice conversation. Joe properly judges that no violence is necessary at this time. He ignores me, looks at Tracy, and points. “You go home RIGHT NOW.”
11:30:41 pm
I look at Tracy and say, “I’ll see you at work on Monday.”
11:45 pm
As I drive home on a lovely autumn evening, with my headlights glinting off of the leaves hanging over the two-lane highways, the Holy Spirit hits me hard. The previous understanding of my position in Christ established, He allows me to revisit the delightful conversation I had just concluded with a wonderful, pretty, godly young woman. A woman who wanted a family, who went to church. Who wanted the kind of thing that, when I was honest with myself, I wanted: like my parents, a marriage of love and stability. Like my parents, a marriage where husband and wife could be happy, could love the Lord, could hear a great truth about God in church and look at each other and smile in mutual joy.
The Holy Spirit does not speak in audible words, but the message I got was unmistakable:
“That’s the kind of girl you want to marry,” He conveyed.
“And you are not husband material for that kind of girl.”
12:00 am
I arrive home, under significant conviction but also retaining much excitement and joy. I do something very unusual for me: I went up to my parents room, where they were preparing for bed, and I told them good night.
And then I do something I never did: I tell them I loved them, and tell them I am lucky to have them as my parents. My mom’s jaw drops so sharply in astonishment that it may have dislocated. I have since been told that after I went back downstairs, one of them said to the other something to the effect of, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that he’s just been to a prayer meeting.”
12:15 am
The conviction is all over me. I have strayed from God. I have tried to deny Him. I am a sinner; I am wrong.
I kneel down beside my bed and pour my heart out to God. I confess, genuinely. I repent. I get real with Him.
This is, following the day I was born again, and without question, the second most important moment of my life. After years of running, of selfishness, of sin, God got my attention. And I finally stopped running.
Like the father in Luke 15, He had been waiting the whole time.
12:45 am
For the first time in years, I pillow my head in peace.
Monday, September 30
I see Tracy at work on Monday, as promised, hoped. Awkward mutual worries about how we might have responded to the unexpected conclusion to Friday evening melt as we each ask, “How are YOU doing?” and receive a cautious smile and an “OK” in response.
I am scheduled to leave at 6 pm, but for some reason a newer coworker needs some help closing the registration area at 7 and I happen to stick around to help her. By remarkable coincidence, I happen to be waiting at the time clock at 7 pm when Tracy gets to it to punch out, to which she exclaims, “What are you doing here?” We walk out to her car again, this time in daylight, and spend “only” a half hour or so talking.
Tuesday, October 1
Prodded by Elaine’s (fictitious, it turns out) report that Tracy was wondering if I would actually “ask her out,” I ask her out on a date that evening. She accepts (3). We attempt to get dinner at Pizza House in Ann Arbor, but are nervous enough that neither has much of an appetite. We walk together on the Diag and sit at the fountains in front of Burton Tower. It is a wonderful evening.
Saturday, October 5
I attend a football game at Texas A&M as previously scheduled, reflecting on of my earlier life priorities. I am thoroughly smitten and spend 15 minutes talking to Tracy from outside the end zone at Kyle Field during the third quarter. I also attend a student prayer meeting while I’m there and spend significant time in prayer on the drive. My priorities are changing.
Saturday, October 12
As is my practice, I attend a Michigan home game against Penn State. It is a huge game against two strong teams, and for the first time in history, Michigan goes into overtime. What is really remarkable is that, despite witnessing one of the most exciting games I had seen in person to date, I don’t care at all about the outcome. Because all I could think about was…
Sunday, October 13
I attend Tracy’s church for the second time, this time with the knowledge that I would meet… her father.
I have never been more terrified in my entire life.
It was a fun day. I would not be surprised if I were to learn, one day, that this was the date to which one could track the beginning of the current trend of my hairline.
October / November
Tracy and I make a conscious, mutual decision to make an effort to respect the guidelines her parents have for her. I attend church with them weekly. I am eventually invited to their home for a meal, and then other events. We have plenty of time to spend together between church and work; our work meetups remain treasured memories for both of us. Walks down the endless hallway toward the Orthopedic center, long talks in the parking lot by her car.
My parents become interested in this person I am spending time with and ask about her, and to the surprise of both them and me, I am eager to discuss details of this aspect of my life.
My mom wants to know what she looks like and asks for a picture. I bring an old digital camera to one of our car conversations and take a picture, which I then have printed, smartphones still being science fiction at the time. I still remember, with no small amount of joy, my mom’s excited exclamation of “Oh, she’s lovely!” and how I could sense her genuine happiness for me.
I still love that picture. She’s still got it, too.
More to come, I hope.
(1) Yes, I had to look up the spelling. Took me years to figure out who he was.
(2) I didn’t, but then, none of us do.
(3) I later learned that Tracy’s parents would not have been thrilled to learn that we did this, but she really did not want to decline my invite. To be honest, I’m not 100% sure they are aware of the timeline here even today and I’m suddenly kind of hoping that they don’t read this. If you’re reading this, mom and dad, sorry!
Notes from the North 