How do two people meet? The first time I laid eyes on Bri was in the aisle of a church. A mutual friend pointed to her, and my eyes caught hers for far longer than I had intended. We were on a missions trip with Potter’s Clay to Ensenada, Mexico. A year or so later I awoke, pulled on my boots, and spent a morning working in the Westmont garden. It was a Friday in December, with mist breathing from the earth, when at about 9:45am she walked up and grabbed a pair of gloves. We worked together all morning. I stared at her for most of it. We didn't say a word. Finally I did what any marginally sensible man who takes mental notes on love stories might do: I showed up at her house with flowers and a now infamous pineapple, and asked her on a date. Our first date lasted well over ten hours; we shared a long dinner, dance floor magic, mutual friends, five cut knuckles, a night ocean swim, and a dripping walk back to her front door. The second led to the third, and the third to the fourth. It has since been four years of life together, in the same town and across oceans, and I find depths in this woman that I am stutteringly, and excitedly, still meeting.

It is a Saturday morning. It is lightly raining. Bri and I are standing on a bluff. I have my right hand in my right vest pocket, nervously twirling a ring around my finger like I'm Bilbo Baggins. We stare across the sea, rain falling lightly about our shoulders. I erupt like pressure cooked meatloaf, "What'd you bring me up here for anyway, eh? You proposing to me?" Cue laughter eight decibels higher than it should have been. She stared. What followed next was a four hour exceedingly meaningful conversation about marriage, love, and the infinite grace of God. I twirled the ring in my pocket throughout the entirety of our walk, but the few moments of solitude we had were quickly broken with fellow hikers. Our hike ended with fish burritos and pints of beer at a nearby restaurant. We hopped back into my car. I drove north past the stoplight that turned home. The rain started coming down harder. I pulled into the beach. The radio was on. We started kissing. It started raining harder. I pulled back, stared into her eyes and asked her if she would chase me. Tearing the keys out of the ignition I started running full speed down the empty beach. I ran until I could not see anything but the sea and the sand and my heart beating so hard it affected my vision. She was not far behind. I pulled the ring out of my pocket and placed it in the sand. She reached me and stood across the ring from me. We were both breathing heavily. It was raining. I told her how I felt. My voice cracked. I got down on a knee. I asked her to marry me. The air was electricity and everything spun around a single thread: her voice softly saying "yes." And if you ask me, the rain ceased that very instant.