Wednesday, August 26, 2020

dead things come alive (romance blog #2)


Our friendship started in a parking lot on a Saturday night in our hometown. It was September 10, 2011.


He was high, I was tired. 


I’d been sitting at my piano playing God a goodnight song. God interrupted my singing with instructions to stop playing the piano and go to the parking lot where the high school kids hang out—-to tell someone that Jesus is God and loves them.  I didn’t want to. It was late and I was ready to crawl into bed, not to a street corner. But the instructions were clear and strong so I trudged out the backdoor in my pajamas and stopped at the first car I found; a silver Grand Prix wrapped up in marijuana fumes. 


I sputtered some quick Gospel words and the Grand Prix’s driver sputtered back his disinterest. But he was nice. I asked him to come to church with me. 

He obliged. 

I was glad. 

I went back home and fell asleep. 


Three weeks later, high in a church pew, God knocked loud enough on that boy’s heart that he heard it. He opened the door and God came in. I put my hand on his back and looked into his bloodshot eyes: 

“You just started a relationship with Jesus.” 


Over the next two years, we would throw his drug paraphernalia away, sit in my living room with our Bibles open, ask God for help a million times, become best friends, and fall in love with eachother. 


It was far from perfect. 


After realizing I’d fallen in love with the kid I discipled, I panicked and got prayer and laid that kid on the Altar, telling God He could have him and all my dreams of being with him. 


Over the next eight years, as the kid turned into a man, the crush continued. And so did my surrender. 


I’d see him and my heart would ache and I’d beg God for help. 


Jesus is a perfect leader. Perfect. And as I spent years jetting around the world, Jesus loved me and helped me and used me and changed me and I knew I’d be ok. I continued to leave that man on the Altar. 


I didn’t know what God was doing with Dylan Martin through those years, but I now know He was loving him and helping him and using him and changing him and telling him he’d be ok. And he left me on the Altar. 


Dead things. 

God knows how to make them come alive. 


Back at humanity’s beginning, the first human was a pile of dirt, laying lifeless on the ground. God put His mouth on him and breathed, kissing him into existence. Dirt became life and humanity started. It’s God’s way. 


After the years of surrender and heartache and growing, God said me and that boy could have eachother. God made our dreams come true. 


Dylan Martin is my fiancĂ©.

Those are words I didn't think I'd ever be able to say. 


God takes our messes, our mistakes, our heartaches, our surrender, and He makes life. What hope! 


“Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces many seeds.”

-Jesus

John 12:24


If we’d had our own way and jumped into romance as soon as we wanted to all those years ago, it wouldn’t have worked. It couldn’t have. It would’ve been disaster. There was change God wanted to do on the inside of us before He brought us together. There were lives He wanted us to live as singles before we stepped into marriage. 


Now what we’ve got is, by jove! A far cry better than any romance I could’ve dreamt up. We’re filled with God’s pleasure, dancing in the stuff. God Himself is spreading His Kingdom, building His family, right here with us, and we’re living on cloud 9. 


We’ve got honesty, inside jokes, prayer breakfast dates, thrift store treasure hunting, secrets, more learning, more growing, and giant Heaven-designed hopes. I’m delirious with happiness over the idea of being his wife. God writes the best stories. 


Yesterday marked eight years since I wrecked a motorbike in Thailand and laid for five days in an unconscious beat-up pile in a hospital bed in Bangkok. When August 25 rolls around each year, I remember Jesus can do anything. He really can. 


I'm still alive and Dylan Martin is my fiancĂ©

Ah.