When I was seventeen, I did not trust my judgment with choosing guys. I was a serious high school senior, whose tender years had taught me that life was fragile and uncertain and mostly, beyond my control. Losing my daddy at the age of four burst the protective bubble that should surround children with an innocent freedom from worry. I realized that people you loved could and did die, leaving you bereft of care. My mom’s debilitating stroke ten years later initiated a strange role reversal for the four youngest kids in my family: we assumed the parental role and our mom became the child who needed care.

I was keenly aware that the absence of paternal involvement in my life made me quite susceptible to male attention. There was not a lack of eligible guys in my social circle; some were interested in me and the interest was reciprocated. I did not know how to be casual: dating meant that you lost your heart to someone and that led to marriage. I did not want to screw up a life long commitment. How could I know what the attraction was based on? How could I know what qualities in a teenage boy would morph and grow into husband material? How could I know who would share my thoughtful, sober outlook on life, someone who would thirst for freedom and more education in the same palpable way that I felt those things? I was the most serious seventeen year old that I knew.

I wish I could reach a tender hand back through the tunnel of time and place it on that girl’s tight shoulders and reassure her that it was going to be okay. That she should try to smile more, lighten up and have some fun and be silly once in a while. But she didn’t know how. She had already stepped into a world of adult responsibilities and there was no way to rewind the reel.

During those difficult years, I talked to God. A lot. He was the stable, trustworthy force in my world. After all, He is a father to the fatherless and I qualified. I remember a day in September, 1979, when I was talking to God about not being able to trust my own judgment with guys. With teenage angst, I wanted to date but also didn’t want to screw up a choice that would profoundly affect the trajectory of my life. That autumn day I asked God to close the eyes of my heart and not open them until the right one was there. I trusted Him with my whole heart and felt the internal peace of a sleeping baby.

One month later, someone asked me out on a date. Tomorrow we will celebrate our 38th wedding anniversary. If Larry had arrived with a handwritten note from God, it wouldn’t have been any more clear to me. He is a gift from my Father and daily I am grateful to be his wife.

Sometimes I pine for those simple, idealistic days of trust. Life gets more complicated and murky with years and cynicism frequently knocks at the door. Today I need a reminder that God hasn’t changed; He is as stable and trustworthy as ever. I choose to put my hand in His and let Him lead this dance of living. I want to see the world and my life through His eyes.