Like many these days, we’re an online dating success story! We matched on Hinge in the summer of 2022 and made plans to meet each other at a local coffee shop later that week. I (Marina) remember his nervous, quiet stoicism intermittently interrupted by a giggle, and that he’d make me laugh in return. Charlie remembers finding me extremely chatty, like when I offered to pay for our coffee to cut the silence as we waited in line (he gladly accepted and has never lived it down). Three hours later, we shared an awkward hug goodbye and Charlie drove off on his motorcycle, having already asked to take me to my favorite restaurant later that week (and pay this time). It wasn’t love at first sight for either of us, but a good date nonetheless and an easy “yes” to the question of seeing each other again. In the early days, dating took the form of constant adventures and exciting activities: kayaking, festivals, exploring the best of Rochester’s food scene, day trips to state parks, and more. What started as two strangers intrigued by each others’ differences and put at ease by everything that felt familiar, became two friends who couldn’t wait for the next opportunity to see each other. Charlie fell first and fell hard. I, on the other hand, infamously tried to talk him out of his declaration, convinced someone couldn’t love a person they were still getting to know. In the first of many instances since then, Charlie was right and it wasn’t long before I fell for him, too. Then, life became more difficult. Complex loss, profound grief, and a sudden life transition meant the never-ending parade of fun came to a sudden halt. Nights out were replaced by quiet conversations at home; new experiences looked less like axe throwing and more like learning to hold space for one another through waves of tender emotions. This period brought an early end to the honeymoon stage of dating everyone talks about, but it also brought an end to our stranger-hood to one another. As I’m sure many of you reading this know, it’s a precious thing to fall in love; it’s an even more precious thing to be chosen to be loved when you don’t feel (and maybe aren’t) very lovely. By the goodness and grace of the Lord, through it all and on the other side we found each other still locked eye-to-eye, with a depth of trust and a gratitude for one another’s companionship that we’re confident wouldn’t have been possible otherwise. In the joy-filled, ordinary months and years that have passed since then, many more adventures have been taken, new restaurants tried, reality tv shows binged, friendships cultivated together, and laughs shared. And in June 2024, on a trip to Letchworth State Park during one of our signature “Sunday date days,” Charlie asked me to marry him. The forecast had correctly called for a downpour that day, but a perfectly timed letup in the rain kept us dry as we walked the gorge trail, sat on a bench, and Charlie got down on one knee. On our walk back, a double rainbow appeared over the waterfalls. It seemed perfectly fitting for our story. 🤍