phil

The last few days have been so intense. I find myself exhausted by about nine in the evening, worn out by the constant interactions, by my attempts to navigate myself through this world that's supposed to be mine. By finding my way again.

Some of it has been easy. More and more, I find that this blog is such a useful tool; because people have been reading my words all year, there's almost nothing they need to ask me. I've been able to pick up friendships where they left off, and when questions arise about Liberia, I can say Remember those entries about Baby Greg? Yeah, that was the hardest thing that happened this year. I drove home from my Granny's house the other night, the first time I'd been behind the wheel in eleven months, and it was surprisingly painless; it turns out that remembering how to drive is like riding a bike. You never really forget.

Some of it has been less straightforward. The noise and the cold and the constant stimulation are so foreign to me after a year on a ship in the third world. I'm getting carsick again, and I think it's because I strain to read all the billboards and street signs that whip past me at over a hundred kilometers an hour. I've already started to feel the strain of this culture, reminding me in subtle whispers that I look wrong. No matter how staunchly I remind myself that I am proud of my African shape, I've been feeling pudgy and oversized, and I can't convince myself otherwise.

The thing is, none of this confusion and uncertainty really has any kind of hold on me. Especially not after today.

This morning, I took a drive past icy lakes and up a snowy road. We stopped at the side of a river and made our way onto a bridge overlooking the water as it rushed down the chute that he had helped build to guide the logs downstream. The air smelled faintly of summer, somehow, recalling memories of long hours spent playing in the waterfalls near my grandpa's farm. He pulled four tie wraps out of his pocket, and he asked me the question I've been dying to hear.

So, you want to get married?

I said I thought we might as well, and then I chose green, like he knew I would. He threw the other three over the side of the bridge to be washed away in the freezing spate. He fastened the tie wrap around my finger, clipped the end with a pair of wire cutters he pulled out of his pocket, and then he took my hand in his. We stood there on that bridge with the cold all around us and the water rushing through my heart, and he prayed over our life together.

And then we went back, and I showed off my fancy ring to my beaming parents and he took an Exacto knife to it to smooth out the edges, and I have never known that it was possible to be quite this happy.

(For those of you who have never heard of this guy before, the oversight has been intentional. We both agreed that our relationship wasn't something that we wanted to chronicle on the internet, but I've gotten special permission to post about today, since there's no way I can keep this to myself.)

Phil is my best friend. He's been by my side through the hardest year of my life so far. He rubs my back when I cry and shakes his head when I'm hysterically laughing. When something funny happens, he's the first one I want to share the joke with. We can hang out for hours, not do anything, and love it. He believed me when I told him I didn't want an expensive engagement ring, and I know that means he trusts my word. When I'm sick, he cooks me Ramen noodles, and when we come inside he holds the door for me. He'll eat the mushrooms for me that I always feel the need to pick out of my food. He calls me out when I'm being lazy and challenges me in my walk with God. I never feel like I have to be anything but myself with him and yet, somehow at the same time, being with him makes me want to serve more and love more and be more.

It was Phil's sleeve I was hanging on to that first day in Tenerife, and it's that sleeve I get to hang on to for the rest of my life, no matter what comes our way.

Which, at the end of the day, is just about the best deal I can imagine.