“One day He’s coming, O glorious day”
There are still several sultry days and nights
remaining this summer, especially here in the triple- digit-temperature region
of Hill Country Texas. I absolutely love
college football, fresh picked apples and back to school bargains. Yet each
year, I still find myself pleading for an extension on the summer season. This
summer has already been one to remember. The short version is this: I earned my
MBA in June, moved to Texas in July and began a fresh new sort of existence
this August. All monumental occasions, to say the least.
As the final weeks of summer linger, I can’t help
but think what remains in the coming days of my favorite time of year. In just
these past three weeks, I’ve made a remarkable discovery and experienced a
transitory mindset regarding love (one of my well-versed and highly opinionated
topics). I credit Andy Murray, the great British Olympian tennis player who
cruised by Roger Federer to win gold earlier this month, with this tidy
revelation. Murray won me over in the process, not because of his muscular
calves dancing in the backcourt or sure-handed volleys at net. Though, those
characteristics are hard to resist in a tennis player. Andy Murray won my heart because his sizable victory
over the FedEx machine helped redefine my definition of love (not to mention
stamp his place in history). Murray lost in a tight match to Roger at Wimbledon
months before the Olympics. He parlayed that mighty effort into something even
the best of men’s tennis players can envy. Andy Murray didn’t quit. He brushed
off the ever-present tears, the riveting Grand Slam loss and an entire country
of disappointed tea drinkers to earn the gold medal in the London games. How
does this affect my love life? Well, as it turns out, I was that same discouraged
Murray of Wimbledon not long ago. It was sure a proud moment earning my
MBA. A move to Texas to be with my
sister and keep my job was nice too. Life could not possibly be more exciting
for me than it has been this summer. Or could it? How did I really spend my summer?
Memorial Day came and went without my painting our
parent’s back porch for the first time since they moved out of our family home.
June was like a bolt of flashing light complete with high gas bills. There were
case studies, reports and animated lectures. Trips to campus twice a week, and
sometimes more. There were work days and weekend trail rides. I even enjoyed an
ice cream with my community pastor, who convinced me I was doing enough in the
name of faith. In fact, he assured me something great was waiting for me in Austin, but that I would not expect it when it happened. I kept that thought in the back of my mind with the last flinch of hope I ignited
in my heart. I was anticipating a day where "the one" would walk into my life, but never expecting to actually live
it. I was leaving New York with my heart in my hands. Everything seemed to be ending on a low note, especially those moments
concerned with love.
I remembered back to all the nights when I cried (and there were many) because it was almost too much to comprehend. There actually came a point where I wished to myself I wasn’t so prone to falling in love. It was as if wishing to not be good at something so compelling and extraordinary. But like every other girl who has ever tried repeatedly to wash a boy away with tears, I knew I would not do so. I was programmed to know love when I felt it, or so was my thought. The end of an era had culminated, and with it, the insecure notion that I would never arrive at the extravagant and enchanting feeling of being in love. Then came July. I packed, unpacked, sold my belongings to complete strangers and then packed again. Boxes of DVDs were shipped. Teddy bears found their way into vacuum packed baggies. I soon exchanged my address for one in a zip code nearly 1,800 miles away from the comfort of the only place I had ever called home. Alone at the airport that late July Tuesday morning, I didn’t have the slightest clue how I would be spending the rest of my summer. The only sure thing I flew away with (along with my overloaded green suitcase and laptop) was a desire to reassess what I truly needed in love. The need to wait patiently for the day it would all work out in the right way. If I could only see beyond the failed attempt of my previous lopsided misfortune.
I remembered back to all the nights when I cried (and there were many) because it was almost too much to comprehend. There actually came a point where I wished to myself I wasn’t so prone to falling in love. It was as if wishing to not be good at something so compelling and extraordinary. But like every other girl who has ever tried repeatedly to wash a boy away with tears, I knew I would not do so. I was programmed to know love when I felt it, or so was my thought. The end of an era had culminated, and with it, the insecure notion that I would never arrive at the extravagant and enchanting feeling of being in love. Then came July. I packed, unpacked, sold my belongings to complete strangers and then packed again. Boxes of DVDs were shipped. Teddy bears found their way into vacuum packed baggies. I soon exchanged my address for one in a zip code nearly 1,800 miles away from the comfort of the only place I had ever called home. Alone at the airport that late July Tuesday morning, I didn’t have the slightest clue how I would be spending the rest of my summer. The only sure thing I flew away with (along with my overloaded green suitcase and laptop) was a desire to reassess what I truly needed in love. The need to wait patiently for the day it would all work out in the right way. If I could only see beyond the failed attempt of my previous lopsided misfortune.
August sweltered in with a hint of hope. Austin,
Texas has tennis courts, baseball stadiums and bike routes. There are a
plethora of options for food, shopping and worship services on Sundays. And
just as Christ has always been my rock in times of fear, here He was allowing
me to be led to a stable ground among people who were chattier, less complicated and more
down-to-earth than others I had known. There I was sharing espresso with a stranger
I just met. He wasn’t like other men
who seemed to have chips on their shoulder. He was actually friendly, and liked drinking coffee. I laughed
maybe this is where I had been going wrong all along. I never did date any man
who liked coffee. Here was a man who not only smiled at me, but smiled
with me. We had some common interests and it seemed as if I would at least gain a new friend in this strange town. Could it be that we could shoot hoops together instead of him making me jump through hoops? I knew not what to expect, or rather I had no expectations. I only trusted in the hope I brought with me all those miles. His hope.
Andy Murray won the gold medal and suddenly, I was feeling as golden and fluffy haired as the Brit himself. It could possibly be that I had discovered a new definition of what love is. Love used to be a crushing intoxication of mixed emotions. But now, love is a blank score with an unwritten slate. Love is whatever you make it, whatever you dream it to be. Love is not a trampled and defeated heart that spends an abundance of time in hopeless want. It is not the pursuit of proving yourself. Rather, love is a comeback. It is a revenge, not on somebody, but on that freeing emotion that conquers your heart. Love, if nothing else, is a possibility.
Andy Murray won the gold medal and suddenly, I was feeling as golden and fluffy haired as the Brit himself. It could possibly be that I had discovered a new definition of what love is. Love used to be a crushing intoxication of mixed emotions. But now, love is a blank score with an unwritten slate. Love is whatever you make it, whatever you dream it to be. Love is not a trampled and defeated heart that spends an abundance of time in hopeless want. It is not the pursuit of proving yourself. Rather, love is a comeback. It is a revenge, not on somebody, but on that freeing emotion that conquers your heart. Love, if nothing else, is a possibility.
Life has a way of arriving when we least expect it.
Champions take shape, and when the probability of another defeat is at its
greatest, recapture their worth. Murray is victorious, and I spent my summer
vacation revamping my winning formula for love.
“The grave could not keep Him from rising again”
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