Wednesday, 19 January 2011

• December

  I realize that most people do not enjoy reading romantic writings or romantic thoughts. Nobody believes in it anymore. But as I’ve been reading Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek and N.D. Nelson’s Notes From the Tilt-A-Whirl, I have been realizing some different things about life. Good things. So a recent development for me has been the appreciation for romance both for myself and other couples. For a long time, I didn’t believe in it anymore, but I think I was wrong. Or perhaps just hurt. Or maybe both. Mama Metts has been teaching me that sometimes things aren’t done wrong, they are just done differently.

   

  So, for a long introduction, here is a piece of writing out of my journal describing an experience we had over Christmas Break. This was an attempt to describe an image with 1,000 words, or an attempt to tell a story better than a picture might be able to.

   

   

  The day began in the most perfect way possible. It began with freshly squeezed orange juice shared with the most beautiful person in my life. We had already decided that this would be day 1. After an adorable Christmas pageant at church, and a couple of hours of preparation we embarked on an expedition to a state that Valerie had never seen before, Wisconsin.

   

  The specific location was Lake Geneva, located about 30 minutes north of our house. We drove in, shouting a beautiful pop-culture laced song from that 70’s show, ending with “Hello Wisconsin!!!”

  After taking a picture at the state sign, we hurried on to the lake, pacing to beat the sunset. And so the painted picture begins.

  They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but I think that words can tell a better story. This is why I’m writing by hand. To never forget this moment shared together. This is for you, Valerie.

  At first glance, it seemed that the lake simply was not frozen. The sun was starting to set in the west, which was clear by the reflection off of the water’s surface. We drove past big foot park, still convinced that the lake was simply smooth water. As we detoured through town to avoid the reconstruction of the bridge I elaborated on the town and it’s Coldstone’s, it’s indoor smoking sections, and it’s Chicago-style pizza.

  We cruised past, when WHOOSH! 2 small vehicles, with drivers raced past on the ice. The ice was frozen after all! We parked, and excitedly headed for the beach, skates in hand. Upon walking down the stairs, Daniel and Rachel took off by foot towards the ice and towards the sunset. Valerie and I stayed behind, hurriedly lacing and shoving our skates on to meet the sunset.

  We walked, blades in sand and hand in hand to the water.

  The waves had frozen in time and so we stepped up and over onto the ice. And here was the shocker. The ice was completely clear. We looked down through the glassy surface to the rippling sand below. It was as if we were floating, but already set in motion from our departure by land.

  We sailed along, nervous of both the stability of the ice and the smoothness of the glass. This was quite a drastic difference from the pre-conceived expectations that I had given Valerie. Instead of rough, translucent, and cloggy, the ice was smooth, clear, and magical. With unruliness we continued to float joyously towards the sunset. We twirled, we danced, we went backwards, we went forwards, we swirled, we touched the surface. We looked down at the sea-weedy bottom, with darkness, but an unexpected lightness! With excited fright we felt as if we were standing 15 feet off of the ground. We saw tires on the ground and fish stuck in the ice. Air bubbles were frozen in time, and so were our minds. We took deep breaths, trying to take it all in.

  We stopped.

   

  We embraced, cherishing the perfect moment. We held each other, hand in hand and heart in heart. In momentary silence we examined the perfect creation that surrounded us, reaching to us with open arms. The sun was finally saying goodbye, lowering itself behind the trees on the right. In front of us Daniel and Rachel walked and walked, centered in the lake with perfectly symmetrical reflections. To the left an airplane landed where a hot air balloon had just recently been. Behind us there were other skaters, using the ice for a shred romance, or a game of hockey. Above us, nothing moved.

  We were a part of the portrait, not simply spectators. Below us the water moved, the seaweed swayed, and the fish swum. It was a synchronization executed with an unparalleled precision.

  In this moment, I know that I was alive. I knew that I was alive and beautifully made. I knew that we were alive. The surreality of the scene confirmed our existence. We were made for God, for each other, for the Pond in that moment. Nothing was wrong or confused, and all wrong was right. I had stopped believing in love, but here I was, in it’s arms. The beauty and bliss of existence was decided. We are and always will be a shared part in this existence. And this, this was day 1.

   

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