beginnings

Some twenty and a half years ago, I was an eager, giddy freshman in college.  I had come to expand my horizons, flesh out my musical knowledge and skills, decide what I would do when I grew up and, generally, have a really good time while taking on the world.  As much of my time was spent in the music department/fine arts building, I quickly began to identify the cast of characters that frequented the building on the "other side of the bridge" and learn the names and talents of those who would become my companions over the next three and a half years. 

Early on, I noted a certain young man, a year older than myself, who had a real talent and clearly a strong work ethic;  he was serious, focused and handsome.  One day, as this slightly mysterious fellow walked by me in the lobby, a little voice from within proclaimed quite clearly: 

There is "The Professor", I am going to marry him someday.

(Okay, well, actually The Voice and I actually knew The Prof's name,

but we are not sharing that detail here on the blog.)   

"HUH??"  I said, quite possibly aloud, as a matter of fact.  "Who said that?"  The Holy Ghost, I deduced.  I decided to make it my business to meet The Prof.  Seemed like a reasonable next step.  I casually arranged for a mutual friend to make the introduction.  The three of us attended a Sunday afternoon faculty cello concert together.  And do you know what happened at that soiree?  No, there was no magical Cupid moment, our eyes did not lock in a dreamy gaze...though there may have been some dreaming.  That's right, The Prof fell asleep, so taken with me he was. 

Apparently, he had not yet received the memo that he was seated next to his future bride, mother of his future children, and keeper of his future home.  Clearly, there was work to be done.

Over five years of work.  It was more than five years from the moment that I received that astonishing prophecy while lounging about in the lobby of the fine arts lobby until I walked down the aisle to make those holy vows of matrimony tying me forevermore to the *ahem* dreamy Professor.

Those five years were life-shaping, character-defining, and heart molding.  There were late night conversations, fits of laughter, Friday night dates at the grocery store, greasy-smelling meet-ups after fast food restaurant work shifts let out, music making, study sessions and many, many theological discussions.  See, The Prof wasn't Catholic and that was a problem for me.  My Catholic faith was too important to me and I couldn't possibly spend my life bound to a man who didn't share that abiding love for the Faith with me.  So, there were debates, discussions, more than a few tears, and lots of prayers.  And, shortly before we wed, there was the glorious day that The Prof was received into the Church.

So naive and trusting was I, that I had never doubted that little prophesy so clearly revealed some five plus years earlier--truth be told, I was rather astonished that it had taken so long to come to fruition.  Some of the issues and some of the complexities The Prof and I were forced to contend with made me want to give up from time to time, but ultimately, I always knew--divinely--that we would be bound together in marriage one day.  

And bound we were, on a beautiful tenth of June in the year 1995.