We don’t go out “on a date” very often. We never have, really. I guess between knowing each other forever, being on a fixed income, and living so far out in the country, the idea of getting dressed up and driving to town for a fancy dinner out is just something that has never appealed to us.
I used to live that life. It was fun and exciting to go to fine restaurants and rub elbows with “the haves”. To stroll the streets of Aspen or Snowmass, wander through the hoity-toity shops, then cozy up in front of a fire with fancy food and forks I had no idea how to use. Well, let’s just say…this country girl learned how to feign social prowess to a degree. But talk about imposter syndrome. I was really a fish out of water.
There were a lot of reasons I came home to West Virginia but the biggest one was to find myself. To go back to my roots. I remember talking with my long-time sister-friend. I can’t remember the conversation per se, but I think I was sounding a little too pretentious to someone who has known me since we were fifteen. She knew better and called me on it. She reminded me not to get too big for my britches because she knew from whence we came. She was my Boone’s-Farm-Ride-or-Die home girl.
When I came back, I was broken into a million pieces. I needed the comfort of these hills and red clay to patch the pieces together again…piece by piece…stitch by stitch till I began to believe I could survive. I was four years a widow when I had my first date with Mr. FixIt. We went for a drive through the hills and backroads. I sat back in the passenger seat of his truck with the window down, letting the wind blow through my hair. I felt a glimmer of something. Something familiar, yet different enough. Something warm. Something comfortable.
We dated for awhile and it became apparent this was something special and we committed to see where it might take us. Our dates consisted of grabbing a salad and heading down to the river to watch the boat traffic on the water. Or going to Rural King to look at the baby chicks and ducklings and buy birdseed. Or going for a long drive in the country. They were inexpensive dates. They were comfortable dates. They were made more special by the bond between us.
Every day is a date because we choose it to be. We choose to be here for one another. We choose to love each other. These are the lessons gleaned from the fires of my grief. That simple is better. Less is more. That stuff doesn’t matter and food is food just like a car is just a car. Be it a tender cut of Wagyu Beef or burgers on the pool deck. A brand new Mercedes convertible or 2002 Lincoln. The fact I get to do this with someone kind…with someone faithful and true…with someone who loves Jesus is the wealthiest existence I could imagine.
Yesterday’s big Dinner Date?
Cracker Barrel!
They make swoon worthy grits. Biscuits that melt in your mouth. And sweet tea that tastes like the nectar of the gods. Their waitstaff is friendly and attentive. All in a clean and comfortable dining room adorned with antiques like I grew up with on Grandma’s farm.
Someday, I want to look back and remember these comfy dates and less of the evenings I primped in front of a mirror and built up the non-existent courage I felt to be “on”…to be something I really wasn’t. Not deep down inside. This is much healthier and much more fulfilling.
I won’t take that for granted. Not even for a minute.
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“…Love makes up for practically anything…”
1 Peter 4:7-11 MSG