Our Story: The Break-up, the Un-break-up, and Walking into Love

To start at the beginning of the story, see Our Story: Introductions.  Second installment, see Our Story: Rescued.  Third installment, see Our Story: A Long Wait. Fourth installment, see Our Story: First Sight. Fifth installment, see Our Story: Just a Hint. Sixth installment, see Our Story: What Is Going On?. Seventh installment, see Our Story: Meeting and the Long Summer. Eighth installment, see Our Story: Drama, Courtship, and Travel.


The Break-up, the Un-break-up, and Walking into Love
i.e. Why Dads Are Important

So there we were, Christmas 2007. Ben had come to Iowa for a brief visit at Thanksgiving, but Christmas was the first significant stretch of time together on "my turf," with my family.

Looking back at that time, I would characterize it something like this. 

For 26 years, my family had been a warm, safe, happy place. Mealtimes were hilarious, traditions were sweet, camaraderies were strong. It was like singing a song with all the parts harmonizing together. In a certain deep way, I was who I was because of who I was with them.

Adding a zany, extrovert, adventurous, tumbleweed-type fellow to the mix introduced a discordant tune that I couldn't sing along to. And I wasn't sure I wanted to learn.

Ben and I went out for a date one night in Iowa. We ate pasta at Zio Johno's (the tasty, though not horribly authentic, Italian restaurant of my youth). I noticed uneasily that I would've possibly preferred to stay home and be with my sisters and parents. 

Ben had a great idea one day and enthusiastically proposed that we go sledding at a huge hill nearby. My family, accommodating and non-confrontational, though not particularly adventurous, went along.

In the tangle of emotions, I felt a rising sense of uneasiness to walk ahead on this road. If I'm second-guessing the decisions he's making and fighting frustration for the ways he is changing the status quo, what am I doing "moving toward marriage"? This does not seem like a good idea.

So, late Thursday night, I scribbled out a lengthy note, invited Ben for a walk the next morning, and let him read my proposal that we pray about breaking up (or whatever it is you do when you stop courting).

It was quite a blow.

And the timing was impeccable. Within hours, my dad's entire side of the family descended on our house for a weekend-long Christmas celebration, and there wasn't a corner of quiet to be found. 

Neither Ben nor I mentioned to anyone else what had unfolded, but somehow (ah, the perceptions of parents) my parents knew exactly what was going on. 

Saturday morning I went for a run with my dad, my sister Lori, and Ben. When we got home, the others went inside, and my dad asked if I wanted to walk to cool down a little. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked. 

"Sad," I said.

"Do you see the Lord working in Ben's life?" he asked.

"Well, definitely. But it just doesn't seem like a good idea to say we're pursuing marriage if I actually don't really trust him to make good decisions," I said.

"That's wise, but you're also pretty early in the process of getting to know each other. Maybe instead of cutting it off, you could take a step back, slow down the process," he said.

Hmm, that's a thought, I thought.

Sunday morning we all went to church. The church where I grew up, attending multiple times a week since infancy. Never before had I brought a guy to church with me. And, in classy form, I wouldn't even stand within 10 feet of him. He was left thoroughly to his own devices.

Sunday afternoon Ben and I loaded our things into a car for the drive back to Minnesota. 

We started the trip 100% broken up.

But an interesting thing happened as we drove. I had the grace to articulate some of the big red flags that were bothering me so much. The overwhelming force of emotion from Ben that felt like a burden of expectation. The questions about his decision-making. And he listened. He listened really well.

By the time he dropped me off in front of 1604 Elliot Ave, we were no longer broken up. And that began a January of soul-searching for both of us.

I was in James at the time, and James 2:8 struck a deep chord: "If, however, you are fulfilling the royal law according to the Scripture, 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself,' you are doing well."

Had I been loving my neighbor as myself? Had I been treating Ben like I wanted to be treated? Certainly, I wanted authenticity and openness from him, yet I had been holding myself back, keeping him at an arms' length while I conducted my own brand of "risk assessment." My own self-protection was a kind of insurance policy that had kept me from true give and take with him. 

I apologized to him.

And he was undergoing his own painful process of inner growth, learning to hold back his emotions and not try to pull a response from me by sheer force of feeling. He started writing me notes regularly, with his own cartoons and clever artistry adorning each one.

By the end of January, I had a personal epiphany.

I had hesitated, applied the brakes, walked with caution, and prayed. I got lots of counsel, pulled back, and did my best to bail from the boat. I had done everything in my power to avoid a rash decision ... and God still had us together. 

So I made a decision.

Rollar coaster over. No more second guessing. If God wanted to end the relationship, redirect the course, He would certainly be good enough to do that.

But I was not going to give space to doubts anymore. 

Unless God shut the door, the course was set. This was a good gift that He was giving. And I would trust Him enough to take it.