(maaaybeee/maybe it was them/or maybe it was me/or maybe it’s maybelline/or maybe it’s maybelline)
If you know from what song those lyrics are, you get bonus cool points!
If you haven’t been reading about the epic love story that IS Preacher Man and Jen, allow me to recap:
There, now you’re all caught up. With Easter approaching, Preacher Man and I decided to each challenge our sections with giving up something for lent. Preacher Man decided to give up music with words for the approximate thirty days, and I decided to give up make up. Being the college girl that I was, make up was a big part of my morning routine, and I felt like giving it up to spend time with God and focus on feeling beautiful because He created me would be quite the sacrifice.
During this “fast” of mine, I visited my – by then very serious- boyfriend Kevin, who was living off campus. Even though Kevin and I had been friends for two years prior to dating, we’d kind of taken turns crushing on each other (crushing on? apparently we were twelve). As such, our friendship was one of those that mandated I put on makeup, fix my hair, and make sure I smelled delicious before hanging out with him. He knew what my lent sacrifice was, so when I saw him I asked, “So…what do you think?”
Being without make up – in front of the guy you hope to one day marry – asking him what he thinks – is a pretty vulnerable spot in which to find yourself. His response?
(long pause) “Well….” (another long pause)
“It’s okay, you can be honest,” I replied (a relationship’s last words), “Do you think I look better with makeup?”
I remember this moment exactly. I was standing in his living room, and I was wearing a black, knee-length skirt, and a red turtleneck sweater, an outfit chosen painstakingly just for him. He looked me in the eye, shrugged his shoulder a little bit, and held up his pointer finger and thumb.
“Maybe just a little bit,” he responded.I don’t feel like I need to belabor this point, but that was probably not the best answer he could’ve given.
I brushed it off as no big deal at the time, but I was pretty hurt that my vulnerable and makeup-less face was “just a little bit” not enough.
Meanwhile, Preacher Man and I were still hanging out and had started to talk fairly regularly on the phone. We talked about everything – things we were studying, doubts, classes, food, and even future plans. I remember telling him that I wanted to wear daisies in my hair on my wedding day, and I remember him telling me that he imagined me to be the kind of girl who wore overalls a lot when I was pregnant. Of course, I never imagined I’d be looking at him with those daisies in my hair, and I’m sure he never imagined it would be his child my overall-ed self would be carrying.
Oh my. Can you handle the irony?
So one evening, Preacher Man and I chatted on the phone for a particularly long time. One of us ended the conversation with, “Well, we both have to wake up for church in the morning, so I should probably go.” After lunch the next day, we saw each other in the library, and after a minute, realized that neither of us had actually made it to church that morning. As we continued to talk, we realized we both planned on going to the same church that evening.
“Why don’t we just go together?” he asked, “Meet me at my car at 6:15.”
So at 6:15 promptly (’cause that’s how I roll), we met to go to church together. Shortly after this, Preacher Man traded in his SUV for an Alero, a choice he complains about even today. He’s all like, “I really miss that SUV. You know, if I still had that car, we wouldn’t have a problem with getting all Bug’s junk packed when we visit home.” And I’m like, “Yeah, but honey, it guzzled gas, remember? That’s why you got rid of it.” And he’s all, “(sigh)You wouldn’t understand. You never saw that SUV. Oh man, I loved that SUV.” And I’m like, “YES I DID! Remember? We went to Gregoryville together that night you fell in love with me, and you didn’t open your car door for me, and I had to climb up like ten feet to get inside, and we showed up late to church, and then you fell in love with me? Remember?”
And every time, just like we’ve never had this conversation before, he responds, “Oh. Yeah, I forgot.”
We did indeed show up late – we thought church started at 6:30, but it was apparently 6:00 instead. So we snuck in the back and grabbed a hymnal. We’d been singing for a few minutes, when Preacher Man whispered, “JP!” (a college nickname)
“Yeess?” I responded, most likely agitated because I hate when people talk during church, the movies, or my favorite television shows.
“You’re wearing makeup!” he accused.
“No I’m not,” I responded. Then he got a funny look on his face, which I thought was doubt about my honesty, so I whispered, “Well, I am wearing chapstick, but I don’t think that counts. It’s not like there’s any tint or even flavoring to the chapstick. My lips were just dry. No, that doesn’t count. At least I don’t think it does. It’s just chapstick. No way chapstick counts as makeup”
For someone who hates when people talk during church, yes, I was doing a lot of talking.
It turns out Preacher Man didn’t hear my ever so eloquent diatribe on chapstick. Do you want to know why? Listen closely, because this is my favorite part of our entire story. He didn’t hear me because he was thinking, “Wow. So she really looks like that without makeup? Wow. She’s beautiful.”
In all the time that Preacher Man and I had talked about girls in whom he was interested, he never referred to any of them as beautiful. For whatever reason, that word was sacred to him, and the fact that the word just ran through his mind in reference to JP -his good old buddy who had a boyfriend JP -most likely caused his brain to internally explode.
Meanwhile I was babbling on about chapstick, completely unaware that yes – my friends – Preacher Man had finally noticed these sky blue eyes of mine.