An open letter on Valentine's Day

Moriah and I basically swore off Valentine's Day in college, mostly because it seems silly to make up a day to give one another little trinkets that probably don't mean a whole lot. Teddy bears, boxers, roses, candy - these are all good things, but perhaps a waste of money at times.

That said, I'm feeling a little bit guilty for not showering Moriah with SOME sort of gift this Valentine's Day. So, how about a story?

Moriah didn't remember this until I reminded her, but we first met in the lobby of Gardner dorm at ACU. She was helping conduct Sing Song tryouts. Not sure how she volunteered for that job, seeing as how it took me several years to get her to sing in front of me. But she was there, perhaps as a favor to an old friend from camp Blue Haven (who shall go unnamed here) who had a love interest in Moriah that was never reciprocated.

In those days, Moriah had a different style about her. She wore long, hooded sweaters and high, high heels. Pointy boots were her signature. Freshman Mo also carried her Nokia cell phone where it's flashing case could be seen by all. If she started blowing up, everyone around her knew it.

Moriah had many suiters that year. I was but one, who was cast off at first. There were other boys waiting in the wings. But persistence pays, and after a summer of random late-night phone calls, Moriah granted a second-first date, and history was made.

I recall my roommate at the time, Jeff Giddens, asking me soon after Moriah and I started dating, "You want to marry her, don't you?"

"I think I do," I replied.

But did Moriah also want to marry me? While somewhat affectionate, she was much better and being chased than doing any chasing herself. Sealing the deal was her summer in Nashville. Instead of going home and working at her church as she has always done during the summer, she applied for an internship at Otter Creek, which is now our church home. She spent the summer living near me instead of close to home.

At the end of that summer, I made the trip to Draper's to pick out some jewelry. Once I had it in hand, that diamond ring burned a hole straight through my pocket. I thought about waiting a month or two into school, but the engagement had to happen ASAP. So, the Sunday before Labor Day, 2004, I read Moriah a poem I'd written for her (out of character, for sure) and got down on one knee. She said yes, through tears. Of course in those days, she was always crying about something. Her overactive tear ducts confused many people at times. She's just as likely to cry about something funny as something sad or hurtful.

Five and a half years later, Moriah has grown up a lot, leaving me behind to be the immature one. She's gotten herself a graduate degree in teaching. She lives 700 miles from what she called "home" for 18 years. And she's the half of this duo who makes sure casseroles are taken to the young family, showers are thrown for the new mom and gifts are given to husband who struggles with appreciation.

Like so many people do, I love Moriah. Happy Valentine's Day.