A couple of weeks ago, my husband and I challenged each other to recreate our marriage proposal by popping the question in our own unique ways. While I have a new file of possible ideas, I expect that my husband may still be building his.
When we first met I thought, “An Engineer! How on earth will an idealistic student of English literature, match with an Engineer immersed in the world of technology?” Yet, by the time a week had gone by I knew in my heart that this was the man I was going to marry!
Still, I recall that although my heart jumped to this conclusion, I wondered how we would feel connected in everyday life. Soon I discovered that he could recite poetry, perhaps not by the poets of my literature studies, but entertaining, adventurous rhymes. He sang and played his guitar for me; I sang and played the piano for him. He listened to all my dreams; I pictured each one of his ideas. We strove to discuss science and the arts, and to balance “he shoots, he scores” with musical theatre. Somewhere in the midst of words, music, science, and hockey, we settled into our common ground and began nurturing the roots that would establish our marriage.
By the way, we met on a cruise in February, he proposed in December, and we married in July. I still call him Captain Brad; he still calls me Lady Dee. He now enjoys my poetry; I strive to make sense of his technology.
Why propose to each other again, after all these years? Because these words still define us. We’ve learned to choose them carefully, gently, patiently, and honestly. More often than not we use parts of that same proposal phrase, “Will you…” and sometimes each of us needs to focus on that all-important “me” in our marriage. However it’s what’s in the middle that counts. It’s the “marry” in the middle, the common ground where we meet, when we take a moment to value each other.
Will you marry me?