Our Senior Prom, 2003. There are other pictures, but they're ol'timey - i.e. nondigital.

Today marks a rather momentous occasion for us in the Young house. A decade ago – that’s right, 3,652 days (which is a lot) – I asked Michelle to start dating me. Now, for those who may not know, Michelle also happens to now be my wife, so this is a good celebration and not some creepy old flame I’ve held on to.

The conversation famously went like this:

Me: So… I know I’m a loser, but would you go out with me?
Michelle:…. Yes… And you’re not a loser.

As you can see, my ploy was to set up the conversation (in my truck, on the way to my house to hang out with our friends no less!) in such a way that if she declined, she’d knowingly be crushing me. I might never have recovered and very well could be babbling to the trees in the Gulf Coast somewhere if she’d responded unfavorably. But, to the estonishment of us all, the evidence that God has mercy upon poor souls, and my absolute delight, she said yes.

And now it’s been ten years. I think it’s fairly obvious to say things have changed. We’re ten years older (shockingly). Being older and a whole decade along, the news reports would have you believe we’re disenchanted with each other, less in love, and cynically resolved to quietly suffer. None are true and all are pure, hell-fire lies. We’ve known the steady, long-suffering, deep ocean of God’s grace towards us again and again. Our Father, who art in heaven, has been pleased to dwell lovingly with us mere mortals on earth. We’re more in love, and understand a wee bit better what it means to be so. I feel the increasing sense of being so undeserving of the Lord’s kindness to us, especially in our relationship these ten years.

It is now my pleasure to present another Young tradition: a poem. You may groan as old Bilbo’s audiences did, but here it is nonetheless. To my wife, on our Decade Dating Dangerous Duo Celebration.

My Journey-Feets Friend

Do you remember the timid question?
I was right to be afraid; beginnings are always treacherous,
Not knowing where your feets will lead,
Lands they’ll explore, or downs adventured,
Heights of sorrow, and depths in love;
I was right to be afraid.
But minuscule bravery birthed by love carried the query
(In that tired out, faded red pickup):
Would your feets journey with mine?
O what a dangerous beauty this decade has been,
My heart’s love, my home, my journey-feets friend.