Tag: love

Puppy Love

By Keisha McKinney

Yall, I’m in LOVE (insert deep sigh…..).

What a year 2016 was for me.  I know I gave you a full list on my blog of all the things that had me mesmerized in 2016, but I just didn’t disclose everything….I mean, how do you put it in to words?

I love Starbucks mobile ordering and pickup.

I love chips and salsa.

I love peanut butter and banana sandwiches.

I love getting fresh ingredients and new recipes delivered to my front door.

Oh, how I love my new baby niece (like heart multiplied as I became an aunt kind of love).

I know the last couple weeks have been all about the gushy, mushy kind of love.  And, I know what you are thinking, “Keisha, you are a newlywed. Gag, we get it already. ”

But friend, you are wrong.  I’m talking about that fresh every morning, new every day, “love you no matter what” kind of love…

Becoming a wife made me a #dogmom. 

I knew Mr. McKinney’s dog. I had been around her while we were dating and even took care of her some weeks when he moved away. But she was the first one who stole his heart so I wasn’t sure where I’d fit in. Let me just say, we are both smitten.

She was found in a ditch by a friend of Mr. McKinney’s roommate and spent the first 2.5 years of her life being the only “female” in a house with dudes. To say she lived/s on a pedestal would be an understatement. I mean when my main squeeze gets home every day, she practically climbs up his body and they have “a moment” together.  She loves him.  But, really, she just loves. 

Since I work from home these days, she and I have bonded.  She stays and snuggles with me in the mornings after Mr. McKinney leaves for work. We have a morning routine that involves coffee for me and Rachel Ray’s Dish delights for her (I already told you she’s on a pedestal…this part just involves chicken and vegetables).  At different points throughout the day I’m reminded when Gizmo the neighbor’s cat saunters down the street, Tucky the neighbor lab who grew up and won’t fit under the fence any more can’t come to visit, and anyone comes to make a delivery.  A plethora of animals from stuffed chickens or hedgehogs, crinkly flat blue elephants, or fuzzy “rad bones” make a visit to my lap for an afternoon toss in an expected order.  Sometime after 4, I start getting the “quit working mom” face.  She can only lay on her Serta dog mat by my desk for so long.

And, in case you’re wondering…no, she doesn’t know she is a dog. She sleeps under the covers at night and on Mr. McKinney’s pillow in the morning. If you get up and leave your spot on the couch, she will quickly take it over. Her furry snout and sweet whiskers always make their way between your knees while you dine on breakfast, lunch, or dinner (she is not really picky).  A knife with peanut butter on it will never stand a chance and if you pray over your dinner while seated at the coffee table, you better keep one eye open.

Puppies.  They just steal our hearts.

My Bailey Girl loves deep. She is sensitive. She anticipates routine and is curious by change. She knows the smell of a good dinner and can hear the sound of the refrigerator door opening even if she is in the furthest corner of the back yard. Daylight Savings Time messes her up…the dark, early evenings make her want to eat dinner an hour earlier and have her sitting in the front window waiting for her master. She forgives fast and loves you best by her presence and touch. She knows mama doesn’t like the licks in the face and has to be reminded when enough kisses have been shared. She knows her name and basically 157 words (they say dogs can memorize up to 150 words…but I promise she is advanced).

She cowers when you discover that while you left her alone, she “accidentally” got in to the treats. She curls up on the couch in “her spot” around 8 and yes, somehow all the pillows find their way to that end of the couch.  

She doesn’t ask for much and gives with everything she has. She is not very good at catch, but will fetch all day long. She is a little quirky when it comes to lights and can be completely thrown off by a flashlight. If it’s soft and squishy, she is going to lay on it and still doesn’t understand that the world does not revolve around her.  Because well, around here….its kinda does.

She is our baby girl. Papaw said it best, “Bailey, the best thing for you is that you never discover you’re just a dog!”

Now, that’s love and I just can’t imagine how I wouldn’t love her forever.

Keisha (Pittman) McKinney is settling in to her new married life in South AR after she #becamemrsmckinney.  A Digital Media Director by day for a church in Northwest Arkansas, Keisha is remembering what it’s like to plan ahead for shopping trips to “the city,” getting resourceful at her small town Walmart and creating online shopping personas everywhere. She blogs @bigpittstop about daily adventures, cooking escapades, #bigsisterchats, being the #HostesswiththeMcMostess, and the social justice causes on her heart.

Blog –bigpittstop: new journey, new normal, new you –  http://www.bigpittstop.com/

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Crayons and Old Songs. {Love Story}

Crayons and Old Songs. {Love Story}
Written by ARWB December 2011 Bloggger of the Month, Stephanie Hamling, of Proactive Bridesmaid

I sat behind the tech as she took pictures. Measurements, diagrams, the dull “thumpthump…thumpthump” that ecohed in the small room — there it was, my daddy’s heart. The possibility that something could be wrong with it was as impossible as the fact that something I knew to be so boundless could fit on the monitor’s screen. “Thumpthump…thumpthump.

My Mom had called that morning with the news that they’d gone to the ER shortly after midnight. Dad’s arm had gone numb. They’d been running test after test. He was in his own room when we got there. A nurse was questioning him, “Do you walk much?” My brother and I laughed. My dad walks, hunts, fishes, helps Mom tend a large country garden, enjoys woodworking, and does just about anything his kids ever need help with. And I’d been feeling the guilt of that — repairing my roof, trimming my trees, hauling away the hundreds of rocks left as a legacy from a previous tenant — since I’d heard, wondering what part of that was the one thing that was too much. I’ll probably never know.

When I was small and sick, Dad would pull a rocking chair up to the fireplace and, old blue Kiwanis songbook in hand, cuddle me in his lap and sing to me. “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?” was my favorite. It’s a shame none of us, my bothers nor I, got his singing voice. It is one worth hearing. We can all lay claim to having a few of his dance moves, though, even if we pale in comparison.

After an evening of coloring, the ornery six-year old me refused to pick up my crayons. With more than fair warning, Dad tossed them one by one into the fireplace. I was bitter about the loss of my favorite, wrapper-less, burgundy stub for longer than I care to admit. First I sat and cried. Then I picked up my crayons. I learned to take care of my things after that. And I learned that getting up and doing something is almost always better than sitting around crying. In retrospect, I bet those ten minutes were far harder on Dad than they were on me.

I recently got into my car, heading back to my house from Mom and Dad’s, and found the gas tank that had been sitting on “E” was filled to the brim. Dad. I walked out my door during a recent visit, and guess who was putting new blades on my windshield wipers? Dad. When he sat up to eat at the hospital, he offered to split his dinner with me because I’d been sitting with him for a few hours. Dad.

I could go on and on — the secret handshake, the games of Crazy Eights, the notes, the hunting knife that he happened to be sharpening when my high school boyfriend walked in the door. For some things though, there just aren’t words.

My Dad has taught me so many things, but, when it comes down to it, he taught me the one thing that trumps all. Love is a verb.

I love you, Daddy.

Content © Stephanie Hamling 2012.

Stephanie, originally from Wonderview, AR, now lives in our state’s capitol. A freelance graphic artist and a local-food activist, she enjoys gardening, photography, and cooking. You can indulge in more of her musings by visiting her blog, Proactive Bridesmaid. Stephanie was Arkansas Women Blogger of the Month in December 2011.

My Loud, Crazy House {Love Story}

Several months ago I noticed that the post theme for February was “Love Story”. I immediately started making plans to write a happy little post about my life in rural Arkansas and how much I love it.  Then I was standing in my kitchen trying my best to perform the most routine of chores, and it hit me what I really love so much.

I grew up in a very structured household.  You ate your food in the kitchen.  You played with your toys in your bedroom.  Holidays and other events were planned months in advanced.  And you never ran through the house or spoke above a normal inside voice.  I had great parents and a great childhood.  I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

I married nearly seven years ago.  The two of us lived in our little house with our Jack Russell Terrier, Chloe.  It wasn’t structured, but it was quite and simple.  The most excitement was cheering for our Texas Longhorns (sorry Razorback fans) during big games.

Our perfect angel, Arlington (Ting), was born in June of 2009 and our life was turned upside down.  Suddenly there was crying at all times of the day.  Bottles and toys littered every room of our house.  Cheering for our favorite team was no longer possible because either we were being quite so she could sleep or watching Nick Jr so she would be happy.

Here we are, 2012.  Ting is two and a half years old and we are expecting a little boy in April.  Our calm Chloe has gone blind and is constantly bumping into everything and barking at every single sound around us.  We both work full-time outside the home so toys, clothes, and who knows what else lies scattered around our small house (which seems to get smaller each day).

As I stood in my kitchen Sunday afternoon, the Super Bowl was on the TV.  I was trying to watch the game, cook chicken, prepare brownies, and wash a few dishes and a load of laundry – all at the same time.  Ting was running around wide open singing, dancing, throwing dolls everywhere.  I was doing my best to not trip over Ting and her toys.  Chloe was barking her head off at every little bump we made.  Hubby came home from work and was trying to talk on the phone.  It was TOTAL CHAOS.

That’s when I realized, it’s the chaos that I love so much!  I cannot begin to imagine my life as a quiet and organized life, and honestly wouldn’t want it that way.  I love my loud crazy house.  I love my chaotic life.  I can’t wait to add another child to the mix… it’s going to be so much fun!!

Karen lives in South Arkansas with her husband and daughter.  She loves reading and cooking and anything that involves spending time with her family.  Her blog, Ting’s Mom, chronicles her daily life as a mom and wife, as well as an occasional review of products her family can’t live without.

 

 

Love, from the Bottom of a Backpack {Love Story}

Love, from the Bottom of a Backpack {Love Story}
Written by Lisa Mullis of Frenetic Fitness

Several years ago I was in the puppy lust stage of a new dating relationship with a man who was “outdoorsy”. His closets held things like 4 season tents, down sleeping bags that compressed into sacs barely larger than my head, multiple backpacks, titanium cooking utensils and Gore-Tex hiking boots. My closets were full of slingbacks, pumps, ballet flats, clutches, totes, satchels, my Mikasa china and a down comforter that would need its own U-Haul when I moved. He owned a road bike and a mountain bike and could read topographical maps and UTM coordinates. I hadn’t been on a bike since I was in elementary school and didn’t know what a topographical map was, much less UTM coordinates. He took semi-annual weeklong backpacking trips out West with his college friends. I took trips to the mall. I was more familiar with line dancing than zip lines. I could work out one of those bras that had 7 configurations but couldn’t figure out how to strap on a backpack without help. Sleeping under the stars? Yes, but only if there was a giant skylight in my bedroom. So it shouldn’t have been a surprise that as the relationship progressed, he would need to find out if I was going to fit in with that part of his life. He arranged a test: a weekend backpacking trip to North Sylamore Creek near the town of Fifty-Six in the north central part of the state.

How was I, a person who had moved to Arkansas as a child and had spent all her formative years here so unfamiliar with the outdoors, he wondered? Because my parents were not outdoor people, that’s why. My dad was a Vietnam Vet who had done his share of bivouacking and told us from the time we were little that camping was out of the question. That was not an experience he would repeat without being paid to do so. I did go to church camps a few times as a girl, and did not enjoy it. But I liked this guy and while he was more certain about our relationship than I was at this point, I thought I should at least try to see what he found so appealing about this camping thing. So with my hiking boots of questionable quality, a borrowed backpack full of borrowed gear and one new nylon shirt purchased that morning because I had packed cotton, not realizing that was a big no-no, we set out for our first joint backwoods experience.

Within an hour of starting off down a well worn trail, I realized he was leading me farther and farther away from the familiar rut. Soon we were “bushwhacking” in the wilderness. Was he trying to see if I’d freak out? Perhaps he expected me to complain about the rough terrain or the weight of my pack. I was passing the test with flying colors, we were 3 hours into the hike and I was still having a great time, a much better time than I had expected. Soon it was time to get back on the trail so we could start looking for an overnight campsite, but the best place to get back to it would involve climbing a tree up to a ledge above us. Yes, climbing a tree. Was this part of the test? If it was, I figured my grade was about to drop. I wasn’t sure I remembered how to climb a tree. Somehow I managed with less effort than I thought it would take and we journeyed on down the trail, sometimes chatting away about the things people chat about when all their stories are still fresh and haven’t been heard a hundred times over by their partners and sometimes walking in silence with little but the sound of wind in the trees and boots on the ground. After what seemed like days, but was in reality only a few hours, we found a primitive campsite close to a water source. Did I mention he expected me to filter my own drinking water too? I was exhausted. So I was quite happy to let him set up the tent, unload all the gear, start a fire and make me dinner. And then he did something a little unexpected. He pulled out chocolate pudding cups and a little bottle of Grand Marnier for dessert. On our very first date, he ordered Grand Marnier so we could continue to occupy our restaurant table until closing. It was a nice touch, a reminder of romance and that special feeling you get when you connect with someone, and I hadn’t envisioned it happening in the backwoods of Arkansas, pulled from the bottom of a backpack. A girl could get used to this.

I have had plenty of time to get used to it because I fell in love with backpacking on that trip and finally admitted to him what he had suspected for weeks, that I loved him too. Now I have my own backpack and much better boots and we spend as much time out in the woods and on the trails as we can manage. I learned to love it so much that I agreed to go backpacking for a portion of our honeymoon. Okay so it was backpacking in Peru but it was still backpacking. We still hike and backpack, sometimes just the two of us but more often it’s a family affair because we know that as much as we love each other and the beauty of Arkansas, we need to help our kids find their own love for it so it will be treasured and preserved for their kids to love.

I’m a Wife and Mom. I’m a microbiologist. I’m a mountain biker, hiker, backpacker, sometime runner, and workout enthusiast all while being addicted to good food. I write about it at http://freneticfitness.wordpress.com. I also write for www.ArkansasOutside.com about other people who love to play outside too. I’m fueled by pizza, red meat and goat cheese risotto. And sometimes I sleep.

 

My Love Story {Love Story}

My Love Story {Love Story}
Written by Erin Yarbery of Bideawee.

This story begins six months after we married when we found out we were expecting. We weren’t trying to get pregnant, but I didn’t believe in using artificial birth control and we didn’t know exactly how natural family planning worked. We were nervous, but happy.

Less than two weeks later, we miscarried. It was hard and painful in many ways, but we were young and had been told that miscarriage is incredibly common. We had hope that the next pregnancy would be better.

A year later, we became pregnant again and, within a couple of weeks, miscarried again. This miscarriage was both easier and harder. Physically we knew what to expect. Mentally and emotionally, we couldn’t understand it. We wanted to know why it happened again, but, where we live, a specialist will not see a patient until she’s had at least three miscarriages. Although friends and family offered love and support, we felt fairly alone.

Nine months later, at Christmastime, we had our third pregnancy. Although it was also a surprise, we were more excited about this pregnancy than the others. We felt certain that we would finally have a baby. We prayed. We visited our parish priest and asked for special blessings. Hub remodeled every closet in the house trying to make space. I tried different remedies to have a healthier pregnancy and had been taking prenatal vitamins for a long time. We did everything we could possibly do to remain positive. My doctor did everything he could do to help us. It lasted two weeks longer than the previous pregnancies, and it was, by far, the hardest loss.

Believe it or not, we picked up the familiar pieces and resolved to be happy anyway. We knew we needed to focus on our health for a while. We needed time to breathe and time for Hub to finish college. Thus, putting aside my personal beliefs and attempting to do what was best, I chose to use “the pill” for a little while.

Nevertheless, only a few months later, I endured a fourth pregnancy. I knew from the beginning that this pregnancy was different; something wasn’t right. I had immediately stopped using the pill when I realized I was pregnant, but it was already too late. Almost as quickly as I realized I was pregnant, I also realized I was having another miscarriage. I made an appointment with my doctor, who confirmed with blood tests that my levels were definitely dropping, so I went home and prepared for the inevitable physical pain.

This time, however, I endured the most painful sensations I’d ever felt. For several days, the pain would come and go with increasing intensity. I paced the floors at work gritting my teeth and bearing it until it subsided. I was too stubborn to take sick leave. Having done this before, I knew I would only feel depressed at home, so I continued working. I had discussed with Hub my suspicions of a tubal pregnancy, but, because the pain would always subside, we assumed it was just a miscarriage.

Finally, one afternoon as I browsed the local craft store, I found myself alone in an aisle, hunched over in pain and nearly in tears. I didn’t want to make a scene, but I knew something was wrong. I straightened up as much as I could and walked, like a zombie, to the truck. Somehow I managed to drive, while sobbing, back to the university where Hub was volunteering at a plant sale with the agriculture department. By the time I arrived, I knew I couldn’t walk a step further and I was embarrassed to be seen in such a state, so I called his cell phone and asked him to meet me in the parking lot. He knew immediately that my condition was serious – I rarely ever felt pain I couldn’t handle – so we headed to the doctor’s office.

A vaginal ultrasound showed that I was indeed having a tubal (or ectopic) pregnancy. My doctor was extremely surprised that I had been able to endure the pain for so long; apparently, nearly too long. I was in serious condition and was sent to the hospital for emergency surgery. The tube was removed.

It was an outpatient surgery so I recovered at home. As soon as I we walked in the door, Hub took control. He held my hair and cleaned up after me while I threw up; helped me roll out of bed every morning as my stomach was sore; laid me on the couch and turned on my favorite TV shows and movies; answered the phone when I couldn’t or didn’t want to; made breakfast, lunch and dinner; took care of the dog and the laundry and bought groceries. He took care of everything so I could wallow as long as I needed. He was my hero; my knight in shining armor.

Eventually, the pain weakened, my hormones went back to normal, and I returned to work. I dove back into life and slowly felt like me again. It was during this time that Hub finally showed his emotions.

He had remained so strong and brave throughout the process, never complaining. He had spoken about it freely and answered everyone’s questions without hesitation. Thus, when I saw him break down, I was shocked. I had not expected it. When I asked why he had waited so long to embrace his emotions, he said, “I had to be strong for you… until you felt better.”

So we cried together and held each other for a long time. It was his turn to hurt. This was when I realized I would never, ever have another friend like him; another man who would put his feelings totally aside to care for me in my time of need. I realized I was living my love story, in all its imperfections, with the man of my dreams. It meant more to me than any fairy tale ever could.

I am Erin from the blog, Bideawee. I’ve lived in Arkansas all my life and always dreamed of traveling the world. I have a bachelors degree in journalism and I’m happily married. We don’t have children yet, but we truly love our furbaby, Lakota. This is our journey.

Loving Laura {Love Story}

Loving Laura {Love Story}
Written by Julie Kohl of Eggs and Herbs

I think my first true love as a girl was for Laura Ingalls Wilder.  Not necessarily the real Laura but the fictional Laura that lived in the pages of the Little House on the Prairie books.  I romanticized the pioneer lifestyle and everything that was Laura.  I found myself drawn to pioneer type activities (sewing, crafting, cooking) and loved going to museums where the “olden days” came alive within their walls. Old Sturbridge Village, Colonial Williamsburg and the Billings Farm and Museum, where my mom worked, all had amazing pioneer exhibits and were places I loved to visit.

I looked forward to stormy winter nights (I grew up in Vermont) when the power would go out and we were forced to live by candle light and warm ourselves by the fireplace.

I channelled my inner Laura every time my sister and I played “Indians” or “Cooking Rock” by the pond in our back woods.

I always had a penchant for things that were handmade, homemade and simple.

I have read every book written by Laura Ingalls Wilder, several times.

I have read many books written about Laura.

Laura was a sister, a friend, a confidant, a mentor and long before I understood that Laura was real, she was real to me.

Laura was my first true love.

How Many Times Can You Fall in Love? {Love Story}

How Many Times Can You Fall In Love
Written by Ashley Smith of Sugar Britches

When I saw this month’s writing prompt, I immediately composed a post in my head regaling you with the story of how my husband and I came to be with each other. Then I remembered that I had already written that post a few years ago. And who hasn’t already heard everyone else’s love story? They met, they fell in love. They parted ways only to meet again. Or some other version of the same. It’s all romantic, a bit sappy, but original to each of us.

Instead I want to tell you about the last time I fell in love. See, I have kids. Three to be exact. If you are a mother in any way shape or form you know what I mean about loving your kids. It’s crazy love. Possessive love. Mother bear love. The kind that gives you superhuman strength. The kind that frightens you more than you thought anything ever could. I say this with all honesty and not a bit of snark (which is a hard thing for me) that I love my children more than I have ever loved anything or anyone on this earth. More than my husband. More than my parents. Way more than my first pet. Light-years more than my first “true love”. But like I said, it’s this last time that I fell that I want to discuss.

This last time, I fell hard. I mean cliff diving front flip belly buster into an ocean of snuggles, tantrums, and endless crashing waves of ecstasy and fear. My baby, I still call her my baby although she will be four whole years old this summer, my last child, my only girl. She stole my heart, every bit I had left after doling it out for the past 8 years and won’t let go.

Yes, yes…I know I have two other children. Rough and tumble boys who find farts hilarious and wrestling a part of their daily to-do list. I love them, it is obvious. They don’t want for attention anymore than any other child with siblings. But the fact remains that they are boys. Different in a way. I don’t get them. It was easier when they were babies and toddlers and the gender differences weren’t so pronounced. I’m guessing that is what daddies are for, besides the obvious reason of procreation. Because little boys need someone to connect with. Someone who gets them and why they are motivated to poke each other with sticks, lick unsanitary things, and never ever and I mean never stop moving. I love those boys, never mistake that.

While it was just the four of us for a short time, it didn’t feel complete. The last thing we needed was another mouth to feed, and I would never win an award for patience, but I felt compelled to try for just one more. And maybe, hopefully, wish on every single star that I would get a girl. Never in a million years did I think such an important wish would come true. It was granted, and she was a star gifted to me by the heavens and Mother Nature herself. We named her Stella, Greek for star. A perfect miniature incantation of myself. The blonde hair, green eyes, fierce expression all a perfect mimic. I was instantly in love. She was and is pure magic.

I have reveled in her for the past three years. Swooned over her absolute gorgeousness. Laughed myself silly alongside her baby and toddler giggles. Watched in awe as she navigates this life she was given.

The other night she tried to fly, which resulted in ER trip. She fought the CT scan as hard as she could until they made me leave the room. She was scared of the “bachine” and screamed over and over for me. I stood outside the door listening. At first she was hysterical, and when she realized that wasn’t working she began to reason with them using all her three year old knowledge of persuasiveness. “Can I please have my Mommy now?” ” I just really want my mommy.” Eventually she held still, the “bachine” did its thing,  and the doctor brought her out to me. He commented that this must not be my first rodeo since I wasn’t beating down the door or crying myself. I laughed and jokingly told him my boys had broken me in well. What I didn’t say was that I was sick to my stomach, listening to my heart scream from the other room.

We lie in bed and snuggle every night. Every night that she doesn’t try to sleep with us. And yes, I am a complete sucker for her when she tells me that she wants to sleep with me because she loves me. Or because I am her precious mommy. Or because my bed is awesome and her’s is not. We cuddle, touch noses, sling arms around each other and I often whisper that she is my favorite. It is our secret. I tell her not to tell her brothers. That it is very important because not everyone understands. There is no love like the love between a mother and daughter.

 

Ashley Smith loves turquoise, antique white, thunderstorms, dark coffee, dark chocolate, and dark red wine, thrifting, crafting, writing, picture taking, child loving, messing with her husband, pretending to know what she is doing and blogging. Don’t forget blogging. Visit her at SugarBritches, her online home of three years where she chronicles her cooking, crafts, and kids. And also routinely drinks wine out of Mason jars.

Finding Love Online {Love Story}

Written by Jamie Smith of Jamie’s Thots.

I have to admit, I’m almost embarrassed sometimes to tell people that I met my husband on MySpace. Considering the site’s reputation and the
general perception that people seem to have of relationships that start online, part of me wants to say “wemetonMyspacebutitistotallylegitimate.”

Yes, all fast and together like that.

The truth is, meeting online is not so uncommon any more. It’s not just the people looking for a green card or people who don’t feel comfortable
interacting with the opposite sex unless they are behind a computer screen. As online interactions become more interwoven throughout our life
experience, it almost seems inevitable that people will meet their soul mate through some kind of social media or online experience.

But I digress.

Let’s start at the beginning.

In late 2006 and 2007, I was going through some of the most difficult times of my life. Heart wrenching, devastating and abusive.  It was at
this time, I decided to try the whole “God thing” from my childhood a try so I started attending church in Southwest Missouri, about 45 minutes from the gabillion churches that were down the street. It was there that I heard a New Year’s Day sermon that included the letter from a well-known pastor titled “Let it GO!”

I found the text of this letter and posted it to one of my blogs, the one on MySpace. At this point, my MySpace blogs were more for me rather than
other people. I liked it when people read them and commented, but they were more for my self expression and gauging of healing and growth than anything else.

That was why I was surprised to get a late-night (as in middle of the night) email from someone about this blog, which really contained no
original thought. It was a nice note, a guy from a nearby town simply saying that the letter had ideas that he too has had to learn in life and
that his mom really likes that pastor who was quoted and thanks for posting it.

Now at first, I didn’t respond. I had a series of incredibly negative experiences with men who had found me on MySpace. They were abusive,
confused and just really unhealthy. It was because of these experiences that I had decided to stop dating and focus on figuring out this whole
“relationship  with God thing.” It wasn’t a “man ban” per se, but in effect I guess that’s what it was!

But something kept me from deleting the message. A few days, maybe a week later, I read it again and decided, “you know, he’s not hitting on me.
He’s not asking anything of me. He’s commenting on a blog that is about God.” So, I sent him a message back that thanked him and made some other nice conversational comment.

He replied back. I don’t even remember what it was, but something about what he said caught my interest and I wanted to know more about the topic so we engaged in an email conversation that spanned a couple of days. It turned out, by the way, that the odd hour of his email wasn’t creepy at all. He worked third shift so for him, 3 a.m. was the middle of the day, not the night.

We started talking and as crazy as this sounds, we both realized after about two weeks that we would start dating and that it would be a serious
relationship. I was already thinking “this is the kind of guy I want to marry some day.” I was too practical to say “I’ve found the ONE.”…
especially considering we had never met in real life!

We planned our first date at a restaurant off I-540 in Springdale, which was halfway between my home in Bentonville and his in Fayetteville. Oh,
that’s another thing. When people discover we met online, they assume it was a long-distance relationship. We were both right here in Northwest
Arkansas.

We met for breakfast and finally decided it might be good if we left when the lunch crowd started coming in. In some ways, we took things slow
because we had both been burned. And we were both too practical to do too much stupid! But our relationship quickly grew and we were determined to base it on God, which I think is why we are successful.

But truly, since the first moment I’ve met him, John has been the greatest gift God could ever give me. He’s fairly quiet whereas I’m more social.
That, and the weird hours that we work means most people in my life haven’t met him. When they do, the resounding comment that I get is “you
can just tell how much he loves you and how special of a man he is.” That makes my eyes fill with grateful tears every time I hear it.

Our first date was March 30, 2007 and we were married in Springdale on Sept. 21, 2008. We just celebrated our three-year anniversary. It’s been a tough three years, but not in the sense that most newlyweds mean. We’ve been thrown a lot of curveballs through the form of job losses,
life-threatening illnesses, financial struggles, major depressions, family deaths…you name it. But instead of these events tearing us down or pitting us against each other, we’ve been able to use them to draw us closer to God and to each other.

I often wonder how we would have found each other if it hadn’t been for my willingness to write a blog and him being willing to reach out with his
own views on it. I just know I’m grateful we had the opportunity.

—
Jamie Smith