TWO YEARS

Yesterday marked two years since Philip and I met and began dating. To commemorate, we drove out to the Orange County fairgrounds, where roadies were setting up for Cornerstone Florida. C-stone FL debuted in 2003, and Philip and I met there when we both helped set up the Relevant Media Group vendor booth.

Driving onto the grass next to the tent area, Philip and I were both hit with the powerful realization of how much had changed in the time since we drove up on that grass two years ago. All at once, I just began to ball. Blowing my nose in an Arby's napkin, I couldn't even express what was making me cry so hard at first.

I was just thinking of all the change... all the friends we had lost, all the friends we had gained... the places Philip had lived and I had lived... the job changes... his grandpa's stroke and my grandpa's death...

But most of all, I was thinking of the me who I was two years ago, lonelier than I'd ever been, trying to twist and struggle into adulthood without the near support of family or good friends... flubbing and faking my way through my role as a young professional, not even valuable enough to the company at that time to be a full-time employee... living in the spare bedroom of a Best Buy manager, my personal belongings not even numbering enough to fill up my Saturn compact. God, it's making me cry again now.

And then Philip came along, and everything changed. And kept changing, and kept changing. I have a church home now. I am a writer now. I am planning a wedding. I have friends. I am busy. I have a place to live that belongs equally to myself and my roommates, where I am free to keep my own schedule, use the rooms as I please, put my food in the fridge, and decorate to my tastes. And I have a best friend, someone to share life with... to talk with, explore with, cry with, learn with, laugh with.

He was my savior two years ago, the beginning of a whole new life for me in Florida, one that is full and fun and messy and hard and beautiful.

I never thought I'd stay here, but that night at the fairgrounds two years ago, I met the one. I met the reason I'd end up sticking around, even after my time at Relevant was done. And with him, we've built this whole world together... and it just keeps changing. It'll change again in two months, when we become husband and wife and I leave this suburbian house for Philip's cozy downtown apartment.

And so I mourned for all the change last night... even though much of it was good, because change - even good change - is difficult, because it forces you to sacrifice things that are comfortable and familiar, even if those things oppress you.

And I mourned for that girl I was two years ago, who was so lonely and lost and confused. I released the pain of growing up and letting go. I said good-bye to all the other roads I might have taken, because I took THIS road, and it lead me here, to where I am, where I belong, at Philip's side, serving together in the ways we serve now.

There is something wonderful about mourning. It's cathartic, cleansing. Jesus said the mourners are actually blessed - happy. I agree.

LIFE MAKEOVER

I have a cousin who is wise. She is not exactly my cousin... her mother is my dad's first cousin, so she is whatever that makes her to me. She lives in South Carolina and studies the earth and pours her life out for students and climbs rocks. In her last email to me, she said this:

"Sounds like you are coming to a real point of transition in your life. Of course you will be transitioning from Ms. Larson to Mrs. Hueneke, and also the transition into new work in the writing world/new books you may be authoring. But also a transition in setting up how you want to go about your life. You are in between zones right now... the single, fulltime-for-relevant past and the married, writing-as-career future. And this is the time where you can kind of step back and think about what system you want to operate under. You get to renovate your soul, do a spring cleaning. Assess what is functional (like, really functional for who you truly are) in your life and throw out what is not. Might as well make these changes too, while you are changing everything else! ... So yeah. Exciting times. It sounds like your soul is yearning for a change, a makeover in how you do life. And what a perfect time to do that, when its all changing anyways."

I was thinking about these words as I drove to Philip's apartment this morning, the apartment that will be my home in three months. I was thinking about these words and listening to the Garden State soundtrack. In the film, when Natalie Portman's character meets Zach Braff's character, she says, "Listen to this song. It'll change your life." And she puts the headphones on his head, and it is the song, "New Slang," by the Shins. The song, of course, doesn't change his life; his life is already going through massive transition. His mother has died, and he is somewhere between the past and the future, between college and a successful career, between hope and despair. He has broken away from his parents but hasn't started his own family yet. Sound familiar? No wonder we twentysomethings connected so strongly with the movie.

A makeover in how you do life. Think about what system you want to operate under while you are going through change anyway. Throw out what is not functional. I would like to think that is what I did with Relevant. I wasn't running away; it was just not functional for me to continue working there. And it is not functional for me to continue living in my house, with disrespectful people whom I don't enjoy being around. I don't know how long this life of sitting at home by myself on my computer writing about things I only half care about will be functional for me... There is still something in my heart crying out to be brought to life. Part of it is this aching to be Philip's wife at last, to make it official, complete. To make our home together, not have to clean up other people's messes, fall asleep together, create a comfortable and safe space that is ours.

But that is not all of it. Walking away from Relevant was the first step to getting somewhere. Becoming Philip's life partner is the second step. But I know this longing will still be there after these steps have been taken. I don't know what exactly it is pointing to, but I suspect it has something to do with writing things from my heart, with music, with young people. With finding a balance between work and play. With spending enough time in the sun and enough time working hard. With exercising my body and my mind, reading books, stretching and moving my muscles. I believe my life is moving in this direction. I do.

Chelsea, yours is too. As you wait for your husband to return from war and hang in the balance, your next step is coming too. Step one is being together and building your home. Step two is him finishing school. One step at a time, moving in the right direction, toward connection, balance, using your gifts and talents.

And we are okay in the meantime. We really are. We have what we need to survive, even to laugh.

P.S. Friends and readers, read my "cousin's" blog: www.refiningfireburns.blogspot.com.

MURTLE THE TURTLE

Writing is a brutal way to try to make a living, and I'm a little bit T.O.ed at God for making writing the one thing I'm good at and the only pursuit out of which I could make a viable career.

Consider: To write, one must be alone with no distractions (i.e., other humans around).

To write, one must be a self-starter, disciplined and able to find one's own motivation (i.e., outside of a boss' watching eye).

To write, one must be willing to face a lot of rejection, criticism, and general skepticism from a pragmatic world that scoffs at the idea of making a living with the arts.

Okay, so we've got loneliness, lack of motivational assistance, rejection, criticism, and overall cynicism. Sounds like a trip. At least I have a window to look out of now.

But what would the world be without the written word? The world needs writers ... to make you smile, think, cry, remember, laugh, hurt, heal ... which is why I think I won't discourage my nine-year-old cousin from aspiring to the ranks of authorship. Below is a short story she wrote, which her mother, my aunt, emailed to me. After reading it, tell me if it isn't worth it for some people to abandon the nine-to-five for a pen and paper. Or a laptop, as it were.

***
Once upon a time in the bottom of a pond lived a small turtle named Murtle. Murtle loved to bask in the sun on a rock. In the summer she would swim around in her pond, but in the cold winter weather she would swim to the bottom of the pond and burrow herself in the mud for her long winter sleep. When it was summer again, she would do the same old thing, but she didn't seem to care that she does the same thing every year. Murtle loved to do the same things alot!!

THE END
Written by Brooke Marie Schmitt
***

1 YEAR, 7 MONTHS AND 6 DAYS

It has now been a month and three days since Philip popped the question, so I figured it was about dadgum time I gave you poor curious people some details. Many apologies for the delay. Applying for grad school and a nasty sickness (mono?) have been keeping me from doing many of the wedding-ish things I'm anxious to do, but it looks like I'm out of excuses now. Disclaimer: I'm in a writing mood today, so you're getting the long version.

Over a month before The Big Day, Philip and I had planned to celebrate our Christmas together on Dec. 18. A couple weeks later, I got an invitation for a friend's wedding for the 18th in IL, and I expressed to Philip that since I was planning to quit my job, I could go. "But that's the day we're celebrating Christmas!" he replied passionately. He was very insistant that we retain our Christmas plans for that day, which raised my suspicions for the first time that this could potentially be IT.

As the 18th approached, I heard no more mention, so I brought it up to Philip: "Would you like to plan the day, or should we plan it together?"

"Oh, that's right! We're celebrating Christmas that day, aren't we?" he said nonchalantly, as though he had forgotton. Hmm, suspicious indeed. "Well, I'll plan it."

He would give me no details for the day except that I had to be ready to go at 6:45 a.m, because we had tickets. Tickets? For 6:45 a.m.? "Maybe he's flying you somewhere," my roommate Chelsea suggested. That would be quite the day trip. Chelsea was the only person I kept appraised of all of Philip's strange behaviors leading up to Dec. 18. If that day was not, in fact, The Day, I didn't want to have to notify like 50 disappointed people.

The night before our outing, he gave me a list of items to bring: casual clothes, clothes that could get wet, a camera. Well, we certainly weren't going out for a romantic dinner. I guessed that we were going to go white water rafting in Georgia. I wasn't really that far off.

Philip picked me up bright and early, and we headed toward downtown. Our destination, as it turns out: the Amtrak train station. Our tickets were for one round-trip journey to Tampa. We were early, so before we left, we wandered around the farmers' market that was bustling in Winter Park. Philip was severely tempted to buy a crepe. I discouraged him. More on that later.

We rode the train to Tampa without any mishaps. When we arrived, Philip's friend Martin was at the station with his pimpin' Cadillac. We dropped Martin off at his fiancee's house so we could have the car and proceeded to Honeymoon Island State Park. "So this is where we're going," I said.

"Nope," Philip replied. What?

We parked the car inside the park, but then walked over to the ferry landing. Our true destination was Caladesi Island, another state park off the coast of Clearwater. The entire Island is a preserve, and its beaches are rated number four in the country, after a bunch of beaches in Hawaii. The trip on the ferry was a delight; our ferry captain had a white beard, wore a Santa cap, and told us passengers many interesting facts about our destination.

It was a sunny, chilly day on the island. Philip had packed us a lunch of all my favorite snacky foods (cheese! etc.) to eat on the beach. We looked pretty cute in our stocking caps, if I do say so myself. After we ate, we decided to rent a two-person kayak. The island features these beautiful kayak trails through the mangroves. Sounds like fun, right? Adventurous, but really, what could go wrong?

The water could be very shallow, and you could get stuck like a million times, that's what.

After about 10 minutes of kayak fun, we nosed into a section of the trail that was about six inches deep and came to a sticky stop. Unable to free ourselves, Philip tried to get out to pull us, but his foot sank quickly into the muck. "Get back into the boat!" I screamed, panicked.

"Calm down!" he grumbled. We continued to struggle through the shallow, cold waters, getting more and more testy with each other and more and more wet. We dual-scooted our way through the extremely shallow portions and nervously paddled through the slightly deeper ones, praying we wouldn't get lodged in the mud again. I was feeling insecure because I wasn't the "Queen of the Outdoors" like I sometimes worry that Philip wants, and he was feeling insecure about potentially ruining our engagement date.

As a last-ditch effort, we chose to exit the trails and try our luck out in the bay. It wasn't much deeper, but we didn't get stuck again, though I never quit fretting that we would until we arrived back at the dock. We did, however, have to contend with wind blowing strongly in the opposite direction from the one we wanted to go. We finally docked, and we stood on the pier, dripping wet, frumpy, and glaring at each other. We decided to take a brief break; I headed to the bathroom to change and clean up, and he headed into the little store to get his deposit back. We would meet back on the beach.

When we converged again, I was feeling better to be on land, and he was bearing a gift from the leathery lady in the store: two perfect sand dollars that she had found herself and given him as an apology for renting the kayak despite the low tide. We laid in the sun and let our pants dry, everything forgiven.

We eventually had to hop back onto the ferry to return home. Leaving our island in the distance, we made our way back to the train station. Upon arriving, we learned that the train was running two hours late. Philip seemed hardly fazed, and I, in my over-analyzation of all his words and actions because I was still very much tryinig to figure out if this was Proposal Day or not, felt this was a clue that this wasn't it. Surely, if he was proposing today, a two-hour-late train would put a kink in the works and upset him a little more.

We pulled out our snacks again and talked and talked, mostly about our professional futures. Eventually, we got back on the train, and we selected kosher hot dogs for dinner. Again, I thought, this isn't it. We wouldn't have hot dogs for dinner on the day he proposes. Ladies, do not ever make this assumption.

The train ride was more eventful this time. We got evangelized by an elderly African-American woman, and I got grouchy. Surprise, surprise. Tired of traveling, tired of being dirty, and tired of being cold, I began to whine about the undisclosed location where Philip planned to have us exchange our Christmas gifts. "Is it far?" I complained. "Is it outside?" At this point, I had decided that the proposal was not happening, and I was ready to call it a day.

Philip, in his patience, assured me it was not far, and although it was outside, we would have a blanket and hot cocoa. We stopped to get the cocoa from a quaint coffee shop downtown and began to drive. To where, I did not know. But as we got close, I realized our destination, and I immediately knew that I was wrong - Philip WAS going to propose!

I began to shake. We were going to the lake where we had sat on our second date and held hands for the first time. The spot was across the street from a church and was a mini outdoor sanctuary, with logs for pews and a cross at the front. We had never been back since that night. Tonight, the moon was shining on the water, and I sat and shivered violently. "What's wrong?" Philip asked.

"I'm just cold," I said. A lie.

I gave him my gift: a crepe pan. Or, as I like to pretend: a Swedish pancake pan. The box was huge. He loved it. After he opened it, he said he didn't have my gift here, and he began to get nervous and talk about his love for me and desire to take care of me. He told me to close my eyes, and when I opened them, he was on one knee, asking if I would marry him and slipping the ring onto my finger.

I didn't say yes; I just lunged at him for a hug. We began to laugh and cry, and we stood up, him taking me in his arms and spinning me around. I finally remembered to say yes, and then I apologized for being such a brat earlier. He said he expected it (when he was planning a surprise birthday party for me earlier in the year, he had to lie and say we were going to a Starfyler 59 show. I whined, wondering why we would go to see a band HE likes on MY birthday. Nice, huh?). He told me to look at the ring. Being the resourceful man that he is, he had even brought along his headlamp so I could see it in the dark. It was beautiful - a 3/4 karat round-cut diamond set in white gold. The prongs swirled up on either side gracefully. We prayed together, and then he said we had to get going.

When we got back to my house, Philip had a small reception waiting for us of friends and family. I was buzzing, smiling from ear to ear and unable to catch my breath. I noticed Chelsea wasn't present, and I asked her whereabouts. I was told she was at the store. When she arrived, we gave each other a huge hug and squealed like children. When I pulled away and looked behind her, my best friend Sarah Kearney was standing there. In my living room. Blink blink. Scream. Fall on the floor. Get up and hug Sarah like crazy. For my "Christmas gift," Philip had flown Sarah in from Arizona. I was completely overwhelmed. I don't think I've ever been so happy in my entire life.

So that's the story. I'm rather fond of it. It's unique, and it's a small portrait of our life together: We laugh; we travel; we have adventures; we have disagreements; we have deep, searching conversations; we get preached at by old ladies ... It was a very real, raw day, and it was nothing like I ever imagined my proposal to be like. It was a million times better.

Now for the facts, for those who are into those sorts of things:
Wedding date: July 30, 2005
Location: Rockford, IL (ceremony: Klehm Arboretum; reception: Cliffbreakers)
Officiants: Danny and Jodi Howell
Matron of Honor: Sarah Kearney
Bridesmaids: Alyssa Larson, Sarah Larson, Lydia Hueneke, Dianna McMahan, Chelsea Folmsbee
Jr. bridesmaid: Brooke Schmitt
Best Man: Ben Rose
Groomsmen (so far): Luke Hueneke, Mike Kotsis, David Achata, Dzuy Nugyen
Jr. groomsman: Jonathan Johanson
Flower girl: Elena Johanson
Ring bearer: Jordan Schmitt
Have I bought a dress: Yes
Color of bridesmaids dresses: Pink