Love Story: A Christ-centered relationship
Losing love, then finding it again with a man and the Lord.
By Bri Shaw | Features Reporter
My ex-boyfriend didn’t know what was coming. I knew he was just sitting there in the parking lot in his Jeep Grand Cherokee with images of me flooding his mind. The nerve. The angst. The dread. Mainly the nerves, though, because he left me broken.
My kind-hearted ex, Joe, ended our relationship of a little over two months on Friday, Jan. 22 last year during his lunch hour. A 40-minute break up. That’s all it took.
He was a 6’5’’ Frank Sinatra lover who was obsessed with Diet Coke and his record player. He loved watching Bob’s Burgers before bed and cuddling with his “little schmoopie” called Daisy (aka his maltipoo puppy). He laughed when Blair Walsh missed the field goal two Vikings seasons ago, and couldn’t care less about sports altogether (even though people often asked him if he played defensive line in football). He was the third-wheeler in all of his friend’s relationships, until he found me. I was a Jesus freak that loved regular Coke, dark chocolate and One Tree Hill. I was a laugher, a talker and a people watcher with the dream of marrying Joe someday.
That Friday, we met at Panera near the Ridgedale Mall. I sat in the front seat, sunglasses on (so he couldn’t see my ugly crying face) while I held tightly onto a love letter written days ago. I knew what was going to happen since he had texted me about it that morning.
That same day I had planned to tell him I loved him. The letter was something I was going to give him after the date we were supposed to have that night, but instead I had to give it to him like this.
Mascara was running down my face with a raspy voice trying to keep it together.
“I thought I was in a good place,” he said. “But I’m not. I wasn’t ready.”
40 minutes later, we parted ways, ending it with a hug that seemed to last hours. Then he sped off as if he had just pooped his pants.
The drive home for me, however, went slow and painful. When I got home, I vividly remember Facetiming my best friend while crying, eating gelato, and staying up until 4 in the morning looking out my living room window to see if a Jeep Grand Cherokee would pull up in the driveway.
I texted him that following Tuesday to meet sometime during the week because I wanted better closure. I felt as though 40 minutes wasn’t enough, and I craved tying loose ends and leaving him by this: killing him with kindness.
The days leading up to seeing him again were dreadfully filled with Facebook stalking, re-watching old videos of us giggling, reading cute text messages and tearing up to Frank Sinatra while drinking Diet Coke.
I parked my red car in the same spot the night he first kissed me on our second date on a cold, December night. I thought it might invoke some nostalgia within him.
Memories of that date flooded my mind.
I remember we had been sitting in his Jeep, talking about everything for more than four hours. Politics, college and religion even chimed in there too. At one point he had mentioned how he didn’t really know where he was at with God. But his dreamy self was enough for me, and I overlooked that one important detail swiftly. We felt as though we needed to catch up for lost time, yet it painstakingly felt like we had known each other forever. The whole time, though, I knew he was dying to kiss me. Especially when he offered me a piece of mint gum. That was the real kicker there.
Then my dad called and interrupted to tell me to, “Get the hell home.”
Turns out we talked until almost midnight and my parents had been tracking my phone the whole time. At one point the little tracker representing me glitched and they both thought I was in the bottom of Lake Minnetonka.
Anyways, we got out of the car because the thought of coming home to an angry dad freaked the hell out of me, but it made me drunk with rebellion because I was out late with a boy. One thing I never dreamed of doing just a year ago when I was in high school.
And then, with shaky hands, I gave him a hug. But when I looked upward at this 6’5’’ gigantor, he leaned down to kiss me.
My first kiss.
I walked away somewhat satisfied… I just wish he had put on some chapstick beforehand.
It was that same spot two months prior.
The same parking lot in Excelsior.
And we both remembered it all.
Two months later, he nervously grabbed the Tupperware I gave him that was once filled with Oreo stuffed chocolate chip cookies I baked for his family, got out and slowly began shuffling his way over to my salsa red 2004 Chevy Equinox.
The same exact spot.
The same exact girl … except broken now.
No ex-girlfriend he’s ever had before wanted closure this soon.
He saw me sitting in the driver’s seat. My head hanging low, looking at my phone. The light it produced glowed to make my soft, lonely face visible. I was looking at my screensaver; a picture of the happiest version of me and the man I was in love with on New Year’s Eve night. Strings of Edison bulbs were strung across the crimson brick alley way surrounding us. It was our first picture together as a couple, not counting the blurry one we took on our Christmas date in Joe’s basement.
Joe and Bri. Together.
The corners of our eyes crinkled because our smiles were so big. Happiness filled our faces, and we knew nothing could ever stop us.
I saw movement out of the corner of my eye.
Joe.
My head lifted and my shale blue eyes caught his. He loved my shale blue eyes. He once said he wanted to paint all the walls of his house that cool color. But this time, I didn’t look at him the same way. And I never would.
I had been rehearsing this conversation over and over again in my car. I had driven to this spot in the Excelsior parking lot each day, sometimes twice, to practice everything. Sometimes I’d make it the whole time without crying, but most times I ended up weeping for God to save me from the wretched pain.
I just wanted it to end on a good note.
I wanted him to remember me by this moment. Even though we only dated for a little more than two months, I wanted him to remember me and my good heart. I told him word for word that I truly loved him, that I was proud of him for trying to give his heart away again, and that I would always have his back.
“Out of all of this,” I said, “I just wanted to tell you how proud of you I am.”
Joe’s face melted into a puddle as he wiped away a couple stray tears. I, on the other hand, did not shed one.
“You’re amazing,” was all he could muster.
Boom. Killed him with kindness.
We continued to talk for about an hour, then parted ways to never see each other again.
I fell into a deep depression my spring semester at college that consisted of long, strenuous Tinder messages from a multitude of boys, bloodshot eyes from crying each night, and a pang inside me that kept throbbing.
Who would ever top Joe? I continuously pictured myself night after night living alone with a million dogs, wrinkles on my face and whitened, whispy hair. I had lost hope in finding anyone better, and I kept trying to convince myself that God was only doing this to me because Joe needed to find Him.
But days turned into months, and nothing seemed to change. I knew there was another man out there for me, but who was the question.
Life was terrible that spring and summer of my freshman year. I was not only trying to pray myself out of a deep depression, lose some weight and get rid of the acne that clustered on my face, but I had three family members diagnosed with a form of cancer, too. I was lost. Why was God bringing me all this pain? I didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew I wanted to make a new Bri.
And that’s exactly what I did.
Fall semester at Bethel University came around, and I was ready to start fresh. New roommates. New place to live. New classes. New friends. I was ready for it all, and prayed each night for it.
I did well in my classes, became the editor in chief of a writing club on campus, wrote for the school newspaper and got a job at my favorite clothing store. Life was perfect, except for the texts from Joe I would get every now and then just to “check in.” Soon his texts stopped (thank God because they were eating me alive) and so did every ounce of admiration I had for him, too.
In the middle of my semester I gained an unbreakable bond with two amazing girls, Jamie and Olivia. I knew deep down they would become my lifelong best friends. Olivia and I would always have relationship talks under the twinkle lights in our living room while she munched on carrots and peanut butter. She constantly reminded me after each “boy talk” of how important it was to find a Godly man. Deep down, I knew that she was right. I consistently asked God to send me a Godly man that would love me as much as I had once loved Joe. I knew that was what I needed.
My life became even busier. But I sort of liked it. I liked the independence I got from all the work I had put into building myself back up. I felt accomplished, and all I wanted to do was continue to be successful. Boys and everything else weren’t even on my radar. I even said, “God, I can’t have boys in my life now. I don’t have time.”
Oh, but God must’ve been laughing in heaven that day when I prayed that risky prayer because He sent me a boy a few weeks later. Not just any ordinary man. A Godly man.
Dec. 28th rolls around. It was my first date with bright blue-eyed, God-fearing Josiah.
The date went well. Really well, actually. At the end, he drove me in his 1999 Chevy pick up truck to my car, and began chatting about his family and friends. Somehow we landed on the idea of printer ink.
“It doesn’t make sense,” he said. “It was running out of the color yellow and it would say, ‘remove black ink!’”
After we had a few laughs, we both got out and stood under the flourescent lights of the MOA parking ramp.
He kissed me while I was in the middle of talking about our next date, but I didn’t mind the interruption. He was confident about it, which was attractive.
This time, the lips were fully hydrated. No chapstick needed here.
A month later, we both fell in love with each other at a Spyhouse coffee shop off Broadway in Minneapolis while sipping hot chocolates and reading the Bible in dim lighting.
Almost a year to the day from my breakup with Joe, Josiah said ‘I love you’ to me under twinkle lights on an ugly, tan colored couch you’d find at your grandma’s house.
I stupidly asked, “Really? You do?”
He responded, “Yeah, I do.”
“Well, I love you too.”
That sealed the deal for me. Soon, we would spend nights cuddled up while he twirled my hair and I fell asleep in his strong arms. Then he would slip away at 1 a.m. after I had fallen asleep to spend the night at a buddy’s house. He liked making sure I fell asleep feeling safe. We would come up with names for our future children, eat pepperoni pizza while driving down I-394, create a secret handshake and laugh until we cried at some of the dumbest things. He would bring me my favorite pink drink from Starbucks and a snack while I worked because he knew how short my breaks were. He would buy me my favorite dark chocolate when I had my period, and rub my back after a long day. He would open car doors for me, write me letters, say “I love you” before hanging up on the phone and pray for me when I needed it most.
This whole time, though, I knew he wouldn’t leave me because he loved me completely, and he loved the Lord. Our relationship’s foundation was solely built around God, and we made sure He was included all the time.
That’s what I truly needed the whole time. A love-filled relationship that was Christ centered.
So overall, I learned that a successful relationship involves God. Not putting Him on the backburner. Not dating someone who doesn’t value God like they should. Not making sure your relationship doesn’t evolve around Him. It completely and holistically involves Him because then it will be successful in the long run.
