Choices made

I was thinking this morning about my marriage.

Despite the fact that I was virtually a child bride (19 years and almost 4 months old on my wedding day), I did not in fact marry the first person to come along, as people sometimes seem to think is the case for people who married young. I did marry the first person I ever talked about marriage with, but that was a choice. I can think of two other individuals with whom I am fairly certain I could have gone down that path, if I had wanted to.

I'm only going to talk about one of them. This guy had a lot of appealing qualities. He was good looking, stylishly masculine, and a darn fine kisser. When I met him, it was a real whirlwind romance. Red roses, late-night phone conversations, dancing, a moonlight boat ride. Constant attention and gifts. Lavish compliments and always, always, always being treated like a lady.

It took a few months, during which time I basked in all the romantic glow and intensity, but eventually ... this wore me out. I got a little weary of being everything to this person. I got a little bored up on the pedestal. I got a little concerned that I was actually something he worshipped rather than someone he loved. The way he saw me seemed out of whack, unrealistic, and eventually a little scary. I also started seeing that behind all that romance were some bedrock differences in faith and philosophy -- even though he was also LDS -- that would keep us from ever really being one. Ending that relationship was the right choice. But it was hard to let it go. I broke it off, thought I must be crazy to give up the way he treated me, begged it back (it wasn't that hard -- he was pining), then finally broke it off for good.

Just a month after that drama all ended, G came home from Korea and called me on the phone in my dorm at BYU. He was so missionary weird, all soft-spoken and cautious. We had been an item briefly before his mission, but that ended months before he left. We'd been writing as friends for the entire two years -- first occasionally, but with increasing frequency. I always knew he was the kind of person I could be with for my whole life. In addition to being drawn to him (like everyone always is), in addition to an undeniable chemistry, I was always comfortable with him. Our families are very alike (professor dads, stay-at-home moms, six kids). Our politics are very alike (centrist and disgusted). Our faith is very alike (committed and thoughtful, sometimes doubting but always determined anyway). Most importantly, we both had experiences where the Holy Ghost told us we needed to be together.

I chose better, choosing my best friend, choosing someone who is faithful and funny and smart and balanced. My marriage is steady, strong, and has definite fireworks moments. We have been through a lot together -- our entire college experience, infertility, job triumphs and losses, adopting, moving around the country. Our relationship has had soaring highs and definite lows, but its foundation is commitment to our covenants and to the gospel that defines our goals. This summer we will celebrate 13 years of being married. It's amazing to me to think that we actually met each other almost 17 years ago. Time flies when you're having fun, they say.

So how goofy is it that I still want someone to worship me? Just every once in a while?