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Chasing SuziAn Unusual Case of Missionary Dating
By Scott and
Suzi McGarvey The high school
cafeteria was romantically candlelit. Matching
couples and small groups of costumed revelers hovered about covered lunch
tables. This would be easy.
Cruise a few of the groups, grab some quotes, swing home, and jot down a
story by deadline. It’s that Scott guy from History.
What’s he doing here? He’s
not in French Club. Bouncing
from tables to wallflowers, I was on top of my game, student body president,
theater player, budding reporter, and everybody’s friend.
I dropped down at a table of ladies in various disguises I recognized
from AP History. I chatted briefly
and looked up to catch the clown’s eye across from me. Why is he staring at me? Say
something. My
world stopped. Literally.
I stared without a word into this vast pool of someone I suddenly wanted
desperately to know everything about. There
was silence. She looked at
me—anticipating my next question—but I had nothing more to ask.
My story was written. Well, that was actually a lot of fun.
I’m glad Scott came. After
wandering around for awhile, he came over and talked to me for a long time.
Tasha even noticed I talked to him for a long time. He really listened. He
seemed so interested in me. I
glided home that night and drifted into my parent’s living room.
My mother inquired about my night. I
declared I had just met the woman I was going to marry.
Just like that. --------- OK.
Enough of the romanticism; let’s talk about practicalities here.
I originally met her on a Science Fair trip.
Please don’t ask how I got on the Sci-fi trip, mere luck, but she was
the cutest one on the bus and that made the trip nice.
We spent the day together. Even
though she was a year behind me, I had a class or two with her.
She was smart. And much more diligent and studious than I. The rumors are starting that he’s going to ask me out.
Why doesn’t he? If he doesn’t ask me by the end of the week, I’m going to
have to do it myself. Newsflash:
She didn’t go to my church. My
church. The church my dad pastored.
Yeah, now it’s really complicated. My
mom’s pragmatic. If I’m so sure
I’m going to marry her, I’ve got to get her through the Big Three (re: Acts
2:38). Suzi was my Rachel; Mom was
Laban. It was a simple formula. As we were leaving history one morning in April, he asked me to go to
lunch that Saturday. How crazy; he
asked where I wanted to go and I said some place cheap!
He picked me up at 12:30 p.m. I
started slow. First, I diffused
rumors that I was taking her to prom (it seems we spent quite a bit of time
together that first night at French Club Mardis Gras party). I got new sandals and a blue sweater.
I was terribly nervous to order anything big so he wouldn’t think I was
a pig. Afterward, he suggested we
go for a walk in the park; of course, taking a walk with Scott simply meant
walking to a bench by the lake and sitting down! We had such a good time. When we returned home, I invited him
in and introduced him to my parents. We
sat and talked for hours. Our
relationship grew. What religion is he? I can
never remember. It’s something
long—is it Episcopalian? My
parents liked her. He invited me to church. He
was so nonchalant about it. The
service was anything but calm. It
was very cool, but I had no idea what was going on.
Everyone seemed so sincere and happy, I just didn’t know what was
happening. The youth pastor’s
wife sat next to me and tried to explain what was happening, but there was just
too much going on to pay much attention to any one thing. She
was quiet, but extremely hungry. I
was thinking, “Okay. Why can’t he be Baptist or something?
This seems so complicated. However,
I can’t seem to find any reason that it’s wrong.
It doesn’t seem to be harmful. Do
I want to do this? Do I believe
this? It’s the one place I can find relief. It’s just so peaceful.” She
wore shorts while she helped me work on various projects at the church. I
started to wear smaller earrings. I
mixed in some skirts over that first summer.
I had one dress. I
couldn’t go to my mom and say, “I need a new wardrobe; this one isn’t
working for me.” It was my senior year and it was hard to figure out how to
dress. It was awkward and my
friends couldn’t figure out what was happening to me.
I couldn’t talk about it because I was so uncomfortable myself. I was
afraid of what people thought, but I knew that this was what I needed to do. I
knew all the time that she was the one. We
talked for hours. We came from
completely different worlds. Hers
was completely secular. Mine was
spiritually centered. We didn’t
“date.” I brought my sister
along for threesomes of miniature golf and dinner. One
night I told him goodbye and left his house. I thought, ‘What is going on
here?’ I drove around the block
and went back up to the door and said, “What am I to you?”(Cue romantic
music.) He
said, “Hold on, I’m on the phone.” (Kill romantic music.) That’s not
what he’s supposed to say! Then
it came: “We’ve been friends up to now and I think that’s good
to stay for awhile.” And that was fine; I just needed to know. I
struggled to keep the relationship platonic.
I couldn’t keep it up forever. Tonight he told me there’s something he wanted to tell me, but it
wasn’t the time yet. I
thought—you’re killing me here! Then he said, “I think I’m falling in
love with you.” She
went away to France for the summer. During a grueling 12-hour layover at La
Guardia, we talked on the phone. I
told her I loved her for the first time. It
was while I was in France I decided this God thing was what I needed to do. I came home and asked my parents if they were okay with me
getting baptized. I was terribly
nervous. She
came running across the lawn toward me with her arms wide open.
My dad wouldn’t baptize anyone under 18 without parental permission.
They’d said yes. People who are in church don’t understand what new converts go
through. They’re not always
sensitive. I felt like such a horrible person. I didn’t get the Holy Ghost
when I got baptized and that’s all I heard—you’ve gotta get it. A few days later, I got the Holy Ghost all by myself while I
was praying in my bedroom. Then
it started … “Now you and Scott can go out…” and that was very odd. Was
I not good enough for him before I was “saved?”
We’d had this talk earlier about just being friends-it was weirdness.
And then somewhere along the line, he must have changed his mind or decided it
was okay to be with me. Whatever he
was holding back came through. We
spent the next five years (count ‘em, I surely did) together, waiting to
complete college education and find our career paths. Suddenly,
Scott & I became the item. It
became a cliché: Scott & Suz. And
then it happened. He
took me to St. Louis for my birthday. We
were going to spend the weekend with his grandparents.
He wanted to get up on Saturday morning and go to the airport for
breakfast. He was always dreaming
up crazy events. When I sat down at
the table there was a ticket next to my plate.
I was suddenly very confused. It
had my name on it and the destination was Baltimore. On the plane, he gave me a
choice—Washington, DC, or Annapolis, MD. Pick an adventure for the day. I decided to spend the day by the bay. We browsed in idylic art galleries and ate at a little pub
named, uniquely, McGarvey’s. For
the first time, we even looked at rings. That
night, the flight home was nearly empty and we had a whole row to ourselves.
He started rambling about how he’d been talking to a local jeweler
about rings and playing with designs. He said, “And so, last Friday, Robert
called to say he had something to show me.
And this was what it looked like.” He pulls this little white box out
of his pocket and opens it. It was
my ring. Perfectly designed just
for me. “You
said we couldn’t start planning until you had a ring on your finger. Can we start planning now?” Miraculously,
after all those years and the craziness of dating a PK, she agreed to spend the
rest of her life with me. Nearly
four years ago, I finally got to leave my shoes at the front door.
And they stayed there all night long. So,
it was complicated, but I doubt I’d change a thing.
And every time I tell this story, I get the same question, “How did you
do it?” Don’t get me wrong.
I don’t suggest missionary dating to anyone.
It’s dangerous and you’ll get burned-even if you’re good.
It was simply the grace and mercy of God that brought me to the
phenomenal woman I call my wife. It was simply the grace and mercy of God that found me-and that let me
cross paths with the phenomenal man I call my husband. ninetyandnine.com ©
2001, Scott and Suzanne McGarvey --------- Scott and Suzanne McGarvey fight traffic, but not each other, while on the way
to church in Chicago, where they spend nearly every waking moment seemingly
involved in every conceivable aspect of God’s work. Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes they catch catnaps in the
sound booth between services when they’re pretty sure no one’s looking. |
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