Our Story: Would You Like Some Coffee With Your Crazy?

We're crazy.

Nearly everyone thinks so. Most are too polite to say it, but nearly everyone thinks it. It's really hard to hide shock from your eyes.

Scott and I knew that our plan to adopt any color, any disability, any situation, any age, any sibling collection, while he was in seminary and I was working full-time, was crazy. After all, we had only been married for a year when we began the adoption process. Weren't newlyweds supposed to bond with each other before a third person entered the group? Let alone a third person with the possible significant needs that adoption elicits?

In order to accurately present our thinking and our plan, I think we need to go back to our first several dates. As in counseling, once you see the origin of the crazy, the crazy makes more sense.

Scott asked me out for coffee in November, and a few days later (November 9th, to be precise-- seriously, who remembers these things? Oh, that's right, crazy people), we met at Starbucks. As I pulled into the parking lot, I could see Scott, flannel shirt tucked in, knee bouncing up and down, coffee cup tapping on the table. I forgot all my nerves and grinned.

The poor guy was nervous.

I took a deep breath, and prayed that God would help me to focus on serving Scott. First dates are horribly awkward, so I prayed that I would be able to make him feel more at ease. Then I tacked on one little adendum, "Lord, please help me to be really honest. Please don't let me deceive him, or lie in order  to say what he wants to hear. Help me to communicate clearly and honestly."

Most girls re-apply their lipgloss before a date. I had to re-apply honesty. I'm a classic people pleaser. Don't believe me? Just ask anyone who has ever met me. I like making people happy. My past several relationships (barring the one that ended a year before I met Scott) were not entirely truth-filled. I didn't lie to or deceive the guys, I just tried to hard to like what they liked, while ignoring some of my own preferences. This is not all bad... My husband is very happy that I'm attempting to ignore my tolerance of mess and disorder and am faithfully cleaning our house. But when certain things (i.e. the sufficiency of the scripture, godly passions, utilizing gifts/abilities, etc.) are pushed to the side, then you are not serving God better by being with that person. In fact, you're not even serving that person well.

So, as I walked into that date, I had one goal. Be honest. (And help him relax enough to stop twitching his knees.)

God must have known what we both needed, and it's a good thing I put on my honesty, because Scott fired straight and serious from the get-go. We wandered in and out of serious topics so effortlessly, that I was actually surprised (in hindsight) at what we covered. Of course my very clever date wasn't surprised at all. He had an agenda. It was a very carefully hidden, gently approached agenda, but it was an agenda, nonetheless.

On our first date we covered the following: our families, how our parents communicated, finances, life goals, how clean we were, where we saw ourselves in five years, missions, church ministry and priorities, and where we squeezed the tube of toothpaste.

"How do you squeeze the toothpaste?"
Quizzically, "What do you mean? I just pick it up and squeeze it."
He groaned and then grinned, "Well, You're supposed to work from the bottom of the tube up... I guess we'll just have to get separate tubes of toothpaste."

And he moved on.

I still stuck at the fact that he was already thinking of our toothpaste situation... for when we were married.

This was a first date. Holy cow.

But I liked it. He asked (and answered) all the really important, nitty-gritty questions. You know, those crazy ones which everyone wants to know, but no one is ever gutsy enough to ask, especially on a first date. But he did. I found a gutsy one.

Our second date was in the same location.

Curled up in the big leather chairs, sipping tea (he didn't like coffee!) we talked about what we both wanted our future families to be like. He asked me what my dream job was... and (honesty!) I said,

"I know it's not popular, it may be a little gauche, and most guys would run for the hills, but here it is... I want to be a wife and mom. I want to teach my children, write books, and rescue babies from Africa. I want to adopt, I want to have a lot of kids, and I want to stay home with them. That's my dream job."

He just looked at me. Grinned. And said,

"So, how many kids?"

We both had the same life goals, the same family dreams, when we talked about what a marriage and family should portray to the world, we both landed on the same key factors: hospitality, ministry as a lifestyle, adoption, etc.

Our first few dates were not "romantic" in the practical sense of the word, but I got goosebumps and floated on puffy clouds nonetheless. It was wonderful talking, jumping up on mutual soapboxes, and hashing out thoughts and priorities with a godly man.

I wasn't nervous. I didn't try to impress him. And I was falling, head over heals for the most amazing man I had ever met.