You’ll Do. (Our Love Story)

Do you believe in love at first sight? You walk into a room, make eye contact with that one magnetic person who almost seems shrouded in light, and you have this internal sense of, “Oh, there you are.” You smile at each other. Your heart quickens. The angels sing.

That is absolutely not what happened between me and Mike.

When I first came to Texas, I had no desire to jump into a relationship. God was working dramatic shifts in my heart, and I was devoted to pursuing Him. I planned my little sabbatical for just under four months – my best friend and I had both recently been through some difficult changes, so we leaned on each other for emotional and moral support. When I arrived in Austin, life was a whirlwind of exploration, concerts, spontaneous weekend retreats, sightseeing, new friends, and late nights brimming with deep conversation. My best friend poured wisdom into me like water. We laughed. We healed. God set our feet to dancing. We were hedged in by Spirit. It was delightful in all ways.

Dancing was more lifestyle than hobby. We regularly danced four nights out of the week, both hooked on the adrenaline flush and desire to improve. If you’re a dancer, you probably crossed paths with us while we made the rounds: Motown Mondays at the Highball, Two-Steppin’ Tuesdays at Broken Spoke, Wednesdays at Wild West, Thursdays at White Horse, and weekends at Rebel’s, Maverick’s, or Dance Across Texas. Everything in moderation, right?

The Canadians the night we met Andrew and Kevin.

On a warm October night, we hit Maverick’s, where we met a very friendly trio of guys. We could barely hear them over the music, but we were pretty sure they were sweet and funny. Jillian and I danced with all of them, completely unaware that we had just made friends with pillars of both the dancing and Christian communities in Austin. This is also when we acquired the moniker “The Canadians”. One of the guys, Andrew, invited us to his birthday party the following weekend, which would be held in an old country dance hall in a tiny town outside of Austin. Sure, relative stranger. We’ll join you in a place we’ve never been with a group of people we’ve never met. (Note: Andrew remains one of our closest friends to this day and thankfully is not a serial killer).

Jillian and I tried to keep everyone straight, refreshing each other on who was connected to whom, which people were roommates, and where everyone attended church. I remember Jillian telling me, “So, Andrew and Kevin live together, and there’s another roommate, Mike. But apparently he’s not cool enough to come out with them.” And while we had a perfectly lovely time with our new friends, I was annoyed that someone didn’t think we were charming and novel enough to hang out with.

Jillian and me at Andrew’s birthday with Mike in the back right corner. We hadn’t met yet!

Andrew hosts his birthday party at Coupland Dance Hall every year, and it’s always a jam-packed event. October 17, 2015 was no exception. We sipped, danced, laughed, and made friends with anyone who would talk to us. At one point, Jillian came off the dance floor and said, “Have you danced with the other roommate, Mike, yet? He’s really good. He has this super groovy step and smooth moves.” That sounded precisely the type of enticing behavior I wanted to avoid, so I made a very intentional point not to dance with Mike. We celebrated until closing time, then our little group capped off the night with 2 am chicken tenders at Whataburger, which is where I first met Mike. Somehow, I ended up sitting across from him, and being the kind, welcoming soul I am, didn’t acknowledge his presence. Over the course of conversation, Andrew made a joke about Mike being a fisherman from Alaska. “Wait, you’re from Alaska?” I asked. He nodded. “You just became so much cooler,” I said. Ah, my first words to my future husband. So deep. So thoughtful.

Halloween as the Canadians, including a bottle of pure maple syrup.

On Halloween night, Jillian and I had plans to go to a square dance hosted by a local church. We were hardly out of the neighborhood before she said, “I have a weird feeling, like we need to go back to the house.” I tried to convince her otherwise, because I’m selfish and don’t want to say no to fun, but we did turn back. She checked on her girls, sitting with them until she felt some peace. “What should we do now?” I asked. We were fully decked out in our Halloween costumes, which had taken us hours to make. “Well,” Jillian considered, “It’s too late to go to the square dance. But I know about another party we could go to. It’s at someone’s house.” So, off we went. We rolled up to the party, through the house, into the backyard, and right into Andrew and Mike. We ended up spending the whole night together, eventually ditching the party for a dancing excursion at Rebel’s.

Mike is still a much better dancer than me.

Now, at this point, I loved to dance, but I wasn’t very good. My footwork was clumsy at best and my spin axis was a little diagonal. Mike is an exceptional dancer, and also, quite frankly, a snob. Jillian and Andrew were out on the dance floor, Mike and I leaned up against its railing. The song changed, and Mike muttered, “Oh, this is a good one.” He looked around the room, then, resigned, at me. He took a sip of his whiskey on the rocks, then sighed. “You’ll do,” he shrugged, holding out his hand to me. I stood agape before launching into a tirade about how you can’t just say things like that and who do you think you are and there are certain things while Mike silently smirked, dancing me around the floor. I fumed, but also felt the prickle of amusement. My limited exposure told me Mike was a bad boy, arrogant, aloof, and mean. Which, of course, meant I needed to win him over.

Two weeks later, I invited him to my birthday. He didn’t come.

On the last weekend of November, Andrew, Kevin, and Mike threw a housewarming party. Andrew and Mike had just bought a house with their friend Daniel (who was deployed at the time), and they planned a big shindig to celebrate. For the sake of my dear husband’s dignity, suffice it to say he was not in his best mind and left an abysmal impression on me that night, which resulted in my resolve never to see or speak to him again.

However, despite my best efforts, I can’t control everything. I saw him three days later at Motown Monday, where he was a perfect gentleman. I had my first real conversation with him that night, and caught myself thinking, “Oh, hold up. He’s really smart. He’s really witty. He’s really perceptive. Maybe I misjudged him. Also, I can’t stop dancing with him.” I started texting Mike, chatting with him, and all-around pestering him while he tried to live his life (this aspect of our relationship has not changed).

After dancing, we’d often go out to eat. Mike calls it Fourth Meal.

Most of our communication consisted of sardonic teasing and memes. Then I mentioned Jesus. The conversation turned deeper, more real. Jokes were still flying, but something shifted. One night, we were getting ready to head home after hours of dancing at White Horse. Mike was gearing up to hop on his motorcycle (swoon). I had danced with a guy who had been *ahem* vigorously perspiring, and through all the spins, some had landed on me (barf). I commented on my unfortunate pants, but Mike didn’t quite hear me. Through his helmet, he asked, “Wait, did you say ‘how much’ or ‘how many’? Are you trying to quantify or qualify the sweat on your jeans?”

That’s when I knew I was going to marry him.

During one of our online conversations, Mike set up a cheesy pick-up line and asked me my favorite number. I told him, “0118999881999119725… 3.” (Note: comment if you get the reference!) From what I’m told by onlookers, he threw his phone across the room and said, “I’m done.” That’s when he knew he was going to marry me.

Jillian had a beautiful Roland keyboard, but it required an output for sound and she had no working amp. I hadn’t been able to play at all since coming to Texas. One night, when The Boys came over for dinner, Mike looked at the amp (control systems engineer plus musician), and said, “Yeah, you’d be better off just buying a new amp than trying to fix this one.” I was bummed. The first week of December, we all went out to Wild West. On the dance floor, Mike gave me a spin then slipped something into my hand. It was a little adapter jack. He said, “Plug any set of headphones into that, and then directly into your keyboard, and you’ll be able to play.” I was astonished. I knew then that he was interested in more than just getting to know me. He was thinking about my happiness, my dreams, and my goals.

The first picture ever taken of us together.

The next day, our friend group left for a week-long cruise. Jillian and I got some much-needed downtime, but I missed Mike. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I hadn’t ever met anyone with such depth, wit, talent, thoughtfulness, intellect, and vision. My spirit felt such peace. It was like God was pulling me toward him. The day their ship docked, Mike asked me if I wanted to go on an honest-to-goodness date with him, and I said yes. Hours later, he picked me up, and we went to see the Milk Carton Kids at the Paramount Theater. As we walked toward the theater, we were bashful, staying a foot away from each other on the sidewalk, conscious not to touch each other. During the concert, I noticed that Mike was listening in the same analytical way I was. I was also very aware of where my legs and my hands were, and where his were, and every movement that was made. It was so charged and tense and yet completely easy and relaxed. And then, his fingers found mine and he locked them into place and our hands barely disconnected for the rest of the night.

Two days later, I went home to Canada.

While I was in Canada, Mike suggested we get to know each other more intentionally using questions. We rated them on a scale of one to five, from least to most intimate. The rule was, if you asked the question, you also had to answer it. The topics ranged from favorites to bucket lists to scariest moments to parenting. We went through over two hundred questions.

Moments after we got engaged.

Without the temptation or distraction of physical relationship, we were free to pursue and explore each other on emotional, spiritual, and intellectual levels. By the time I returned to Austin in February, I knew our relationship was serious, solid, and blessed by God. In March, Mike flew to Canada, spent the weekend with my entire family (including extended family!), and asked my dad for permission to marry me. I picked him up at the airport at 2 am, where he immediately blindfolded me and drove for an alarming amount of time (what are all these sharp turns? Hello?). He picked me up and carried me for awhile, then set me down and pulled off the blindfold. We were on the rooftop of the Highball, gazing at the moonlit skyline of downtown Austin. In a flurry, he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.

I smirked. I crossed my arms, shrugged my shoulders and said, “You’ll do.”

Four years ago to this very day, we were married in a small ceremony, with just our immediate families and close friends in attendance. I was super, super sick the day of our wedding (you can’t win ’em all, right?). Between surreptitious cough syrup shots, I tried to take in every moment and commit it all to memory. I remember laughter, smiles, tears of joy. I remember stopping at Flightpath Coffee between the wedding and reception, onlookers smiling and clapping. I remember getting desperate on the way to San Antonio and laughing as a trio of little Mexican grandmas clapped for me (in my wedding dress) in the McDonalds bathroom. I remember the sweet joy of my grandparents singing a traditional Ukrainian blessing for us. I remember the wicked fun of letting our friends and family take the stage with an open-mic-style reception. I remember, vividly, the moment Mike and I left our cheering supporters and turned onto the highway toward our honeymoon destination. We were giddy and joyful, hands clasped. I looked into my new husband’s eyes and felt safe, excited, peaceful, and showered in grace. I knew then, and I know now. We belong to each other.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *