I was walking my dog one Sunday afternoon. Keeper, my greyhound, decided she wanted to walk to the church (which was next door) so I reluctantly followed. Little did my dog know that she was taking me to my forever person. Allison, the youth minister of the church, approached me with a bag of trash saying, "You must me Meredith. Hi! I'm Allison. Hey, do you know where the trashcan is?" Keeper immediately latched onto the bag of trash. After some nervous laughter and trash tug-o-war, Allison and I were seated in the churchyard talking about everything and nothing. The sun was starting to set, and I was suddenly conscious that I’d been sitting in an ant pile. I swatted some of the pests away and looked at her, not wanting our conversation to end. Her lips pursed in a kind way, and her eyes were soft and inviting. I felt like telling her everything, but I stayed silent so I could hear her speak, hear her beautiful laughter, and soak in the gentleness that poured out even in the tilt of her eyebrows. The way she sat on the grass, legs folded daintily, and the way her short hair was whisked away by the February wind made me want to hold her hand. And I didn't know exactly why. All I knew was that I had finally looked into the tender, blue-eyed soul of a person who might be able to help pull me from a dreary fog. Already, I thought of that patch of grassy earth where we sat as hallowed. Before I told her that I was crazy about her and wanted to spend every day thereafter in the rays of her gentleness, I simply said, “It was so nice to meet you!” Then a reluctant, “Goodnight.”