In January of 2003, Robert drove up for a weekend visit.  I wasn't really even sure why he was coming.  To get the laptop he'd loaned us?  To formally his goodbye?  Or did he simply miss my family?  Whatever the reason, it was an odd weekend for us.  We had become best friends over the past year with, admittedly, marriage at the back of our minds.  Now were expected to act like mere acquaintances.  I felt a wall where there shouldn't have been a wall. As if it was unacceptable to share my deepest thoughts with this man who had won my confidence and become an irreplaceable confidant.

All was going as well as could be expected considering the awkward twist our relationship had taken.  OK, that's just the nice way of saying the whole situation was pretty miserable.  By Saturday evening, I was in tears and couldn't think of a single legitimate reason for the decision I had made back in October.  At the time, it had been perfectly logical, but now something inside of me was screaming, "No!  This isn't the way it's meant to be!"  The next morning, Sunday, I awoke with the most awful ailment I've ever had.

    My voice had totally disappeared.

    Now, for some people, this is no big deal.  But for others (you know them; they're the people who are commonly called "gabby," "chatterbox," "loud," "outgoing," and any other word you can think of to describe someone who lives to talk) it is the most frustrating thing in the world.  ...for future reference, I rank in that second category...  I was dying to talk to Robert, and now that option was gone.  So, Robert (one of those rare gems of a person who ranks in the category of a listener) had to do all the talking that afternoon.  He talked. I whispered and nodded.

    He left that evening, and I sat in my room, thinking this had been a really inopportune time for my voice to take a vacation!  Robert had come and gone, and, for all I knew, it was the last time I would ever see him.  Deep down, I knew I didn't want it to be the last.

     In our conversation that afternoon, he had plainly told me, "If you ever change your mind, please let me know."  That was exactly what I wanted to do. But after the pain I'd put him through with my decision, I felt I had no right to change my mind.

    With my voice gone, I couldn't talk to my family or friends.  When our computer crashed the following day, leaving me internet-less, I realized that I had no one to talk to except God Who knows the very thoughts and intents of our hearts.  I retreated to my "tower" and prayed, thought, prayed, journaled, prayed, soaked up  God's presence, and prayed some more.  In the end, God said, "Now is the right time."  Total peace flooded my heart. I knew what I had to do.

     The very next morning, after a week and a half of silence, my voice returned, good as new, and with it a peace I hadn't felt in months.  I knew the decision I wanted to make. I made it the next evening when I told my dad that I wanted to marry Robert.

    Then it was my turn to wait.  I waited another week while my dad sought God's will.  If I had thought two and a half days back in December 2001 was a long time, a week was definitely an eternity!  I knew there was a chance my dad wouldn't give his blessing.  It was a chance I didn't want to dwell on because my heart couldn't bear the thought of losing Robert again.

    I also knew there was a chance my dad would give his blessing, but that Robert wouldn't be interested in renewing anything with me.  And I couldn't blame him. What guy would want to be in a relationship with a girl who had already caused him so much heartbreak?

     Finally, there was the horrifying chance that Robert, in his travels to France in the past few months, had found a French princess to replace me!  In thinking back on it, that was a very unfounded fear, but when you're young and in love (whether you know it or not), even the most absurd things can seem very real and threatening. 

     In that week, God taught me once again to put all my trust in Him and let Him take care of the details.

    A week later on a Friday morning, my dad sent an e-mail, informing Robert of my decision and giving him his full permission and blessing to win my heart if he chose to do so.  His closing sentence was a little odd, but it is also one we will never forget:

     "I ask that no matter what decision you make, you be like Boaz and act quickly as soon as a decision has been made."

    I stared at that last sentence after my dad had sent the e-mail.  All I could think of was a shoe.  For some reason, the words "Boaz" and "shoe" seemed to coincide.  Of course, it didn't help that I'd read the book of Ruth in the Bible just a week before, and saw Robert's face and heard his voice every time I read Boaz's name!

    Yet I pushed the thought out of my mind and continued my vigil of waiting.  Donna called with a message from Robert: he would give us his answer on Monday.  You would think that, after all the waiting God has asked me to do in the last couple of years, I would be accustomed to it.  Not so.  Those days between Friday and Monday morning were some of the most anxiety-laden days I've ever lived.  I had a pretty good idea of what Robert's answer would be, but there was still an underlying "what if."  I knew I'd caused him pain back in October.  What if he didn't want me after that? What if he didn't want to risk any more pain?  But then a peace would settle in my heart, and I knew that God was handling the details.  He'd brought me to my decision, and I knew He would make all things beautiful in His time.  So I waited.  It had pretty much become my hobby by now anyway!

    Monday morning finally arrived, bringing with it sunshine and a Federal Express delivery truck.  The Fed-Ex guy handed my sister a box. I knew there was only one person who sent packages to us via Federal Express.  I also knew that there was only one thing that could fit in this particular package.  My heart was pounding, and my brain was screaming, "Robert sent his shoe!  Robert sent his shoe!"

    But the box was addressed to my dad, not to me.  Once again, I waited... and waited... and waited.  Finally, my dad called me into the bedroom. 

     "Crystal, a young man just sent me a sandal."

    Yes! 

     I wanted to dance around the room

    But my dad's next question temporarily squelched my enthusiasm.  "What does that mean?"

    In the book of Ruth, Boaz, a wealthy relative of Ruth's late husband, went to an even closer relative to discuss which of them would inherit the dead man's property.  Each of these men held the right to take Ruth as his wife along with her husband's property.  In those days, when a deal was made, one man would take off his sandal and give it to the other man as proof that a contract had been made.  I knew this was what had been going through Robert's mind when he put his sandal in the mail. 

     But my parents were stumped.  You see, in the Bible, it doesn't clearly say which man gave his shoe to the other.  Was it the man who didn't want Ruth?  Or the man who did?

    Details, details. Whichever man it was, I knew what Robert was thinking. At first glance, it appears Boaz was the one who gave his sandal to the other relative. If you read closer, you realize, it was most likely the other relative who gave his sandal to Boaz, which would make Robert's sandal a direct "No thank you." But why would he have gone through all the trouble of mailing his only sandal if he wasn't interested in pursuing me? The romantic in him would have wanted to do something completely unique and special as a way of saying, "Here is proof of my love and commitment."

      I wanted to laugh out of sheer relief!  My heart was singing, but my parents were honestly confused, so I held it in for a little longer while they dove into their Strong's concordance and other Bible dictionaries.

    The phone rang. Donna's ecstatic voice practically screamed, "He means yes!  Robert means yes!"

     He had received my dad's e-mail while in California on business, flew back to Texas, dropped his sandal in the mail, then boarded yet another flight to France for another business trip.  But the distance meant absolutely nothing to us.  In the next week, Robert called me three times from the other side of the world, then canceled a trip to Germany so he could make it back home in time to drive up for my birthday in February.

    Just a year before, I was almost sick to my stomach with nervousness because I was going to meet, for the first time, a young man with whom I'd just begun to correspond.  Now, a year later, I was meeting that same young man again, this time as my future husband.  There was no doubt in my mind that this was the man God had prepared for me, and together we were embarking on the adventure of a lifetime!