A lot of people think that when Christians get married young, it must be for the sex.​

​

Let me just say this, I'm old fashioned in some ways.

​

One of those ways, is that I'm conservative about not promoting my marriage on social media as though it were fairytale perfect, which is why I rarely post pictures of Adam and I, and why I never share photos of us in swimmers on our family holidays. Well, there are a few reasons why I don't share those particular shots, to be honest. 

​

I'm old-fashioned. I believe in the lost art of privacy, and having grown up as a 'pastor's kid,' I'm probably almost over-zealous about protecting portions of our family life from public viewing. I'm also, admittedly, not very romantic. A lady from our church once told me that she thought it was really weird that I hardly ever sat with Adam in church. I laughed so much; "Why would I? He's working, he's busy." I don't mind a good public display of affection, but there's no denying, I never wanted a 'joined at the hip' kind of relationship. 

​

Despite the fact that I'm the kind of girl who wears flannels on her honeymoon, I thought that for our anniversary this year, I might break with tradition, and attempt romance, by sharing a little of how our story started and what this man truly means to me (17 years married today, it's true).

 

I'll start by saying that I am old-fashioned, because I don't believe it's a good idea to make any decision based on sex. Sex is one of those things that I believe pairs best with freedom of choice, when it's 'yes' and when it's 'not now'. As soon as it is choosing for us, as with anything, our freedom, and therefore our joy, becomes compromised.

 

This brings me to my Adam story. I started my first date with him by loudly announcing, in a restaurant, that I was never going to have sex with him, ever, ever, ever, and that if he thought that was where the relationship was going, it would be better to bow out now, because I was never going to change my mind. Adam is a bit older, far more level-headed and relaxed about almost everything. He looked at his menu, having now been assured of what was definitely not on it, and asked me if I would like a drink. He calmly ordered some dinner and then sat back and said, "So, would you like to talk about that?" 

 

The thing with Adam is, he's Italian, and food comes first. You work out what you're eating. Conversation comes after that. There is an order to proceedings.

 

The background that you have to know, that colours the whole meeting Adam story, is even though I was very young, I was already decided that I didn't care about ever having a partner. I was a fiercely independent, focused, ambitious young women and 'don't call me baby.' I had no dreams of marriage or having children. It was low on my priority list, in a bracket, marked with 'maybe, but probably not, ever.' Some of this was healthy. My faith was my greatest passion and there wasn't an ounce of me that yearned to be 'filled' or 'completed' by a relationship with a man. God's love had already taken care of that space. But some of it wasn't healthy. I was afraid of intimacy, of men, of myself and of my own femininity. 

 

But Adam was a friend first and the platonic kind. In the early days, I was not attracted to him. 

 

I still remember the first day I met Adam. I was all of fourteen years old and after a number of invitations, I finally went with a friend of mine to visit her church youth group. I had heard a lot about Adam; that he was this 'great guy' and that he had a disabled sister who he had this beautiful relationship with, and I knew all about how much he loved his new girlfriend. That was all true. My friend walked me into the church hall, not an unfamiliar space for me, and suddenly, I remember this very short man, bursting through the door, rushing up to enthusiastically hug a number of people, and then start 'dancing' (if you can call it that) and clapping and singing some song that I believe was actually in Hungarian. He sang very out of tune, but he was a leader, so everyone joined in and soon we were all mimicking his shamelessness. He was wearing jeans and a red polo shirt. I thought he was weird, but clearly, a leader.

 

In that moment I could not have imagined that in years to come we would have a daughter and a church plant and he'd be rubbing my shoulders as I gear up for yet another late night of studying a PhD topic that came to me in prayer. I could not have imagined so many things and definitely not a first-date conversation about our views on sex outside of marriage. 

 

So, let me fast track to the bit where I stopped thinking he was an admirable but not so attractive man. 

 

It was five years later. I was a uni student and we had been hanging out a lot, for some months. It felt like we were safely in the friend zone. He was recovering from a painful end to a relationship and anyway, I was far too young for him to even think it an option. 

 

But he quickly had become my best friend. We both had a heart for ministry and we both were being readied for leadership in the Church. We wouldn't have said that then, but looking back, that was our connection. He didn't think I was weird for wanting to study theology and law at the same time and I didn't think he was weird for working in a Catholic parish, instead of just becoming a teacher or doing post-grad studies, like everyone else was telling him to. I liked the fact that he was broke because of his choices to serve and that he drove a red Toyota Corolla that had holes rusting through the floor, but would play Andrea Bocelli when he drove, because having no money didn't mean you couldn't still have class. I knew from the jeans and red polo shirt moment that he was meant to be in ministry. Some things are obvious ... to me. 

 

Then one day, I remember being out with a group and, as I went to say goodbye to him, I noticed my heart was pounding. I thought I was having an anxiety attack. I started to pray about it, "God, I think I'm having anxiety. I think I might need to see a doctor."

 

"It's not anxiety. There's nothing wrong with you. You love Adam."

 

"I do not!!!" 

 

Love Adam? That was the most rediculous notion ever. Funniest thought I'd ever had. I'm not even remotely attracted to the short man who wears, of all things, a red polo shirt. 

 

Wait ...

 

A few weeks later I was in tears over a hot chocolate with one of my nearest girlfriends. In fact, it was the same friend who first introduced us. "Something really bad has happened," I told her. "I don't even know how to say this, it's such a disaster. It's soooo bad!!!!!!!!"

 

"Listen," she said, "Just tell me. Whatever it is, we'll work through it together." I think she thought I was pregnant or something. 

​

Eventually I voiced the words, "I love Adam. You know, short Adam, from the Catholic Church!!!! Oh my gosh, this is a disaster. What am I going to do??"

 

Two years later we were married. 

 

What I love about Adam is that he's old-fashioned about things like loyalty and commitment and respect. He's 'hold the door open', but not just the car door, but all of the doors, even the ones I didn't want to open, but needed to. His chivalry has extended to holding space for me to be the not-fit-the-box, not colour within the lines, woman that I am. He has held me through every spiritual contraction and every painful process of learning what faithfulness to him, to myself and to God looks like. 

 

Still he is calm under pressure, never pressuring. He isn't perfect and neither is our marriage, but he puts sacrifice before gain; friendship before sex; God's will ahead of what others might say about it. 

 

So that's how I knew that it would work, even though it would be a lot of work. He is the gift that I could only admit I desired and then receive with gratitude, and I still do, everyday.

​

​

Married to Adam

​

Written for our Anniversary, 28 June 2020

​

​

​