I SPENT MY FIRST YEAR of college chasing after boys and a life of significance. I was constantly on the hunt for “the one.” Ring by spring is a joke on many Christian college campuses. By the second year, I was tired of competing with other women for attention. I have always been pretty comfortable in my own skin, choosing what I liked instead of whatever was popular around me. After a year of experimenting with significance, I decided I would take some time off from that life. I wore my hair in a messy bun, threw on a tank top with some thrift store gym shorts and flopped around in my favorite worn-in rainbow sandals. My look wasn’t exactly screaming “looking for a relationship.” I thought I was playing it safe and keeping myself off the market.

It was during this time that Dave and I became friends. I had seen him around campus and was happy to look at him from afar. He was definitely easy on the eyes. We didn’t become friends until his little brother transferred to Azusa. Where I avoided initiating interaction with Dave, his brother Coba and I instantly fell into an easy, platonic friendship. His wife and I still laugh about how confused people were about the nature of our relationship. On the other hand, Dave was always really nice but never communicated any romantic interest. So, I casually hid my attraction and enjoyed being around him as a bonus to my friendship with Coba.

Dave and I only ever talked around campus, never exchanging phone numbers or anything, so when he graduated and I left for an urban immersion term, I thought that was it. I found myself thinking about him regularly in a way that really bothered me. I had never met anyone I had been attracted to in quite that way, yet I thought he was too good to be true. I felt grossly preoccupied with conversations we had in college and it seemed silly that our interactions still had such a grip on me. We ended up seeing each other a few times, but then I turned my energy to the second half of my degree: I had to spend a semester abroad in Bolivia, doing independent research and working for a nonprofit for my degree in Global Studies. Still, nothing of note had developed and I was willing myself to forget about him.

Living in an unfamiliar city with a Bolivian family who spoke almost no English while wrestling with the painful reality of poverty all around me was taking a toll. I was too busy mentally during the day to think about anything except basic communication and not getting lost, but at night, the loneliness of isolation was suffocating. I craved community. I would reach out to my roommates to hear about how life was just marching on back in L.A. They were working catering jobs, had found a new church, and were spending their free time in the sun at Seal Beach eating breakfast burritos.

This was supposed to be my summer! I had arrived in Cochabamba in the middle of South American winter to the harsh reality of high plains, dry and cold, and I had not planned for this. After a few months of struggling through each bewildering day, I reached a breaking point. I was in my room for the evening when it all came to a head. I lay freezing on my floor, despite wearing every layer of clothing I had, and sobbed. I cried until I simply couldn’t cry anymore.

Back home, I could go on for a long time without facing these scary feelings. Here in a completely unknown place, where everything about daily living was different and hard, I couldn’t ignore the fearful emotions of loss and loneliness. When they finally broke over me, I was consumed with fears about being left behind, being alone forever, and the feeling that I had been running from these fears for a long, long time. Like a dam breaking, my tears released a flood of all-consuming sadness that I had pushed down as deeply as I could for years. Crawling into bed, completely wrung out, I prayed that Jesus would just be with me before I fell asleep.

When I woke up, the cold desperation from the night before was thawing into joy as the sun shone through the window onto my bed. Everything ahead of me looked different in the golden morning light. Even the broken glass bottles cemented to the walls surrounding my house that functioned as a security system had changed from menacing to brilliant jewels in my newly opened eyes. I spent the day in wonder at the amazing experience, a chance to live in a reality so different from my own. I ate at the street-corner salteña stand without fear of getting sick. I rode the crazy local bus, smiling as we weaved dangerously through crowded streets and laughed at my faltering Spanish with my host family at dinner. In place of the fear and loneliness that had been so consuming, a feeling of lightness and excitement changed the way I saw the details of my day.

As I closed my door that night, I felt free. I sat down at my desk and opened my computer to check my email. I literally laughed out loud.

“Hey, girl! I have been trying to get your email for a while now, and I finally tracked it down. How are you doing? What is life like there? I was wondering if you need a ride from the airport when you get back into town? I was hoping we could start spending more time together when you get back?” It was literally everything I could have wanted in an email from Dave staring me back in the face, and on the day after I had relinquished my heart and future to the Lord, no less. Even more astonishing to me was the freedom I felt to just enjoy this surprise correspondence without needing to understand its significance.

For the rest of the time I was in Bolivia, we exchanged emails almost daily, getting to know each other without the confusion of any kind of physical contact. By the time I returned to L.A., we had established a deep, significant friendship. I still didn’t know if we would turn that into a romantic relationship, but I was no longer afraid of interacting with him for fear that my secret crush on him would be exposed. Greater than that, I knew that God had a plan that I had not manipulated. Whether or not our relationship ever blossomed into something romantic, our friendship gave me hope for whatever God had in store for my future. Across the equator, something really special was happening, and where dread had been, I now felt excitement for whatever was to come.

Dave: During my junior year at Azusa Pacific University, I went to a basketball game with my roommate Lou. I’ll admit, I was semi-interested in the game, but the real reason Lou and I were there was to heckle the opposing team and check out all the girls on campus. It was a ton of fun and provided a much-needed break from writing papers and reading for our classes. As Lou and I were sitting there, panning the crowd, the sound of the referee’s whistle reminded me why we were there. It was the first timeout of the game and out came the APU Cougars cheerleading squad.

As football players, we were never able to see the cheerleaders because they lined up behind our bench on the track, facing the stands. But during basketball season, we finally had a chance to see their faces. With an undergraduate population of about 3,500 people, we knew most of the girls on our squad, but I was always interested to see who the new girls were. As the cheerleaders bounced onto the court, my excitement turned to butterflies. To this day, my heart still races when I think about this particular game. One of the girls came trotting out with a longer stride and immediately stood out from the rest. She was a head taller than her teammates, with dark-brown hair and exotic (almost Latino) looking eyes. It felt as if time stopped, and what was supposed to be a 30-second timeout felt like an hour.

It was Lizzy. I was in love.

I couldn’t help but notice how amazing Lizzy was. I watched her help lead an on-campus Bible study that we both attended, and I noticed how the other girls always seemed to look to Lizzy when they were going through hard times. Lizzy also organized a few of her friends to make care packages for members of the football team to take with us when we played on the road. And, on a college campus where a lot of the girls dressed for attention, she remained modest. I was falling in love with her—and hard.

Unfortunately, the timing of my newfound feelings for Lizzy was horrible. I was graduating from APU in a few months and would be moving home to work, all while she was going to study abroad.

A few months later, I called her to see if she wanted to come with my family and me to Olvera Street in L.A. It is an iconic little alley adorned with all the colors and cultural decorations of a small town in Mexico. Combine that with my big Mexican family, and it was a great test to see how Lizzy would respond around us. The day I picked her up, I got dressed up, did my hair, put a little cologne on, and drove to the host family’s house. I arrived around sunset and waited out front with my cool black Spy shades on, leaning on the hood of my newly washed, cherry-red 1987 BMW. I was laying it on thick. We joined the rest of my family and piled into one of our big white church vans. They were crazy and loud as usual. Lizzy didn’t even blink.

She’s perfect.

After our unofficial date to Olvera Street, we didn’t talk or see each other much. The last time we did talk was before she left for Bolivia for the second part of her study abroad term. We said we would keep in touch. However, we didn’t. I can’t really explain why I didn’t reach out, other than wanting to test the strength of my...