Last week, I worked on cleaning out my attic. It was a dirty, sneezy job. I hauled paper and cardboard to the recycle bin, trashed the un-recyclables, and salvaged the action figures for my grandsons.
But the coolest thing I found in the attic was my poetry notebook from high school.
One poem written in 1972 is “prophetic” as my husband called it. David’s family moved away at the end of tenth grade. I must have written this right after he left, hoping against the odds that I would see him again and believing our love would stay alive.
I was so full of hope at 16. Angsty hope. But David didn’t answer my last letter that summer of ’72, and life went on. Over the years, my first love became a distant memory.
If I’d found this notebook in my 30s, I would have shaken my head and thought, “How sappy.” But now, it reinforces that this love story was meant to be. Our love never died. It just went dormant and waited quietly for 39 years.
You can read about those 39 years and the lessons we learned along the way in
Did I really know our love would stay alive? Or did I help manifest our re-connection? Was it all part of God’s plan? Did the angels see a window of opportunity and nudge us in the right direction?
I vote for all of the above.
Oh, how I wish today’s teenagers only had learning and love to deal with.
Hang on to your hopes.