fiction (iv): the life and loves of a homeschooled girl

The flower girl began her march down the aisle. Dark red petals fell in clumps as she double-timed it to the front and was scooped up by her dad in the front row.

The music faded and the wedding march began. Everyone rose.

Then came Jennifer, leaning on Dad's arm.

My sister. Getting married.

The bridesmaid next to me sniffed. I glanced at the groom. Yup, he was tearing up too.

I couldn't help it, my eyes started to water.

Who cared if I had wanted him? This was a somber, serious, life-changing, grand, divinely-stamped moment.

My sister was getting married.

Actually married.

I sniffed, wishing I had a tissue.

“Who gives this woman to be wed?”

“Her mother and I.”

Just as practiced, Dad lifted Jen’s veil and carefully pushed it behind her head. He kissed her on the cheek, whispered something in her ear, and sat down with mom in the front row. I couldn’t see her face, but I could see the face of her husband-to-be. He took her hands in his, and I was right, he looked absolutely smitten.

“'And the LORD God said, “It is not good that man should be alone; I will make him a helper comparable to him.' Marriage is God’s idea,” the pastor said to the people gathered to witness the ceremony. “It is not a social construct. It is not a cultural phenomenon. It is divine in its essence. The uniting of two--a man and a woman--into one unit is God's holy design.” He focused on the couple before him. “God has given you two as a gift to each other. Treasure that gift. Recognize its source. "He who finds a wife finds a good thing and obtains favor from the Lord." Michael, you've found a good helpmeet in Jennifer. She's committing to stick by you through thick and thin. That won't always be easy."

I could see the groom glance at my sister and wink. My stomach flip-flopped involuntarily.

"And Jennifer, you have found a man who is committing to love you as Christ loved the church. That is no small task either. Both of you now have an awesome responsibility. The way you two live out your vows will be a testimony to the world of the goodness of God's design. In Malachi the Bible says, 'Therefore take heed to your spirit, And let none deal treacherously with the wife of his youth.’”

~*~

When I was 13, I wrote another entry in my little pink journal. “Walk in the Lord, focus on Him always and God will bring the right young man for you.”

Those words “young man” sent shivers up my spine.

Who needed Prince Charming? I wanted to be courted one day by a fellow with a button up plaid shirt tucked into blue jeans that came to my dad and said, “Sir, I’d like your blessing to court your daughter with the intention of marriage.”

I was so hopeful. I was only a young teen and, like so many other homeschool girls at that time, I wasn’t thinking about getting a boyfriend someday. I was planning on a husband.

When I was 14 I wrote Michael’s name for the first time in my journal. The Joyful Noise parents had hired a professional art teacher to come do a 6 week class for our group. As I related what happened the fourth Tuesday in, I subtly inserted his name amongst a list of who drew what.

“Jen tried to draw a 3D flower but it didn’t really work. Luanne drew a house with bushes in front. Michael drew a red caterpillar crawling across a leaf. (He did a really good job.) I drew a house too but my windows were crooked.”

I felt rather daring putting his name and mine so close together. Tingling while I re-read my entry, I wondered if someday if someone accidentally found my journal and read it if they would guess how I felt about Michael.

“Lord, is it wrong?” I prayed, ready to cross out the entry if I was focusing on boys too much.

I took a marker and scribbled hard across the parenthetical remark. I kept scribbling til not even a professional decoder could have deciphered the words underneath. There, that should be safe.

When I was 15, Jen and I were invited to a monthly praise and worship night for highschoolers. My parents discussed the idea.

Generally, they were skeptical of gatherings of teenagers. “A company of fools,” my dad had said when we had asked if we could go to our church youth group. They had let us try it for a couple months, until we told them about the upcoming movie night. The movie was a PG-13 adventure flick Dad had seen before. He told Mom it had language and sexual innuendo, and there was no way his young daughters were going to be exposed to that. Mom agreed with Dad right then that youth group wasn’t necessary to our spiritual well being.

But a monthly praise and worship night was different. And besides, many of our homeschooled friends were going.

Dad said ok.

I loved going. The music was led by teens, some that I knew, some I didn’t. There was a keyboard, a guitar, a bass guitar, and a few singers. The songs were more contemporary, so some of my friends weren’t allowed to attend, but they were songs that helped me cry out to the Lord. The lights were kept low to prevent distraction, and across the room hands raised in worship.

“Oh, Lord, You’re beautiful,” I sang. “Your face is all I seek.”

With my eyes closed I focused as hard as I could on that sentence. I would only seek His face. Because He was the only One worth seeking.

You see, from a very young age, I had had a relationship with the Lord. Sometimes I see children now and think, “All they think about is friends and playtime.” But it can’t be true. Because it wasn’t true with me.

I wanted to do God’s will. I wanted to do right. I didn’t want to watch the movie that our youth pastor thought appropriate if God didn’t think it appropriate. I didn’t want to wear tight jeans and spaghetti strap shirts if God wanted me to dress more modestly. I didn’t want to get caught up in admiring the hotness of one or another male friend if God wanted me to stay pure.

I wanted to follow God with all my heart.

“Oh, Lord,” the second verse continued, “Please light the fire that once burned bright and clear.”

And so I repented of the dreams that came in the night, warming my insides. I closed my eyes tight and rebuked myself for thinking of Michael standing a few rows back. I had snuck peeks at him before the lights went out. I reproached myself for noticing the many other young men in the room that were worshipping God with abandon, so attractive in their seriousness about God.

“Replace the lamp of my first love that burns with holy fear.”

After worship, we would head to the back of the room for “fellowship.” In other words, we’d divide naturally into groups of girls and guys, eat cookies, and inconspicuously flirt, or, in my case, watch others flirt.

One month I baked chocolate chip cookies and set them in the back before worship. Afterwards, everyone swarmed in.

“Who made these cookies?” Michael asked, grabbing his third.

“I did,” I smiled.

Michael groaned in exuberant pleasure. “They are so good!” He took another bite. “Yum! I love you!”

Immediately my stomach dropped, and his eyes filled with terror.

“I mean, I mean . . . .”

I laughed and waved it away. “I know what you mean,” I replied maturely.

He laughed nervously and inched away to join the other boys. I nonchalantly turned back to the girls.

He didn’t mean he loved me. He meant he loved that I had brought cookies.

But he had said it. He really had.