It was 1986.
I was dancing with Karen Marie Bryant, one of the finest-looking babes at summer youth camp. I was thirteen years old.
Karen and I had been writing back and forth since winter camp and as summer approached the X's and O's (with a big X now and then) started showing up at the bottom of the pages.
My Bugle Boy jeans were tight-rolled.
Her hair was huge, her skirt was Lycra, and her earrings were monstrous plastic hoops.
Lionel Richie's voice filled the air ... Say You, Say Me.
Earlier that night I told my best friend I would marry Karen some day.
She was resting her head on my shoulder, breathing in the scent of Polo cologne, and at just the right time, she leaned back. Her pretty brown eyes met mine. We gazed ....
I'm telling you, it's time to start believing - Oh yes, believing who you are: you are a shining star.
Thanks Lionel.
The moment was right. I'd been waiting for years.
I leaned in.
And the unthinkable happened.
Time stopped.
The record player screeched to a halt and everyone looked.
People gasped.
She had leaned forward so her forehead touched my mouth and gently placed her hand on my chest.
"Wait."
Obviously, I couldn't see my face. But I can imagine - lips puckered and eyebrows lowered. Confusion. Awkward.
She placed a hand on my cheek and sighed. "I think we should still be friends for a while."
I seem to remember after that she pulled a shiv, shoved it into my gut, pulled it out through my spine, and dumped lemon juice on the wound. But, the memory is hazy.
A day and a half later I was walking around numb. When the elevator door opened, there she was, kissing another guy - Danny Brooks, from Tennessee.
That afternoon, on the fifth floor, while others were throwing water balloons and shooting water guns from balcony to balcony, I stared at the ground below and imagined it rushing up to meet me.
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So here's the spiritual application, though I realize it's a stretch.
There's about nothing worse than seeking intimacy and being rejected - to lean in for a kiss on the lips and get a forehead instead. (It might as well have been a headbutt.)
But I believe God is constantly leaning in for a kiss.
When you wake up in the morning, disheveled with funky breath, he says, "Come here."
When you hate your job or a person gets on your nerves ... He says, "I can fix that."
He leans in while you're in the shower, while your ordering lunch, and when someone you care about breaks your heart.
He's always looking you in the eyes.
"Be mine."
And so, so often we put our hand out. "Wait a minute pal. Not so fast."
And worse, we take an elevator ride with Facebook, golf, movies, hunting, or pick-your-poison, and we makeout like maniacs.
God doesn't react like a squeaky-voiced boy with a crush, but I've got to think it hurts him. He's constantly leaning in, and we're constantly looking elsewhere.
The difference between Him and me is, He keeps on leaning.
He knows He's the best thing you've got going, his confidence isn't rattled, and for at least a little while longer, He refuses to give up.
Take time, often, to kiss Him back. Lean in close, smell His breath. It's good, it's good, it's good.
"To fall in love with God is the greatest of all romances; to seek Him, the greatest adventure; to find Him, the greatest human achievment." - St. Augustine.
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PS - I made that story up. It's fiction. I laughed out loud.
This was amazing. It made me laugh out loud. A headbutt. Amazing.
Even though the story is fiction, the moral of the story remains the same - watch out for guys from Tennessee. -Tim, who happened to be born and raised and Tennessee and proud of it. =)