How I met my husband.... Otherwise known as, the day he stood up.

My last post was pretty deep and emotionally heavy. I decided that today's post would be a little lighter and definitely shorter! I'm still on the reminiscing kick since my 6 year anniversary is on Saturday the 17th. One of my favorite stories is how I met my husband.

We were from two different worlds. If it hadn't been for a mutual friend, we would have never met. I met Kim in January of 2004 at the Cascade Campus of Portland Community College. A group of my friends would hang out in the cafeteria between classes. When I first was introduced to Kim, he had the typical 'bowl' haircut. We exchanged pleasantries. But I didn't pay much attention to him.

The second time I saw Kim, he had cut his hair and I didn't even realize it was the same person! We would hangout: talk, play card games, eat. I thought he was cute, but I wrote him off because he was Asian. And as you all know, Asians are short. I had never stood next to Kim. We normally were sitting around one of the cafeteria tables. I assumed, which totally made me out to be a ass, that Kim had to be short. 

One day, I was complaining to some of the gals at the table that there were NO tall guys. Everyone was shorter than me. One of the guys, said that Kim was tall. I didn't believe him. I'm pretty sure I even said out loud, that there was no way that Kim was as tall as me or even taller. So I made Kim stand up. And being the sweet, compliant guy that he is, he did. 

Not only was a wrong, but he was just a little taller than me. I had to eat humble pie. And Kim became even cuter!

From that point on, I was pretty smitten with him. Add all the other amazing characteristics: funny, sweet, kind, respectful, hard working, and a teaser, and I was a goner. That boy stole my heart the day he stood up.

Fall and Redemption: my story

My 6 year anniversary is coming up on the 17th of January. I can't believe that 6 years of marriage has gone by. Each anniversary prompts me to reflect on our past. Since I started this blog, I knew I needed to write down my story. Now seems like the perfect time.

I met Kim when 18 years old. I and my family had recently left my childhood church. I was very disenchanted with church and Christians in general. I knew that I needed to go to church. I loved God. And I thought of myself as a good kid. I didn't get in trouble. Never drank. Never did drugs. Didn't really cuss. Dressed appropriately. Listened to "good" music. On the scale of being a sinner, I wasn't in the "bad" section. 

Kim wasn't a Christian when I met him. He didn't have a relationship with God. I remember struggling with my attraction to him; wanting to be more than friends, and yet knowing I shouldn't. He was the first boy to ever take interest in me. He was sweet, kind, respectful. The type of guy my parents would approve of. He just didn't love God. 

When I look back through my journal at that time. I really struggled with knowing what the right thing to do was and what my heart wanted. I wanted to be with Kim. I didn't want to have to wait. I remember making a choice. I was going to date Kim, despite my parent's disapproval and God's word. 

I had a problem though. My parents made it very clear that if I chose to date Kim I would have to move out. I couldn't support myself at the time. And frankly, I didn't want to live a uncomfortable life and be in their condemnation. So I lied. 

I kept my relationship with Kim a secret for five years. There were several times throughout that period that I got caught. Each time, God gave me a way out of my sin, but instead I chose to lie. I became very, very good at lying. I created elaborate lies to my parents, but also to myself. I chose to stuff down the guilt down. I would tell myself that my parents were the problem. They didn't understand. They didn't know Kim like I did. It was very one else, not me. I separated myself from those who would speak truth in my life. I didn't want to hear it. I stopped going to church regularly. I only went when I wanted to ease my guilt. 

I had lived with my family throughout my college years. They helped me financially and mentally. And like the saying goes, your sin will find you out. My sin came to head. It had to. Kim and I wanted to get married. I wanted my parent's approval. I cared more about what my parents' thought than what God thought. 

When my parents found out that I had lied, everything blew up. Even then, I tried to lie to ease the blow. I said that we had only recently started dating again. More lies. I tried to get my younger sister to be on my side. I used manipulation, lies, and blame to try and get what I wanted.

Kim and I started going to Red Sea Church in December of 2008. It was mostly an attempt on my part to make Kim look more appealing to my parents. I didn't realize then that God would use this church to dramatically change our hearts. 

The day Kim proposed, was the last day I saw my family for almost two months. In some ways, my parents gave me church discipline. I was cut off from my family, with whom I was incredibly close. I was living on my own at the time, and had many evenings left to my own demise. All I could think about was my sin. At one point, I thought about throwing myself off the I5 bridge because I couldn't stand myself. 

God broke me. He shattered my "perfect" vision of myself. I realized how greatly I needed grace. I needed rescuing from the mess that I had made! It was my fault. No lying could change it. Nothing I did made it better. I couldn't blame others for my sins. It didn't matter how my parents treated Kim or thought about him. I had to own my sin. 

God placed us in a home group at Red Sea that gathered around us. They showed us love, grace and truth. In simple terms, they said, "You're wrong. And we love you." We were encouraged to seek reconciliation out with my parents, and to admit our wrong doing. It was a hard pill to swallow. I had done a lot of wrong things. I, even, bought my wedding dress without my mom. It was much easier to hold on to some type of blame for someone else, then to fully hold myself accountable without pointing fingers. I read once that even if you are only responsible for 10% of the problem, you need to take 100% responsibility for that 10%. And I was responsible for a lot more than 10%.

After meeting with my parents and our pastors, I called my parents to see how they were feeling. It wasn't good. I reached my breaking point. Cried out to my mom and asked to come home. I asked for forgiveness without pointing fingers. She came and picked me up right away. I was brought home. I received unconditional forgiveness, mercy, and love. In one night, my burdens were taken away.

I thank God for my parent's tough love. I needed to be cut off. Without it, I would have continued to be selfish and blame others. Those two months of isolation from my family, gave God the opportunity to work on my heart. He showed me the desperate state of my heart. I realized that I wasn't "good". I needed a Savior. And he loved me when I was in the depths of my mess. He didn't love me more when I was going to church, or being 'good.' He died for me when I was in the midst of sinning. Grace became real to me when I understood my depravity.

God lifted me from the depths. My relationship with my family was restored to a better place than ever before. My mom is one of my best friends. It is truly a miracle. She and my dad gave me grace beyond measure. We were reconciled in the beginning of June of 2008. Seven months later, Kim and I were married. This is mostly due to my parents' encouragement and forgiveness. They did not hold anything against us. 

This story isn't about me. It's about what God has done. He took a broken girl, a broken family, and made them new. My marriage is a testament to God's goodness. We will be married six years on January 17th, and I cannot take any credit. All the glory belongs to Jesus. It's his story.

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree

One of my favorite traditions, that was started by my mom, is collecting a new ornament each year. Since my very first Christmas, my mom purchased a new ornament for me. Over the years I have collected enough ornaments that I could probably decorate an entire tree with just my own! My mom's goal was that each child would have a good sized collection for when they moved out. 

I love opening the decoration box and seeing the ornaments from my childhood. My mom would let us choose our ornaments each year. They reflect our likes and personality. Beauty and the Beast is my favorite childhood movie, so I have many, many ornaments of Belle. 

One of my favorite ornaments is Kirsten from American Girl dolls. I loved the Kirsten books and own the doll. I remember getting the ornament from Hallmark and being extremely excited to hang it on the tree.  

When Kim and I got married, he didn't have any ornaments. His family never had a Christmas tree. I was determined to buy him ornaments. Or our first tree was going to look pretty girly. The past six years, I have purchased several ornaments for him, mostly comic book related. Any spider-man ornaments are his. And there are several!

I knew that this was a tradition that I wanted to continue with my girls. Each girl has their first Christmas ornament. With Jessie I was able to buy a set of ornaments that created the cutest train. 

With Tali I bought a cute, little bear with the year stamped on it. Of course, I bought this ornament after Christmas last year, because everything is half off! I put it away in my decoration box. And totally forgot about it! 

After thanksgiving I was on the hunt for a Tali's first Christmas ornament. So I bought this cute little picture frame one. Then we I opened the decoration box, it hit me! I had already purchased a first Christmas ornament. Oh well, she has two now! 

Each ornament is special and tells a story: our first home, first Christmas together, an amazing dad, favorite movie character, a special nativity scene. Every year I get to relive memories, tell my own daughters about my childhood, and build new memories of their childhood. It is definitely a tradition I recommend starting. And it's never too late to start. 

Sounds and Smells of Christmas

I love Christmas: the music, presents, decorations, parties, cookies, and most important, the memories. As my girls grow, I get even more excited about Christmas. I look forward to sharing Christmas experiences and creating  memories. Each year that passes provides new opportunities for me to give to them. This year I am loving the ability to bake with my oldest, Jessie.

Last night I was able to bake cookies with Jessie. We made peanut butter blossoms. It is so fun to have her help stir, pour in ingredients, lick the beaters, and squish the chocolate kisses into the cookies. It warms my heart to make memories together, just like my dad and I did.

My dad knows how to make 4 things: german pancakes, french toast, any type of grilled/bbq meat, and sandbakkels. Every Christmas, from the time I can remember, my dad would make sandbakkelswith us. Sandbakkels are Norwegian sugar cookies. It's a basic recipe of sugar, butter, flour, and an egg. You know, the good stuff! You take a quarter size ball of dough and squish it evenly up the sides of special Sandbakkel tins.

The cookies are baked for 9 minutes and make the house smell amazing! Once cooled they are crisp, sugary deliciousness! I love them!

Every year my dad takes out the tins, and I know it's Christmas. Once I was big enough I would help him squish the dough. Sometimes we would watch a movie while we made cookies. Sometimes we would just talk. It didn't really matter. We were making memories.

My siblings would help as well. Leah always tries to eat the dough. John can eat several cookies at a time. Normally a batch of sandbakkels don't last more than a day or two. We started doubling the recipe. I get requests from friends for these things all the time. We even served these cookies at our wedding! It's a part of our family history.

Sandbakkels will be passed down to my girls, and hopefully their children. When I moved out, my parents gave me my own set of tins. My dad has my great-grandmother's tins. It's a tradition that continues because it has meaning. The cookies are delicious but it's the memory of being with my dad, watching "It's a Wonderful Life" and knowing that I was making the same cookies as my grandma, and her grandma, and her grandma once made, that make Sandbakkels so special.

The memories of time spent together are the real treasures in life. I can't wait to continue to make more memories with my little ones.