Part One: Of PMs, Football Players, and Not Taking Showers

"To expect the unexpected 
shows a thoroughly modern intellect."
-Oscar Wilde

It was June 7, 2012. I was sweaty. I could feel the dried up sweat from not only my own body but the sweat from at least a few other people salting my skin with a special sort of griminess. 

I was tired. I could feel the bruises forming on my arms. Why did I like martial arts, anyways? Maybe it was the lame pride I took from all the bumps and bruises I got during and after classes. Maybe it was all the guys telling me I was tough and if any boy came near me I would rip their arms off. I liked it for some odd reason. Maybe it was because I didn't 'like like' boys. Who knows. 

All I knew in that moment as I sat at my dining room table however, was something that always precedes spontaneous disaster. 

I was bored. 

I didn't want to do school, everyone else was in bed, and I couldn't find anything fun on facebook to peruse. Honestly, I don't really remember why I went on the CollegePlus forums. All I really remember is I did. A bunch of homeschoolered kids talking college should help my circulation. Yep. Unfortunately, I didn't find myself doing much of anything productive, if at all. Let the games begin!

Who is that girl? And I have no clue who this is... what am I doing here anyways. I should go to bed. Nice post. Or not. And... what the... he thinks I'm a guy?

The proof is in the post.

I stared at my computer screen. I stared at my profile picture. I stared at my picture harder. That's it. I've been called many things, and masculine is one of them. I wasn't about to be called masculine again, at least not for good reason. Heck, this kid has never seen me punch anything. This kid doesn't even know who I am. But honestly... do I look like a guy? 

Let's be honest. I don't really look like a guy in this picture. Do I?

I scrutinized my picture. I looked like a girl doing a beautiful thai kick. Maybe if the word 'beautiful' described me and not the kick it would be better. Maybe I should... you know... change my picture.

My new profile picture that caused all the chaos. Nice lake, hm?

Change of profile picture? Fine. Why can't I have a picture of me doing martial arts? Why is that so masculine? Why? Oh, a skirt is feminine. This ought to do it... Bingo. I am now a girl again. What now people, what now. But why am I on the forums again? Go to bed, stupid. Or maybe take a shower. But wait a minute. Wait.

After about 180 seconds (yes, that is an estimated average), I had one new PM in my inbox. I had a funny feeling I knew exactly who sent it. Audible groan. I remember audibly groaning. Because right there, right then, I somehow knew. I somehow knew that the second I opened that PM, things would change. I knew who the PM was from.

It was from the boy. The one who said I looked like a guy. Or who thought I was a guy. Great, just great.

The one who had mistakenly thought I was a guy. It was a short message, but I still remember it perfectly.

Nice picture ;P

Well. Thank you. I ONLY CHANGED IT BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT I WAS A FLIPPIN DUDE, YOU KNOW. I was a bit confuddled as I stared at my screen, but deep inside I knew what was happening. I knew what this football playing boy from North Carolina was up to. Guys don't just send girls who live 1,017 miles away (get used to that number) messages saying their picture looks nice. Girls might do that to other girls, but guys don't do that to girls unless... unless... unless what? Unless... actually, I had no idea.

The endearingly bizarre PMer from NC in all his football glory.
Kinda cute, or so I think.

Well then. I was in turmoil. Here was a guy- a very cute guy- who had just dropped the opportunity for conversation in my sweaty, martial arts lap. Did I want to write back? If I did, I needed to be prepared for the train wreck that was sure to follow. 

Train wreck? Wow, I'm an optimist. Who said anything about a train wreck? But somehow in my tangled little heart, I just knew. 

Ever hear about those moments when God 'tells' you something? Well, he was telling me something very clearly: if you write this boy back, be prepared for things to change and never be the same.

What was I supposed to do? I was overreacting. It was a two word message from a guy who I'd never talked to, who I never wanted to talk to, who probably didn't care if I lived alone in the desert with my hippie family (and in case you were wondering, no, I don't). It was a friendly gesture. Nothing more. However, for some unearthly, illogical, and completely contrary to my personality sort of reason, I had fallen hook, line, and sinker for this random dude. I did what I didn't necessarily have to, but simply wanted to.

I wrote back.

I honestly don't remember what I said, how I said it, or what he said back, but we talked. I do remember telling myself to act completely natural. Nothing makes me feel ill quite like girls who powder up their personality simply because they are talking to a guy. 

We talked, we talked, and we talked. For a while. His name was Jacob, and he was not only cute, but bitingly funny. We messaged back and forth for about an hour. He asked me questions, I asked him questions, but all in all it was very innocent. Nothing at all to get excited about. To be honest, I wasn't excited. 

No worries. Or maybe? Maybe I was worried? Because for the life of me, this boy was talking to me about nothing, yet it seemed like every word I read was magical. It was a stupid feeling. It was stupid. I was being stupid.

When we finally said goodnight (He wished me to dream of dead cats, the sweet soul) and I shut down my computer, I stumbled upstairs. I was still sweaty. I was still tired, even more than before. But sure as heck, I wasn't bored anymore. 

My mind was racing. My thoughts flew in and out of my head like it had become Ronald Reagan International Airport. I didn't like boys. I didn't. I was the one my family poked fun at because I vowed never to get married, never like a guy. I was the one who promised to thrash any guy who even came close to saying anything about liking me. I was the one who proclaimed I was to stay single for the rest of my days and happily. You know- maybe be one of those 50 year old women with a cat and a home gym.

So why did I have this funny feeling after talking to a boy (1,017 miles away, mind you), about absolutely nothing? Why did I feel like I... you know... liked him? Is that even possible? Can you like someone you've never met after talking to them once? About nothing? It was so illogical, but I couldn't fight that feeling. 

I felt like God was waving a hand in front of my face as if to say "HELLOOOOO! Wake up, stupid! This guy is important! You better get to know him, you'll be hearing from him a lot!", but I couldn't follow through. No way. No, what was stupid was I was acting like a fool over a guy I only talked to once, but online of all things.

Still. I couldn't deny that God was speaking to me. I always wanted to know what it was be like to 'hear God speak to you'. Well. I knew it right then in that moment. It's sitting next to someone with earbuds in. Sometimes, you can happen to catch bits and pieces of the music. You know it's music, and you might even catch a word or two, but you don't fully know what it is. You just know it's there. That's what it felt like.

I didn't want to like him. I didn't want to like Jacob. But God was saying something about him, and I had enough experience to know I needed to listen up. 

When I finally collapsed in bed, I knew I needed to pray hard. I didn't know what to pray, so I just figured I would rant and ramble. God would understand. I peered out my window at the full moon that cast yellowish, shadowy beams across my bedroom floor, and I prayed. 

The exact words are all but lost, but I do remember mentioning that I didn't even like the name Jacob, that I didn't know what God was doing since I promised him I would stay single forever, and that I didn't know why God was letting this happen. The words fumbled out of my exhausted head and out of my mouth. I don't think half of what I said made any sense to any human ears, had they been listening. I do however, remember praying these exact words:

God, I just pray that you would have your hand over this relationship, that if it's your will that we would meet, that you would bring us together in your time, whether that be here or there. 

What. What did I just say. What did I just pray? What? This wasn't a relationship, not even in the friend sense. This wasn't even an acquaintance. This was a boy I talked to once. I was jumping through loops that didn't exist. I didn't know. I was tired, I was confused as to why God was starting something (because in my heart of hearts, I knew he was starting something), and I just wished every stupid boy on the face of the earth would keel over and leave me alone.

I lay awake for a while, knowing God was about to do something. I knew it. I feel weird saying that now, but I will never forget that feeling. Never in my life will I forget it. Just because it makes no human sense, doesn't mean God can't use it. My poor little heart was beating out of desperate confusion at what God was doing. He was ruining my plans, that what he was doing. He was putting puzzle pieces where I didn't want them to fit. But somehow, I knew they belonged where he was placing them, more than where they had previously been. 

What are you doing God? Why are you doing this?

I knew why I had audibly groaned when that PM showed up in my inbox. I didn't want this. I wanted my plans to work. I wanted my plans to work, because in my stupid little bit of human understanding, it made sense. I wanted to own a dojo. I wanted be a martial artist. I didn't want anyone to tell me what to do. I didn't want my perfect little plan to be ruined.

And that boy, that Jacob Clifton was ruining it, whether he knew it or not. Or maybe I was ruining it. Maybe God was ruining it. But God doesn't do that. 

While I was trying hard to fall asleep, while some boy I'd never met irrationally plagued my thoughts, God was still picking up the pieces and rearranging the puzzle. Things were going to turn out very differently indeed. Even in my wildest imaginations (and yes, they can be pretty wild), I never would be able to see just what God was up to.