God is gracious and knows all we need.

If my good man had followed this sensible advice offered on Boundless for our situation, we probably wouldn’t have married, because as much as I might have missed him, I wouldn’t have understood (or trusted) that the feeling meant I loved or needed him.

Seven years ago on the last day of May, I knew I loved him. And I was physically unable to say yes.

He hadn’t expected a “yes” right away (there are family stories about my mother and sister needing to be asked three times each), so when I couldn’t say anything serious,

“Would you consider marrying me?” he asked.

“Well, I’d consider it,” I said, answering his question.

he didn’t react much and we simply started back to the main trail. I watched his back the whole return along the narrow, winding moose track we’d explored together, and felt so disappointed.

I knew I wanted to marry him, but I’d lost my chance to say so, and was too overwhelmed to attempt revisiting the idea.

Weeks before this, before he had a ring, Jay described his search for just the right one. I was still praying and wrestling with the question of whether I could live without him. He said he’d finally decided to special-order a custom ring.

I was horrified.

“But it will be non-returnable!” I said at once, stopping to stare at him. “What will you do if I say ‘No.‘?”

He just kept walking, still holding my hand (we did a lot of walking in those early days), “I’ll just save it for the next time I ask.”

So I wasn’t afraid I’d utterly lost him, but I was sad, because I’d missed something precious.

We climbed onto the observation platform that looked over the marshy area we’d just come out of, and still neither of us had said anything. All that was going through my head was, I want to accept him, but I can’t say *yes.*

And then we had what these days you’d have to call a movie moment (because it seems both scripted and perfectly executed). The kind that makes certain viewers misty-eyed.

He wrapped me in his arms and said, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

And there was my opening. God provided so graciously that I could accept without needing to say “Yes.”

“Me too,” I told him, turning around and hugging him back. He held me tighter for a moment, then, hesitatingly, he asked, “Would you like a ring on that?”

I nodded.

Even Jay may not know how often I’ve thanked God for my man’s gentle perseverance.

On Monday afternoon, while she was setting me up for the x-ray that revealed my pneumonia, the technician asked me, “Now, is there any possibility you might be pregnant?”

I always find this wording funny, and responded, “Well, yes, there’s a possibility.”

The technician froze, and for some reason my eyes traveled up above the referencing target where I saw in bolded caps:

IF YOU ARE PREGNANT, OR THINK YOU MAY BE PREGNANT,
INFORM THE X-RAY TECHNITION IMMEADIATELY.

I sighed then, and told the young woman, “No. I’m not pregnant.”

She was wary now. “Not even a chance?” Again, I couldn’t not-tell the whole truth, even to simplify things (I think it’s connected to my explaining problem) .

“Of course there’s a chance, biologically speaking, but it’s really. not. likely.” Poor dear finally seemed to take the spirit of my answer rather than follow (what I would guess was) the letter of the law from her training.

Half-attempting an apology when she came to rearrange me against the bull’s-eye, I told her, “I’m a literalist. I think there’s always some chance of pregnancy when there’s sex.”

I managed to refrain from my short lecture on efficacy (let your words be beneficial, pearls before swine, and all those good reminders must have been in my mind somewhere).

Even so, my readers here will, I think, eventually receive some further talk about efficacy ;-)

~

If it makes someone uncomfortable to think about the direct connection between sex and babies, well, I think it would be wise to take a good hard look at your expectations and the way our bodies work.