I was ten years old when I first wondered if I would ever be chosen.
One day I was in the back of a limousine, my brother’s prom ride. The leather seats smelled rich, the kind that you would see on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. Deep in my fantasy interview with Robin Leach, I pictured the mansion that would go along with the limo, the maids and butlers. But it was the thought of the husband that brought me out of the fantasy. Because I couldn’t picture being married. I couldn’t picture being chosen. I couldn’t picture a knight coming to court me.
My brother stood at the curb in a suit that made him look older than he was, his date stepping out in a gown the color of a dream. The whole picture shimmered, and I sat tucked in the backseat, Leisure Curl framing my face, shiny ringlets swinging with the question that rose uninvited: Would anyone ever take me out on a date like this? Would anyone ever look at me that way?
Eventually, we waved off my brother and said our goodbyes. The limousine drove away and my fantasy with it.
Fast forward to age fifteen. I made it through middle school fairly intact with many crushes but no bites, no boyfriends. It must have been pity. One of my close friends, Nate, decided that I would like one of his friends. His friend didn’t go to our school. I wasn’t expecting much even though I was still nervous to meet him. The day I met him my jaw dropped like I was Olive Oil looking at my very own Popeye. It had to be a mistake or better, Nate must have paid his friend to meet me and date me, I guess you could call it a date, but not really. I didn’t care. I was just happy to be chosen, sort of. The entire time I was with him I felt like he was definitely out of my league. But looking back, it was more that I didn’t have a high view of myself. It lasted long enough to give me a bit of self-esteem. And then it faded away.
I dated again a couple of years later. I was a senior in high school, he was a little older. That relationship taught me that I wanted more than just a boyfriend. I wanted a life partner. I wanted someone who would journey with me. I was curious, I had a lot of ambition, and I was young enough to still have a lot of nerve. I wasn’t interested in getting a good job at Detroit Edison or retiring with a pension from one of the Big Three. I was George Bailey: “I wanted to shake the dust of this crummy little town off my feet and see the world!” The only thing, I didn’t want to go alone. I wanted someone who wanted it too. Tall order.
But there was more. I wanted someone who was witty, a deep thinker, handsome, knew about cars, was taller than me in heels (even though I didn’t wear them), who was funny, believe it or not the list went on and on. I prayed the list out loud to God and didn’t think back then how ridiculous some of my asks were. But like I said, I was young and bold.
I broke up with my boyfriend. He was a nice guy, handsome, but it wasn’t enough for me. I was back to being the girl who sat in the back of that limousine. I couldn’t see getting what I wanted. I couldn’t see this type of guy. At my age, end of the 90s, young men were about what they had always been about. And the En Vogue girl with the move-something dress wasn’t me. I didn’t go to clubs. I didn’t drink. I read books, wore glasses, and though I had managed to get rid of some of the chub, I wasn’t like those other girls. Cargo pants from New York and Co. over a short and tight dress. Borders Books on a Friday night over being at a party. Church on Sunday was just as fun as TGI Fridays on Saturday night.
Who would want me?
I had crushed on boys at church, but none of them crushed back. Of course, at 18 or 19 there are always a slew of creepy young men who want the “one thing” the old folks used to warn us about. But the guy who would check off those boxes wasn’t there.
I often look back at that young lady. I see her in the mirror sometimes. I look out of her eyes at times when I’m looking down at my wedding ring. I whisper, “Girrrrl, you never thought you would be here.” Because I didn’t.
The other night, Siafa and I were out of town on a little weekend getaway. Just the two of us. In the hotel it was late, and he was beat. He fell asleep and I was on the phone with my daughter, talking quietly so as not to disturb his snoring. When I got off the phone, I set it on the side table and scooted under the blanket. Instantly, he awoke from his sleep and said, “Give me your phone, it needs charging.” He put it on his charger and fell right back asleep. That’s the kind of man he is.
He’s checked every box since the day I met him. Even his voice.
I think back to that girl in the limousine, trying to imagine what it might feel like to be chosen, to be wanted, to be loved. She could not have pictured this life, this ring, this man who wakes up half-asleep just to charge my phone. But that’s the mystery of God. He doesn’t always give us what we dream in our youth. He gives us something truer. Not the knight of fairy tales, but the steady companion who bears with us, prays with us, and loves us in ways both grand and ordinary. The kind of love that keeps choosing, even in the quiet hours of the night.
From Big Bowl of Popcorn
Finding Alberta
A novel about love, grief, and what is remembered and misunderstood.
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Martina Griffin is a Catholic convert, writer, wife, and mother of four. She writes about faith, motherhood, beauty, books, and the quiet ache of transformation. A lover of popcorn, deep questions, and old classics, she shares her heart at Big Bowl of Popcorn—one post at a time. Instagram | Facebook | Email Me |
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