Babyface

When I was 17, I developed an enormous crush on my friend’s brother. He was 20 and blonde tipped and superfine.

I noticed him noticing me, but like I said: I was 17. He was TWENTY. In the magic 8 ball of potential romance, signs pointed to no.

But the Lord works in mysterious ways. Apparently my gangly awkwardness made an impression. Legend has it (and by legend I mean the reputable source of my friend/his sister), he had a dream about me. The details are fuzzy, but the gist is: I presented him with an egg, he presented me with a kiss.

At 17, I may have been shy and insecure and terribly inexperienced when it came to boys. But I was nothing if not hilarious. And unwavering in my commitment to making myself laugh as much as I made other people.

So I did what any normal 17-year-old would do in that situation. I showed up to church the following Sunday with a plastic Easter egg, walked up to the friend’s brother (whom I’d never even spoken to), and gave it to him. Turning around only for a moment for the simple satisfaction of watching him scrape his jaw off the floor.

That 20-year-old smokestack is a 44-year-old babyface today. He is still irritatingly fine, I am still infinitely awkward, and we are still both dreaming and doing crazy things to make the other laugh.

A few months ago, I did an unofficial Facebook survey, asking people what they appreciated about Jeremy. Besides his rugged good looks (avante garde socks and questionable jogger collection were referenced multiple times), people overwhelmingly celebrated his ready smile, his sense of humor (almost as good as mine), and his unmatched work ethic.

Jeremy has never met a job he didn’t love. Or at least one that anyone would know he didn’t love. He’s the one you call if you need help moving, remodeling, landscaping, fixing, or installing. He works as cheerfully as he does tirelessly. And he does it all without complaint.

He shows up. For his friends, for his family, for his basketball team, for his coworkers. The thing he loves most about God (that He is our rock) is lived out in his everyday personhood. He is solid and steady and consistent: you can count on him.

When you meet someone at 17, you’re only able to envision the happily ever after. The fairy tale romance. The egg exchanged for the kiss.

When you haven’t even lived for 20 years, it’s impossible to imagine what that amount of time with someone can hold. The joy and heartbreak, the victories and losses, the change and growth and hurt and healing.

I’ve had the privilege of celebrating 24 birthdays with this eternal babyface. Some have been carefree and light-hearted, some have been muddled by the burdens of life. But one thing has stayed the same throughout 2+ decades of togetherness.

After all these years, I’d still bring him an egg just to see the look on his face. And maybe even to get that kiss.