5

A little over five years ago, we were sitting under the lights on our favorite spot on campus. I was probably fidgeting with the railing and changing my seating positions way too often. I definitely had fifty thoughts running through my head. We had finally said it: you liked me and I liked you, and we were trying to figure out what the heck that meant now.

Each year September rolls around and I'm in disbelief. The years have brought us way more of the unexpected than our 19- and 20-year-old selves could have thought: distances, delayed graduations, extravagant surprises, gross misunderstandings, messy families, and a shared love of Giants baseball.

I've changed a lot in these past five years, and you've seen me through it all. I scroll through our shared dropbox folder we made last year (our first anniversary apart), and I can tell just by my photos: my casual hoodies and club t-shirts of undergrad, the first couple summer dresses I owned, nicer tanks and tops in the post-grad life. I remember when you loved me through my capstone engineering project, through my cynical first semester back from six weeks in India, when you were completely unsurprised I went on to work with InterVarsity, when we revisted the camp where we first met (not that there are any memories of that time--we didn't exactly have awesome first impressions). You tell me that I've made you get better at talking about feelings, small talk, or just talking in general. We laugh that we're both still very different people who have managed to grow a little bit more into each other, only to find that we land on opposite ends of the spectrum (again).

I still can't believe it sometimes: life with you and who you are. how much you love me, support me, deal with my crap and make me better. Listen to my ramblings as I can't sort between personal life and ministry. Bounce back my ideas about faith and hypothesis and theories. Your existence and lifestyle remind me that faith looks different, that "living out faith" really does need to be contextualized. That you and I live witness and relationships in different ways, and it reminds me to open my eyes to pay attention to the perfect moments where God has put people like you in very specific places. That you may not throw your friendship net in wide, wide circles like I do, but when you give loyalty and depth with one who does make it in your circle, it comes with a deep commitment.

And for someone who loves giant parties and energy and adventures, my favorite times with you are our "nothing" days that involve sitting around, enjoying each other's company, talking (sometimes me just telling stories...), and maybe cups of hot chocolate or likely some ice cream. Somehow with everything chaotic in my life, the best things I love with you are simple. Like walks after dinner. Or sunsets. No one loves sunsets daily quite like you and I do.

I love the hundreds (I'm sorry, am I exaggerating again?) of things that have become life with you and me: passing the camera across the table at dinnertime, taking walks, predicting responses, laughing at predictability, the string of nonsense from either of us that leads to laughs and giggles. Your puns and my unrelated stories. My persistence and your patience. And lots more, but you're already laughing that I've written almost 600 words about this, though I'll insist that no one reads my blog anyway.

So hey. Here's to more words and more us and more years.