Sometimes a Week is Just Too Long

Up until my second coffee date with Juan and Darwin, I had only attended Palabra Viva once per week due to my busy teaching schedule. But I couldn't resist going to church that next day; a week was just too long to wait.

You can imagine my disappointment when a quick scan of the parking lot revealed that Hermano Juan and his orange Mitsubishi were missing. Where could he be? He was always at church, and always on time.

Inside, I knelt at the altar and repented for coming to church, in a cute outfit and matching jewelry (on a work day!), for the wrong reason. My Father was here, and so were many of my brothers and sisters. I asked God to help me receive everything that He had planned for me this evening.

After our individual prayers in silence, Hermana Lupita led a corporate prayer. I was happy to see that I could understand her prayer just as I could Juan's. Her prayer, like his, encouraged me greatly.

After service, I enjoyed chatting with a sweet lady over café y pan (coffee and sweet bread). Ulda is learning English, and I'm learning Spanish, so we are a perfect match. 

In the end, I was glad that Juan had been absent, because had he been there, I would have been talking with him and would have missed the opportunity to make a new friend.

But a week was still too long. As soon as I woke up on Friday (at 6!), I typed this Facebook message with trembling fingers:

Buenos días, hermano Juan. Está bien? No te ví anoche a la iglesia. (Good morning, Hermano Juan. Are you well? I didn't see you last night at church.)

One hour and 28 minutes later, he answered. In Spanish, he wished me good morning and explained that he had been at the mechanic with his car, and it had been too late to make it to church.

About 12 hours later, Juan sent me a message of his own. 

Hola, hermana Sarah. Como esta usted? (Hello, Sister Sarah. How are you?)

When I saw his message, I was just leaving my friend Connie's house. I figured his ears must have been burning because I had talked about him through half of dinner.

I answered his message in Spanish, telling him it had been a beautiful day, which was true. My students had been respectful, engaged in my lesson, and happy all through the day, and then I had enjoyed a lovely chat with Connie, a coworker and new friend.

As I drove away from Connie's house, it occurred to me that I would really enjoy telling Juan all about mi día hermoso (my beautiful day). So I pulled over and sent another message: 

Si puede, llamame por favor. (If you can, please call me.)

And I gave him my phone number. Can you believe I would be so forward? Neither can I.

Eight agonizing minutes later, my phone rang. By the time I arrived at my house, I had told Juan all about my day, and heard about his day, too.

By now it was after 9, so I fed the cats and climbed into bed, phone in hand. Leaning back against the headboard and listening to his warm voice in the darkness made me feel like a teenager again. The only thing missing was a coiled phone cord to twist around my fingers.

When Juan asked, "Who is Walter?", I knew he'd been reading my blog.

"Walter is a man I met in Costa Rica," I answered. "He asked me out, and I said yes, but I never saw him after that."

"Okay," Juan responded. I think that is his standard response when he doesn't know what to say.

"I mainly wanted to go out with him because it had been five years since my divorce, and I hadn't been on a single date. I wanted to get that first date over with and maybe have a nice dinner and practice my Spanish."

"Okay," Juan said.

I babbled on like I usually do when I'm nervous. "I still haven't been on any dates... because I hadn't met anyone I would want to spend my life with."

"No?"

Just then, I remembered something. "Oh, actually I have been on one date... last week."

"Oh?" 

"I had a blind date. He was very nice, and we had a lot in common."

"Oh?"

"Yes, but I didn't feel any connection with him."

"No?"

I took a deep breath. "I think it was because I like someone else."

The line went so quiet that I could hear us both breathing.

"I think you know who I Iike, Juan."

"No, I don't."

So he was going to make me say it.

"I really think that you do."

"No."

I could feel my heart racing. "It's you, Juan. Por supuesto (Of course)."

"Ohhh!  Well, I like you too. I really like to see you."

"Me too. I mean, I like to see you."

"Sarah, I think about you all the time."

"I think about you too, Juan. Every day."

At that point, our conversation turned very serious. He told me that he had been praying that God would send him a wife, but he explained that he had surrendered to God's will and would be happy with or without a mate.

I told him about my own prayers for a husband who would be a spiritual leader, and how I had also surrendered my will to God.

"I've been praying a lot about my feelings for you," he said. "I've been asking, 'God, what are you up to?' "

We agreed that if we were going to have a relationship, God would be at the center from the start. 

"Would you like to pray now?" Juan asked.

"Yes, I would."

"Do you mind if I pray in Spanish?"

"Please do. I can understand when you pray."

I wish I could have recorded that beautiful prayer. To be honest, I know I missed some of it because I was distracted by Juan's warm, passionate voice. When he speaks English, I always find his El Salvadoran accent quite charming, but his Spanish voice with all those rolled Rs can only be described as... sexy. Of course, you're not supposed to have those kinds of thoughts while you're praying. I silently asked God to help me attend to his words.

I remember that He thanked God for bringing me to Palabra Viva and allowing us to meet. He said that we were surrendering to His will for us, and to His timing. He asked, if it were God's will for us to be together, that our relationship would be one of faith, fidelity, love, and friendship. He asked that we would honor God with our thoughts, feelings, and actions. Finally, he declared blessings over me, my children, and my students.

Tears filled my eyes and overflowed. This prayer was fulfilling a deep longing, and I felt a warmth spreading through my chest. 

At the same time, I felt something breaking apart in my heart. Seven years before, I had vowed, "I will never love another man as long as I live. I am never going to hurt like this again."

Now, the wall that I had built around my heart was starting to crack, and fear tempered the joy I'd been feeling. Could I trust Juan with my heart? Could I trust myself? 

My tears continued to flow when it was my turn to pray, in English. I thanked God for the unpredictable ways that he works. I echoed Juan's prayer of surrendering to God's will and asked that we would glorify him in all that we say and do. I asked that we would encourage one another to draw closer to God, and that we would learn and grow together. I asked for peace and trust in God's good plan that is better than anything we could want for ourselves.

Finally, I prayed something born out of my own insecurities. "Help us to remember, whenever we hurt one another, that we belong to you, and that you will always love us."

Juan said that he loved my prayer. "Could we pray together every day?" He asked.

"Yes, I would love that," I said. 

Next, he said I could call him anytime, even at 3 in the morning. 

I laughed and said he'd better watch out, given my frequent problems with insomnia.

We set our first official date for the following Wednesday, which I had already requested off because it was the day before my birthday.  

Can you guess what I'm going to say next?... Yes, you know me well. That, my friends, is another story. Soon, I promise. 

This picture that I snagged from Facebook captures Juan's fun-loving spirit very well.