Mark and Regina

So often I'm asked how Mark and I met, how we found each other after time, everyone just loves the story. So, I thought I'd share, bit by bit, our story in small chapters.

Mark and I met when I was 13 (or there about) and he was 15 outside our church in the parking lot. To tell you the truth, I can't remember the exact time of year but I do know that it was warm enough not to wear a jacket and it was just getting dark around 7:30-8:00 in the evening. We'd been to a youth activity where we had our first encounter.

He was outside talking to someone, my friend, Shawna, I think, and came outside to see what she was up to. Of course, she was talking to a "guy"--Mark, as it turns out--she was dark and beautiful with the curvy figure I'd wanted to possess, thick dark brown hair, and she had a fun personality, it was often I'd find some boy pining away for her. I, on the other hand, was skinny with as many curves as a pencil, glasses, and permed blonde hair, so I was often jealous of her, even if she was being "worshipped" (yeah, that's how I imagined it) by a nerdy guy.

Mark was wearing a light colored shirt and blue jeans. His his short black hair was slick and combed ala 1950--almost, and he was having a conversation with Shawna about pain tolerance. You know how teens are; awkward.

I'm not sure when I got into the conversation and interaction, but there was some lifting and caring involved. Why was this 15 year old boy carrying a 13 year old girl around the parking lot when she had perfectly good legs? I don't know. You'll have to ask a 15 year old boy why that would happen. Why would a 13 year old girl allow herself to be carted off by a vurtual stranger? Again, I don't know, I'm sure my current brain must be newly hatched because I can't imagine allowing anyone to carry me around now! Well, ok, Mark can, and does. Maybe it was some mystical spell he cast on me, I just knew I could trust him,and into his arms I went--my first view of my home.

I would have never guessed that 20 years later we'd be married with ten children to love and care for. He was gangly and awkward, I was scrawny and dopey. Things have changed since then. Today he's extremely handsome, sexy, strong as an ox, tall (well, he's always been taller than me), confident, balanced, and the exact man I would design for all of our girls to marry if I could. I have filled out a bit, figured out how to eat a sandwich, found a curve or two, acquired some contacts and better looking glasses, and mellowed out my obnoxious giddy school-girl angsts.

You never know what a chance meeting will do. I'd say we spent maybe and hour together that night, an hour that I sadly have to say didn't leave that much of an impression because I have to strain for the memories--I really just have one small moment captured in my head, a snapshot of him and a recording of one phrase than ring in my ears whenever calling up that time.

We now have a 13 year old girl and it tickles me yet frightens (maybe "frighten" is a little strong) me to think that she could know today the man she'll be married to when she's 32. If she does, I hope he's even half as wonderful, sweet, devoted, disciplined, and doting as her dad, my sweethear, Mark.

After that night, we didn't really see each other until a year later when I started my freshman year in high school, he was a junior, and we shared a seminary class together before our regular classes. It was during that year that our metamorphasis began.