Below is the story of how my wonderful husband to be proposed to me, as written by him. It may be long but well worth reading...as with many love stories the end is the best part.
The elaborate story of our engagement begins several years ago. In the year 2008, Missy and I had been dating for over a year and she was beginning to wonder where our relationship was headed. The major question she had in mind was, “Why hasn’t he said those three little words yet?” I first responded to this indirect question while snacking on some sour cream and onion chips at a sandwich shop. I answered Missy’s question by relating our relationship to a marathon. In a marathon, the most important thing a runner must learn is to pace. I explained that since we were so young, we needed to pace out our relationship. I continued by explaining that if we turned the last “corner” of our relationship, and began to see the finish line prematurely, it would make waiting till we were finished with college to get married nearly impossible. I thought this response would hold back her angst for many years, but this of course was naïve.
Not but a few months later, Missy and I began expressing the phrase “I love you” in a unique way. Instead of actually saying those words, we said “Te amo” which is Spanish for “I love you.” For three years, nearly every email, text message, voice mail, and carrier pigeon message ended with the simple phrase, “Te amo.” We continued to jog the race of our relationship through the rest of our college career until that one fateful day finally arrived; the day I asked Missy to marry me…
I had been orchestrating my elaborate plan in secrecy for months. The ring was purchased and all the necessary materials and personnel were in place. I had planned out Missy’s entire day. Throughout her Friday, she received specially hand crafted cards from random people and circumstances. These “cards” were miniature marathon mile markers that I had spent an entire afternoon creating. Each mile marker represented a “marker” or a significant moment of our relationship. Each card had a different theme. For example, Missy loves to dance and it was at a dance that we first met. So, the first mile marker was decorated with artifacts that I had kept from the four years we had been dating. This included pictures from high school prom, my still intact dried boutonniere, ticket stubs from a dance she performed at the Target Center, etc. Each card was titled in Spanish with whatever theme of our relationship the card represented. For example, “Bailar” was the title of the first card which means “to dance” in Spanish. The only catch is that Missy doesn’t speak Spanish. So along with her first card she received a small pocket Spanish dictionary to help her interpret each mile marker she would receive that day. Her first mile marker was delivered by a local barista along with her cup of coffee. Another, later in the day, was delivered by one of her second grade students while she was teaching a lesson at the grade school. The idea was that she would receive these mile markers throughout the day from lots of different people and in lots of different places. All the while, she never saw me. I had conveniently turned off my phone and despite her consistent calls wondering what on earth was going on, I never answered.
By mid afternoon, most of the markers had been delivered, but the last few were the most important. Mile 24 was a marker that was secretly set up in her room while she was away. Attached to the marker was a countdown timer set for three hours. The attached note read “Do not open envelope until timer beeps.” Unknown to Missy, the envelope contained directions to an “undisclosed” location in Wichita, Kansas. I had intentionally timed Missy’s departure from Sterling College so that she would arrive in Wichita where I would be hiding. After a long and lonely car ride to Wichita, Missy found herself at a beautiful pedestrian bridge arching over the Arkansas River. This is the same bridge that I completed my first marathon race earlier that October. Draped across the bridge was a ribbon over the finish line with the last mile marker. While Missy was reading the last card, alone at the center of the dark lit bridge, I came jogging in from the other side, dressed from head to toe in jogging gear, even the short runner’s shorts. As I approached Missy, I could already see the tears rolling down her cheeks. I only had a few rehearsed words to say that went just like this: “Missy, I don’t know how many miles God is going to give me in this life. But I do know that from now on, I want to run the rest of them with you. I’m tired of speaking Spanish. Missy. I. Love. You.” I got down on one need and asked the woman of my dreams to marry me. She said yes, in case you were wondering J