My Story - Part 1

I said I would post this on my birthday. Obviously, I didn't. I've thought about it a lot. What do I post? Where do I start? There seem to be so many different stories in my life... how do I get it all out there? I decided I'd just start at the beginning...

I was born in southern California in 1977. Born on Good Friday. Born 6 weeks early. Weighing in at 6 lbs. I was the baby in the family. Joining a 2 year old brother and 4 year old sister.

I loved my childhood. We lived in a great neighborhood. We were close to the beach. I loved playing with my friends. If I just take a quick glance, there was very little about my life that was not good.

We rode our bikes to school. We spent all day at the beach. We had an awesome park nearby. We went to Disneyland. We played dress up. We played. Played. And played.

When I was 10, we moved up to the Pacific Northwest. I loved and continue to love it here. I am entirely convinced that we live in THE best place in the United States. I know that some would argue we get too much rain, but without the rain everything would not be as green and beautiful. And besides, I LOVE the sound of the rain.

We moved into a beautiful house on 5 acres. I loved it. There were woods to build forts... and to run away to. There were trails to explore. Hammocks to swing in under the stars. A yard full of trees that would blow in the wind and lull me to sleep. One of my favorite things was laying in my bed at night... window open, rain falling, music to my ears.

I quickly made friends and loved school. Again, very little to complain about. Life was, for the most part, good.

As I got older, I saw how my sister interacted with my parents. I watched her make decisions, saw the consequences and decided VERY early on that I would do the complete opposite. I saw my parents frustrations and so desired for them to trust and respect me.

Middle school was so much fun. I went to a small school. I loved my friends. I loved it all.

Then high school came. For some reason, I was suddenly and painfully self conscious. I remember hating walking in front of the classroom. I felt ugly and awkward. I had many crushes and all the boys I liked never seemed to give me a 2nd glance. I still had great friends, but found myself feeling that if only I were prettier. If only I were skinnier. Life would be perfect. I longed to get asked to a dance. I longed to be beautiful. And in my teenage mind, since I wasn't asked, I wasn't beautiful.

At the end of my freshman year, my good friend and I tried out for cheerleading. We both made the squad and I was so excited. Amazingly, for a girl that was entirely self conscious, I loved just about every second of cheering.

Junior year rolled around and I began dating a boy who was very fun to date. We went to the beach for the day. We hung out with friends. He was the first boy that made me feel beautiful. We'd been dating for a little over a month and all of a sudden, he started paying less attention. I would be so upset by it, but had started making a great friend who I could always count on to cheer me up. He would often spend much of our lunchtime making me laugh. His name was Cory.

The week after homecoming, my boyfriend quit talking to me. Apparently, this was his way of "breaking up". I was devastated and asked Cory if knew of any good boys he could introduce me to. He instantly said, "yes" and told me to come to church with him that Wednesday so I could meet his friend.

Up until this point in my life, I had always gone to church with my family. However, I had NO idea that I could have a personal relationship with Christ. I had NO idea that there was any other way to pray other than by saying the Lord's prayer and any other recited prayer we had said in church. I had NO clue. What was so fantastic was that I not only went to church and got to meet a boy, but I also met God that night. Truly met him.

I went to church with Cory the following Wednesday and he introduced me to his good friend. We quickly started dating and he quickly was grounded for skipping school. Therefore, we really didn't spend much time dating. About a month after we started dating, he broke up with me because he still had feelings for an old girlfriend. I wasn't so upset that HE broke up with me, but I was very upset that he BROKE UP with me. Here I was, getting broken up with for the 2nd time in just a few months. I was so upset! Cory was so sweet. He just sat there and hugged me while I cried.

Cory was one of my best friends. He made me laugh. He made me smile. He was like my brother. I was not attracted to him in the least and found it hilarious when people would ask if I liked him...

The Sunday after my boyfriend broke up with me I called Cory to let him know that I wouldn't be able to make it to church that night. My car had broken down like it often did. He offered to come pick me up but I felt like it was ridiculous. He lived 20 minutes away and I lived another 20 minutes from the church. It seemed too much of a bother, but he didn't mind at all.

That night, after hanging out with our friends, Cory drove me home. I tried to give him gas money and as we passed the money back and forth, somehow, we started holding hands. He told me that he would keep the money if he could take me to lunch the next day. I agreed and thought it was so wrong of me to be holding my best friends hand...

I was working at Nordstrom during Christmas break and Cory met me there the next day to take me to lunch. As we walked to the food court, he put his arm around me just like he had done before, suddenly, I had butterflies. My stomach started going crazy and all of a sudden, Cory was no longer "just like a brother". He was cute. He was sweet. I was confused!

The next night we were going to go to the zoo lights with all of our friends. My car was still not working and so Cory picked me up from work. As we drove back to his house, we started holding hands. I sat there utterly confused. Knowing that you just don't hold your best friends hand. Knowing that this was not okay. What in the world were we doing???

We went to the zoo that night. Holding hands secretly while on the train. Holding hands in the car. Holding hands at his house. All while hiding this (or so we thought) from our friends. As we were driving home that night, I sat there thinking. Still confused. I decided right there in my sixteen year old mind that if when we got to my house he did not stop me before we got out of the car that we were done holding hands. Done. However, IF he were to stop me, we would talk about this crazy hand holding and figure out what in the world was going on. My heart was racing as we pulled up to my house. As I went to open the door, he said, "wait"...