Can I tell you a crazy love story?
On the Fourth of July, 2012, I boarded a plane with nothing but two suitcases and a guitar. I was moving to Colorado with one goal: to marry Abby.
I first met Abby six years before that. We were both playing in an ultimate frisbee game at Michigan State when I was smitten by this cute, Serbian girl with freckles. But she didn’t really notice me. I eventually worked up the courage to ask Abby on a date. We spent a magical evening just talking at a local coffee shop well past midnight. I think even then we were starting to fall in love. I wrote her a song on my guitar and she sent me on a scavenger hunt to our favorite spots all over town. That summer we were in separate cities, but we mailed a journal of love letters back and forth.
We made it through our summer apart, but that autumn, our relationship abruptly ended. We were both confused and brokenhearted. We tried to be friends, but it was too painful. One night, I collected all the photos and letters from our relationship, sealed them in a box, and buried them by a tree on campus. It was my college-age dramatic attempt to put all my feelings to rest. It didn’t work.
I graduated and moved abroad to Istanbul, Turkey to work with a nonprofit and teach English. But I still thought of Abby and emailed her from time to time. She graciously replied to my messages, but when she didn’t ask me any questions in return, I slowly came to the realization that I needed to finally let go. I committed to not contact her again.
She was in Michigan. I was in Istanbul. Over 5000 miles lay between us. For two years there was no communication between us.
Not a call. Not an email. Nothing.
It seemed as if we would never talk again. But God had other plans.
One night, Abby had a dream. Not just any dream, but an intensely vivid dream in which she traveled to Turkey to reconcile with me. At first she dismissed it. But then she had another dream, and then another. Finally, she wrote me a simple email to say hi and ask how I was doing. I remember the morning I saw her message—my heart lept. I wrote her back, and this time, Abby replied with questions of her own. Over the following weeks, our letters grew longer. I told Abby I still had feelings for her. She felt the same way. We started Skyping just as Abby moved to Colorado for a new job. A few months later, I surprised her by sharing that I wanted to move to Colorado to be closer to her. Abby was flabbergasted. After almost falling off her bed, she happily agreed.
Now, back to the Fourth of July, 2012. I made the move to Colorado and after months of saving every penny I could find, I bought a ring. I sent Abby on a scavenger hunt around town that led her to one of our favorite parks just as the sun was setting behind the mountains. I told her about the box of artifacts from our relationship that I had buried back in college. (Since moving to Colorado, I’d secretly had a friend in Michigan dig up the box and ship it to me.)
What I left out before was that, prior to burying the box, I wrote a short letter to Abby, put it in the box and buried it with everything else. That letter contained one question: “Will you marry me?”
I showed Abby the letter, got down on one knee, and proposed. She said yes! We were married that summer at an old church on a hill. Seven years and two kids later, our crazy love story goes on. I think that sometimes, the old saying, “if you love someone, let them go,” is true. And sometimes, you have to move across the world just to end up back together. Love can be crazy that way.