It was the most wonderful time of the year. Snowflakes hugged the pavement as we trudged over them, and a chill bit our rosy cheeks. Finals were over, which meant freedom. FINALLY. We laughed and chatted, turning corners and dodging people as they scurried through the Chicago streets. Who knows what they were doing, most likely coming or going from work, but the seven of us were done with the work. Done with hours of studying and glaring at computer screens that lacked the hundreds of words we needed for those final essays.
A smile stretched a crossed my face as I looked at two of my best friends, and I grinned as they playfully joked with me and the others in the group. In front of us was the very last intersection before our destination. An ice encrusted light blinked a glaring orange hand at us, so we had to wait. The people were in hoards now. Little kids clung to their parents, their tiny hands grasping onto fingers and hands that guided them to the rest of their family. Some people smiled and enjoyed the crisp city air, yet others sighed in exasperation as they had places and appointments to tend to. All of us, though, from all ends of the city and country, huddled in a tight group as we waited to go.
Following a few restless moments, the light blinked to white and we hurried off to the winding ice skating rink. This would be my first ever ice skating experience, yet I had roller skated multiple times, so I laced up the skates and prepared to take a whirl. Except it didn’t quite go like that...I was horribly slow and every slide of the skates killed my shins and made me feel as if I was going to fall. I decided that I hated ice skating, so instead I stuck to the side lines watching my friends have a blast on the ice. Two of them, one blonde and one dark haired, whizzed around the ribbon of ice as if they were born to do it. I watched with envy as they raced past me again and again, until the rest of us convinced them it was time to get some food. But, as you probably know, before you can leave any good gathering of fun, you must take a picture. While the boys gracefully slid into place, I tottered my way over to the line of wanna-be skaters and landed myself in the middle, right next to the dark haired boy.
I didn’t know him very well, except that he was kind and he played sports. He was a catcher for the baseball team at school, but beyond that I couldn’t even tell you his last name. The day commenced like any other, but little did I know that this would be the first picture of me standing next to my love.
I look at this picture a year later, and realize that time is recorded whether we know its significance or not. How many times do we stand next to someone who will later change our lives, and we have absolutely no idea? I can’t say that the day in Chicago was a sweet moment marking the first time the two of us met, it actually wasn’t significant to our relationship at all, but it does show me the way God works in mysterious ways to put special people in our lives. He is always working, always scheming, because he knows exactly what and who we need. And it seems he works best when those people pop up out of the blue, like a special gift he’s been planning for us that we had no idea even existed.
