Icebreakers

A good friend of ours has a gift of engaging people in conversation. No matter who you are, she can start talking with you, and in a matter of minutes, it's as if you've known each other for years. One icebreaker she likes to ask couples is to have them tell the story of how they met. I believe every married couple has a story to tell - that first look, that amazing coincidence, that snapshot in time where there was a spark that fanned into flame. Our friend tells us that we have a good story, so I will share ours with you.

A prerequisite for all college freshman is a writing class, or series of classes. I enjoyed writing, and had received an A in my first writing class, so as winter term approached, I looked forward to Writing 122. One of my good friends in high school recommended a particular teacher to me - he had grown up next to the teacher, and thought she was a nice lady. He of course used the equation (nice lady+old neighbor+used to babysit me)= easy A. I hadn't taken a class with my friend in a few years, and the class was required for my course of studies, so I chose to sign up for an 8 am writing class. In hindsight, 8 am is WAY too early to do any real thinking, but without that class, the story of my life would be very different.

As my friend and I discovered, his equation for an easy A was flawed from the start. He had remembered the nice older lady next door that babysat him from time to time, baked him cookies, and told him stories. When she entered the classroom, her persona changed. I don't recall her being all too mean. However, she was extremely critical of everyone's writing. At the end of each class, she assigned a writing assignment that was due at the next class. We would arrive at the next class with assignments in hand. She would select 3-4 students to read their assignments for the class, then open up a discussion about that person's work. The discussion was mostly her telling us what was wrong with the person's writing. To make matters worse, in the front row was an older student who agreed with everything the teacher said, adding his own unique outlook to the discussion. Looking back, the critique was probably a useful thing - it forced us to dig deeper and write more clearly. However, at the time, it was a lot for an 18 year old college freshman (who thought he was already pretty good) to take.

Many of the students in the class soon discovered that she seemed to pick on those who sat anywhere from the center of the room to the front - rarely selecting people that sat near the back. Because of this, within a few weeks, the back of the room was packed with people, while the front rows were sparsely populated. The room had two rows of six foot tables, each seating three people. My friend and I made a point of getting there at least 15 minutes early, and taking the very back table for ourselves. With this spot secured, our assignments were still raked over the coals on paper, but at least not shredded in a public forum.

Soon, I noticed that one particular student was always just a little late. Because of this, she had to make her way through the crowd at the back to that dreaded section, where she became a target of the teacher and her cohort. After a few classes, I began to feel a little bad for her. No one should have to suffer like that. As my friend and I arrived for the next class, I left an open seat between us, and left my coat and books in the middle of the table. When I saw her come through the door, I very casually slid over, leaving an aisle seat in the back row open. Being the smart person that she was, she saw the opening and grabbed it gratefully, saving herself from another day of abuse. So began a daily ritual - the open seat, spreading out my belongings, and the casual slide over when she walked in the door. She always quickly saw the opening and took it.

As the term went on, we began to talk. She was sure that she knew me from somewhere, but couldn't quite place it. We started to compare notes - what high school did you go to? What activities were you in? We soon discovered that we were both Christians, so we began to compare church backgrounds, camps, activities. Nothing seemed to fit, but at the same time, we were finding out a lot about each other, and a friendship was building.

A few weeks later, I was at work and needed to get something from another department. Who would I find working in that area? The same beautiful woman I had been saving my seat for all these weeks. As it turns out, we had been working in the same large retail store, but in different departments. I'm sure that had I bumped into her at work, we may not have spoken past a few pleasantries. However, God knew that she was the one for me. He brought me into that 8 am class. He slowed her down enough so that she was a little late every day. And He made sure that I was able to leave that seat open each day, knowing exactly who He wanted to fill it.