Almost a couple years ago, Sam and I went to Arizona for him to interview for an opportunity to work with a church planting organization. We went into the long weekend with high hopes and were praying that God would provide– Sam was looking for a job at the time.

Long story short, they didn’t offer Sam the opportunity, but they wanted us to see their “innovative” way of doing church so that we could experience God in the way their quickly growing congregation was. We went in, sat down, and worshiped through a carefully curated worship, a neatly-packaged sermon with four, easy bulletpoints, in an auditorium of people that were in and out within an hour and twenty minutes.

Sam and I knew we were going to be married pretty much before we started dating. Somehow, I just knew in my heart from very early on that I was going to be doing this dating thing for the last time with him. We were friends with the intention of dating for a whole summer before we agreed it was time to be boyfriend and girlfriend; by the fall, I knew more about him than anyone else and was sure that I loved him.

By December, we decided to approach my parents about the fact that we were sure about each other and that while it wouldn’t be tomorrow, this was it. I think that freaked my parents out. Sam just started a new job in construction. I just got my license to sell insurance. We were two twenty-somethings still living with parents and didn’t know how we were going to get there.

So if you couldn’t tell by now, I’m using my quarantine time to read through the gospel of Mark, and I’m being really blessed by all these stories that I thought I knew like the back of my hand. I love it when I read through a story and find something I never saw before. I’m sure all my grew-up-in-Sunday-school friends know exactly what I’m talking about… having certain stories so drilled and told and retold that the meaning of the scripture becomes background noise.