Hey! Remember Me?

Yay! We just got MARRIED!!

Well, friends, let's start with some business: Merry very be-lated Christmas and Happy somewhat late New Year! The past month and a half has been more than eventful for me--holidays, my wedding, a whirlwind trip to Italy...living that charmed life again, I suppose. And while I know many of you would love to hear all about those details, they will actually come down the road several posts...because...by popular demand...

I've decided to start up the love story again!!

Hooray! I figure we are all dealing with some January blahs right now--why not make things more interesting with a dash of fairytales? So starting next time, I'm going to put away some of the cancer updates (although those may come in sporadically, assuming they are of interest) and pick up right where I left off in October. I recommend coming to class prepared by reading this post first: To Be Together. :)

In the meantime, let's look at the current update! I apologize that it's been so long in coming, but I not only turned over ideas in my mind several times recently, I also actually wrote a complete blog post that I almost published last week. However, when I re-read it, it struck me as so boring and depressing that I scrapped the whole thing and started over. I've been a little self-conscious about my posts of late, because my audience has increased quite a bit these last months. I don't want to disappoint anyone! That said, here's a more upbeat look at the past month's highlights.

I got married 
Like I said, details on this one will be forthcoming! But the wedding was wonderful. It was sunny and snowy and sincerely magical--a fitting conclusion to the first part of our fairytale! We had our one-month anniversary yesterday (Roby dubbed it our monthiversary), and my cute husband surprised me with some lovely roses. Married life is AWESOME! :)

The Return to Europe
A lot of people mistakenly thought that we went to Europe indefinitely right after the wedding. Unfortunately...my treatments are just beginning, so we only had a week-long, honeymoon-esque adventure. But it was so good for both of us to go back even briefly! Things didn't have a particularly auspicious beginning--first my wallet was stolen in the Milan airport, and then we missed our flight down to Roby's hometown the next day and had to re-book a new flight without the benefit of my credit card--but we made up for it with an awesome few days with Roby's family and friends. This, of course, included lots of good food--not the least of which was during our big, fat, Italian wedding celebration! But we'll hold on to the details of that one for later as well.

You'd never know it's not attached to my head!

My wig arrived
This actually happened before the previous two things--magically, I got my wig on Christmas Eve. It is sincerely one of the best "presents" I've ever gotten! Even though I actually gave it to myself... It's unbelievable what a difference it makes to my morale to have my own hair again. And actually, it's not just my hair--even with the huge quantity I had, it usually takes a couple heads of hair to make a wig. One of my sisters chopped off her own one day to send along with mine--she's awesome like that. With that much hair, the wig can be pretty heavy and has taken some practice and, oddly, foam strips wrapped around my head in order to keep it from falling off. At any rate, my sisters and sister-in-law did an awesome job fixing it up all fancy for the wedding, and I honestly love brushing it and playing with it a little each time I put it on.

Treatment Phase 1 Concludes
This actually won't really happen until Thursday when I get my fourth round of chemo, but I figure it's still appropriate to put it in here! It'll be nice to take a break from chemo for a little bit (I'll stop during surgery time and then begin a new regimen with different toxins...erm medicines...once I've healed a bit). Rounds 2 & 3 were a lot better than the first one owing to a wonderful immune booster shot, but it's still not a picnic. I pretty much don't feel like myself for two weeks and then once I'm finally feeling normal again (food tastes good, I'm not super grumpy, my nose doesn't hurt like the devil, and my energy level is climbing back up), I get to start all over. And while I felt mostly good during round 2 (a serious blessing considering that the wedding fell during that time), I lost almost all of my hair during that cycle--there's nothing left but some wispy straggles. I keep my head covered with comfy little hats and my wig, but...looking at myself in the mirror did take getting used to.

His straggles are longer than
mine, but my complexion
looks WAY better!

A friend of mine who recently went through the same thing said she felt like a monster--my heart hurt for her, and yet what she said really rang true with how I felt. Sometimes, I think that I look like the Crypt Keeper, but Roby (who is the only one to have even momentarily glimpsed my head) is sweeter and says I look more like a baby. But on the very bright side, my tumor has completely disappeared. YAY!!! You might ask, then, "does that mean you can be done now?!" Sigh...we've asked multiple doctors this same question...and we keep asking it...but it looks like the answer is no.

I never mentioned it on this blog, but the cancer was a stage 3B--that basically means that the only thing it hadn't done was spread to other organs, muscles, or bones (which is still a very good thing). It was in my nearby lymph nodes and it was approaching the size of a small continent...sort-of. We never got a clear measurement, but at its largest, we were told it was around 9 cm (3.5 inches) in diameter. For the sake of perspective, the best-behaved tumors are less than 1 cm and anything larger than 5 cm is considered quite serious. Long story short, all of the doctors want to take the most aggressive approach possible (considering how many years I have ahead of me in which the cancer could come back), and my treatment will have a total of 4 phases: chemo #1, surgery, chemo #2, and radiation. But we're still hoping to cut back on at least one of those phases...

We found awesome surgeons
A dear friend of mine hooked us up with a seriously fantastic surgeon for my upcoming mastectomy (icky blah--I don't love saying mastectomy next to "my"). She answered all of my questions before I could ask them, she was super nice and yet professional, and she was ready to schedule me right away for February 19. We next met with a great plastic surgeon just yesterday (happy monthiversary!) who will step in right after phase 1 of the surgery to start the process of making me look normal again. We spent the afternoon looking at before and after pictures as well as a book in which one patient photo-documented the whole healing and reconstructive process. Admittedly, it was a little awkward...but it was also helpful to know what's going to happen and how it will look in the end.

So that's pretty much where we're at right now! In some ways, we live a lot like a retired couple since neither of us can work (a green card isn't an option for Roby unless we plan to live here at least 3 years). I spend a lot of my time these days reading as well as exploring the world of vegan cooking (apparently, animal proteins are a no-no for cancer) and Roby likes to study psychology and counseling. To mix things up a bit, we've decided to try going on a few road trips when I'm feeling well enough, which means surgery isn't the only adventure we have coming up soon! So I guess I'm still Mary Poppins in a way--hunting down those spoons full of sugar. :)

In the Land of Miracles

Enjoying the last few moments of my long
hair...the dread is palpable!

I've had dozens of post ideas rolling around in my mind for the past three weeks, but I kept vetoing all of them before they made it to the page. I considered writing a eulogy to my hair the day we cut it to have a wig made, but I decided that would only be meaningful to me. Then I thought about giving a running list of chemo side effects but figured that would be intensely boring. Next, on a particularly rough day, I almost wrote about how I was feeling a distinct kinship with good old Biblical Job. That, however, sounded depressing. Besides, things really aren't all that bad--I still have an amazing family and incredibly supportive friends. And in fact, that's part of what I wanted to focus on today. I can't tell you all how impressed I've been--overwhelmed, really--by the amount of love and support we've received. Your prayers are definitely helping, friends. I feel them every day, and I have never felt so surrounded by miracles at any time in my life. In fact, when I went for my second round of chemo yesterday, the doctor was honestly floored at how the tumor seems to have disappeared after only one treatment. Things are going incredibly well!

After a couple of rough weeks with a variety of crazy side effects, I started feeling like my normal self about a week ago. This freed us up to hit wedding preparations really hard, but that brought on a new set of worries and troubles. Last Monday, after purchasing two plane tickets that we wouldn't have had to buy if it weren't for a tumor we've "affectionately" named Amalickiah, I started feeling really stressed about money. With a wedding, medical bills, and a variety of other unanticipated expenses, money has been flying out of my bank account at a frightening rate. As Roby and I discussed possibilities and tried to decide what expenses we could start cutting back on, the doorbell rang. To our complete amazement, some

anonymous soul had left a jar full of coins and topped with two $20 bills on the doorstep. This unexpected gift was simply accompanied by a cute Christmas card wishing me a Merry Christmas and expressing hopes that things were going well. The timing was incredible; the love behind the gift nearly made me cry. Whoever that kind soul was (most likely a young family), that simple gesture changed my perspective on how God has been lifting me constantly these past weeks. Minutes later, I got a call from one of my brothers saying they wanted to reserve and pay for a nice hotel for our brief honeymoon (three days in Salt Lake). Heavenly Father really knows our hearts and our troubles. He really does listen. So rather than a list of downer days and depressing moments, here's a slightly more uplifting catalogue of some of the things I've learned recently as we walk through a land of miracles.

1. Cutting my hair was extremely difficult, but as much as I still miss it, it wasn't as hard to get used to not having it as I thought it might be. And while I hung out in a hat for the first several days, nobody thought I looked ridiculous either with or without the hat. Lesson learned: physical traits really don't have to define us--even if it's hard to deal with being forced to change some of our favorite things about ourselves. PLUS--the awesome wig-making place promised to have my wig done before the wedding! YAY!! It normally takes almost two months, but they were willing to pull a few strings under the circumstances... I'm excited to have my hair back, and it'll be particularly special to have it for my wedding day.

2. Chemo can do really weird things to your body--there were days when I felt lightheaded and swollen, days when I couldn't seem to remember even simple things like my credit card number, days when I ached all over as if I'd climbed a mountain, and days where I hovered through fevers and insomnia. But amazingly, it still wasn't as awful as I thought it might be. Don't get me wrong--it was HARD--but none of the side effects last that long. And my favorite part was when I started feeling normal again and learned to appreciate the benefit of good health.

3. Mouth sores are seriously awful business. When the doctor mentioned that as a potential side effect, I dismissed it thinking, "I've had plenty of cankers in my day--not a problem." Oh man...I got only one mouth sore on the bottom of my tongue, but it was a beast. It got infected, and with zero white blood cells to fight it, that thing hung around for days in an extremely painful state. I couldn't eat anything but bland purée for almost a week, and I developed a lot of empathy for people who get jaw surgery or who regularly struggle with painful sores in their mouths. And the good part inside this hard thing? It eventually did go away--and I learned to take better care of my mouth. We are now well-equipped with all sorts of mouth washes and medicines, and we are going to fight those suckers the instant they give me trouble in the future!

Sporting my temporary fake wig at the shower

4. People are really awesome. I got flowers three times in the past couple of weeks, cards from all sorts of kind souls, surprise visits from friends, family, and neighbors, and a truly special Thanksgiving with foods tailored to my special chemo diet. My family is a marvel--my mom in particular makes a huge effort to find fun things for me to eat and keep me healthy and happy. I also had a wonderful bridal shower last weekend with so many dear friends braving a crazy snow storm to be with me. I continue to receive kind messages of support on Facebook and through email, and everyone always mentions they are praying for me. It means a lot, friends. I've cried a lot in the past weeks, and it's only rarely been from sadness.

5. I started losing my hair about a week ago, and it's a little gross. I feel like I'm wearing extra furry sweaters all the time--especially around the collar. Poor Roby quickly learned that kissing my head is a bad idea unless he wants a mouthful of fluff. But, in spite of the hairiness, I'm actually relieved about the way it's been falling out. So many people told me it would fall out in clumps, and I was terrified to wake up with huge bald spots. Apparently, though, the particular chemo I'm on causes hair to thin in a more natural way. So while it's falling out a lot (especially since I have a ton of hair), it's still just looking progressively thinner. It's a lot less of a shock this way, and I'm really grateful it hasn't been worse.

6. I love snow--especially in December. It makes everything look clean and beautiful and magical. And this year, it's been even more fun than usual, because Roby has been transformed into a little boy by it! He doesn't see a lot of snow in the south of Italy, and he is constantly overjoyed every time it starts snowing. Even though it's too cold to play around in it much or even go for walks, Roby still bundled up a few times to stand outside in the falling snow. He's too adorable.

7. Being in love is wonderful--no matter how I feel physically, having Roby around always makes me feel better. And of all the blessings and miracles I've witnessed recently, his support is one of the most invaluable things for me. I'm pretty excited to get married in 15 days. :) Who wouldn't be with a guy like this?!

Even chemo days can be happy days.

Seven is a good number, so we'll leave it at that. Just know, friends, that things are good because God is good. I feel His support and love through your support and love. Thank you for being there for me.

Wrong Roads

I've heard several Utahns say that this year has been one of the prettiest falls they've ever seen. I have to agree with them--I don't think I've ever seen so many brilliant colors lining the streets and dotting the valley. I've also discovered that there is something strangely satisfying about raking up all of those beautiful colors into manageable piles. In some ways, uncovering the still-green grass is like cleaning up a messy bedroom. Or maybe it's more like finding some order and sense when nothing else seems neat or tidy in my life.

Since I last wrote, things got tipped a bit upside down. Although the Huntsman Cancer Institute was amazing, we got a call from them a couple days after my visit to inform me that my out-of-pocket cost would be astronomical because they weren't part of my insurance network. Friends and family started donating funds almost immediately, but I just felt confused and unsure what to do next. That same week, we also met with a reproductive endocrinologist to discuss my chances of infertility post-treatment, and I was unexpectedly faced with two extremely difficult decisions that never would have crossed my mind: is it worth the money to receive the right treatment? And did I want to risk never having children? My first wave of optimism started to dwindle a bit, and everything began feeling terrifying and wrong and generally like everyone was talking about someone else that I'd never met.

Have you ever done something that seemed perfectly logical but that a very deep part of you just didn't feel right about? It's a disconcerting feeling and honestly makes me really grouchy. In a way, I feel like time stood still for weeks when all I wanted was to be quickly progressing forward and getting all of this behind me sooner. We spent so much time with doctors and exploring treatment options that I began to feel like I had a new part-time job. Frustratingly, though, we couldn't seem to get things to match up with the right treatment at the right price. So, as we explored care options, Roby and I decided to head down the path of embryo preservation, even though we were unsure it was the right decision. We also tried to keep things light by taking advantage of the beautiful fall--raking leaves regularly, having photo shoots with my sister, getting my bridal pictures done before I lose my hair.

Waiting, though, was terrible. My type of cancer, HER2 positive, just so happens to be the kind that grows like a wild thing and has a hankering to spread everywhere. Every time I had a slight pain in my leg or back or stomach, I'd panic and wonder if that meant the cancer had spread. Being a tense person, headaches aren't an unusual thing for me, but suddenly even the smallest twinge in my temples had me thinking of the horrors of brain cancer and Gamma Knife therapy. (Yeah...I've done a lot of reading and research...) I remember telling Roby one night that I felt like by waiting and undergoing the long-ish process to save embryos, I would be choosing between the possibility of metastasis with its lifelong problems and not having children. No one should have to choose between death and creation. And while I recognize that that's being a bit dramatic, I felt pretty awful.

Fortunately, after many prayers and fasts from more people than I ever believed possible, things started to come together last week. Following some failed doctor visits, we were leaning towards switching back to Huntsman and dealing with the cost. We had also received a packet of hormone shots to begin prepping my body for an egg harvest. But I still felt like something was off. On Monday night of last week, Roby and I watched this video clip by one of my favorite LDS leaders and speakers, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland. As he talked about right and wrong roads and the confusion of finding the best path, I realized we were on the wrong road--a couple of them, to be precise. It was hard to let go when I felt like so much was riding on these decisions, but I turned to Roby and tearfully told him that I felt we needed to change directions. He had felt the same thing. After watching that movie and coming to that conclusion, everything felt better, and the pieces began to fall into place.

We had found a doctor that we really loved who wouldn't cost a fortune, but she hadn't prescribed the chemotherapy that we felt good about. We visited with her again last Wednesday in hopes she'd change her mind, and the first thing she said when she walked in to see us is that she had reconsidered. After researching the new treatment I wanted (it's only been available for about a year), she felt it would be both good and right for me. She also confirmed that my chances of infertility were not as high as we were originally told, and she felt that owing to my younger age, we would be fine as long as we were careful. I immediately felt like there was nothing left to do but schedule my first chemotherapy for a week later--that day being today.

So here we are--D-day, as it were. Part of me is relieved to finally get on the path to recovery, because even though a scan last Friday confirmed that there isn't a wild cancer-spreading party going on inside of me, the tumor is still a nasty little beast that is starting to cause increasing pain and discomfort in its localized area. But the other part of me is very frightened. I still have so many questions and unknowns: will I feel nauseated? What's it like to be too tired to walk up a flight of stairs? Will it get that bad? How will I feel when I have to look at myself in the mirror? Is it bad to want to avoid seeing myself without hair? I can't be brave all the time--there is still a little girl inside of me who has never before been sick with more than a cold or stomach flu, never been hospitalized, never even broken a bone or had stitches (until two weeks ago when they put in my chemo port). And now, here I am, scheduling the days when I'll feel horribly sick and lose the hair that has been a significant part of my life and identity for 29 years. There have been many times when I've lain my head on Roby's chest and

cried until I couldn't cry anymore. I'm intensely grateful that he's an emotional and psychological counselor (as in literally--it's his chosen profession).

I know that this is a challenge that God wants me to take on with faith. I also still know that He is in charge and is guiding all of our steps and even missteps. Of course, that doesn't mean that things will always be sunny and cheerful and awesome. It just means that we are embarking on an incredible journey that will teach us many crucial life lessons. Friends, I'd like to invite you all to come along on this journey with me and Roby. I can't promise to post everything, and I don't know how often I'll feel up to posting. But I do know that having your support along the way will make everything feel better.

Welcome to the 5%

I'm sorry to interrupt our scheduled programming and I'm also sorry for leaving you all at a moment of suspense in my little story. I've been caught in a bit of a whirlwind these past weeks, and nearly all my thoughts and energies have been consumed in its wake. I promise to resume the love story soon, but right now, I'm wide awake at 4 a.m. with a desperate need to tell you all about something else.

Did you know that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month? I didn't, actually, until last Monday when I was sitting next to Roby on the Paris/Salt Lake City flight, and the stewardess accompanied my orange juice with a pink-lettered napkin. "Take flight in the fight against breast cancer," it said. How ironic--because that's exactly what we were doing.

No surprises or cliff-hangers here, folks: just the overwhelming truth. Last Friday, I was diagnosed with a malignant tumor in my breast.

Roby was in Lyon with me. We'd arranged his first visit there over a month before, and somehow all I can think is that God knew I would need him desperately that day. I'd recently completed a cycle of antibiotics to treat what the doctor assumed was an unusual infection. But when the swelling didn't completely disappear, he ordered a biopsy. The results sent both me and Roby to the States within just a few days. He only had a week's worth of clothes and had to make special arrangements with a police officer friend to get his passport sent to him. Miraculously, everything still fell into place for us to be together--just as it always has. I have no doubt in my mind that I'm marrying the best man in this world. If you hadn't already guessed the end to my love story, I apologize for spoiling things a little...

We had an appointment at the Huntsman Cancer Institute yesterday--it's the premier location in the West for those needing treatment and all that goes with it. I arrived at 10:30 with a small entourage--Roby, my mom, one of my sisters--clutching a shiny, red folder filled with half-translated exams and images and results. Medical French is complicated...but I've learned a fair amount this past month. Six hours later, completely exhausted and in a bit of pain from having become a temporary pin-cushion, I left. All of our minds were spinning with the information that had bombarded us all day: starting chemo therapy treatments as soon as possible, getting surgery in a few months, undergoing genetic testing because 29 year-olds don't usually get breast cancer, learning that treatments could make me infertile. And then, for me, the real kicker: facing the reality of losing my hair. I think that last one deserves a post of its own. I'll go there another day.

I'm still struggling with jet lag right now, and can't believe I'm having to make decisions that I never even knew people had to make. I'm not even supposed to be here. I should be in France, missing my fiancé following his first visit to our future home. I should be teaching a math or a French or a history lesson. I should be sending messages to my mom about what kind of flowers I decided to have for my wedding. Nothing seems real. To be honest, I've been running away inside my mind. But I guess I can't run away forever when I suddenly have dozens of people telling me what I have to do and what's going to happen.

Apparently, only 5% of breast cancer patients are under the age of 40. I don't know how I won those odds. I've never won anything.

But that's enough. Let's get all of that awful, depressing stuff out of the way. I have to tell you, friends--wholeheartedly and without hesitation--that even though this is very hard and frightening and derailing, I don't doubt for one moment that God is aware of me. I want you all to know that I am not bitter about this. I'm scared out of my mind at times, but I am also unendingly grateful to be surrounded by people--angels--who love me. And while I could be asking why this is happening now--two months before our wedding--I'm mostly just grateful that I don't have to go through any of this without the love of my life by my side. God knows what He's doing;
I am grateful for His timing.

Remember how I said my love story is all about faith and healing and learning to trust? It's all still true. I just didn't know that I had a new plot twist around the corner which would further try my faith, build my trust, and add a different layer to the idea of being healed.

Six years ago today, I met a brand new 25-year-old Italian missionary. Now, in two months and two days, we will be getting married. Everything else is just a wrinkle in our plans. We are going to make it. In the meantime, we would love your prayers.

...To Be Together...

Have you ever seen North and South? It's undoubtedly one of my very favorite movies. At the end, there's this fantastic moment at a train station where the two protagonists magically cross paths, and suddenly several months' of confusion is resolved in one perfect kiss. I've always loved the idea of trains and train stations--they are a rarity where I come from--but that scene makes them seem positively dreamy. And I won't lie--of all the scenarios I imagined for when Roby and I first "re-met," this was what I secretly wanted.

My girlfriends, some of them as giddy with anticipation as I was, dropped me off at the station just as the sun was rising on that fresh spring day. I walked nervously toward the corridor where we would meet, and as I stepped through the sliding glass door, he was the only person I saw. Ahem... Well, that's actually because at 6:50 a.m. on a Saturday, he was the only person there. He had his back to me, and when he turned around and saw me...he looked somewhat stressed.

To infuse a little reality back into my life, those first several minutes were a bit awkward. We exchanged a quick hug, rushed to buy tickets, and then bumbled through a little small talk while I ate an apple. He kept his distance. I tried to hide my disappointment and be rational. When the train arrived and we got on, I did my best to sit as close to him as I comfortably could, hoping he would get the hint. We flirted a little shyly at first, and then we both started warming up--almost in synch with the morning light.

Yes, this is really what we saw.

I absolutely adore Switzerland, and we were speeding through some of my very favorite parts of the country--the places where I had spent the best months of my missionary service. As I was sitting by the window, I would look out and excitedly point out what we were passing--the vineyards, the lake, the breathtaking views that had entered into my heart years before. I felt like I was sharing something very special and deeply personal. He leaned towards me several times to look out--and my fears of not sensing chemistry were immediately quieted.

At one point, he asked me if I felt comfortable with him. It was easy to say yes, because I'd never felt so rapidly at ease with a guy in my life. He seemed relieved and started to tell me about a dream he'd had recently, and as I listened attentively, I realized he was trying to work up the courage to do or say something. Right as I sensed the anticipated moment coming, however, we pulled into another station and a good friend of mine hopped on and sat down with us, abruptly ending everything.

I had known she was going to join us--I had invited her to come and even told her which train we'd be on. But it was still difficult not to be a little grumpy at the unfortunate timing... Roby was quiet for at least five minutes--obviously trying not to be irritated. Regardless--Christina, I know you're reading this, and we both love you dearly! :)

I have to admit, I felt discouraged. I was certain that the train ride would be our only chance to establish a connection and decide if we both had similar feelings. We arrived at the temple without ever re-establishing that special moment, and I felt deflated and even a little desperate. As I sat impatiently through our session, I came to a conclusion--I had to take matters into my own hands and tell Roby how I felt, or I would risk regretting that day for the rest of my life.

They Had to Travel Long Distances...

Do you believe in miracles? Not necessarily the walk-on-water or miraculous-physical-healing variety (although I definitely believe in those too), but do you believe in the small things that come together just a little too perfectly? If you don't, then this next installment of my story might seem like nothing more than an interesting string of curiously fortunate coincidences. To me, however, all I see is a merciful, omnipotent hand rapidly assembling the confused jigsaw of my life, and it is nothing short of miraculous.

I love temples. In the LDS Church, we have quite a few of them across the globe, and in my home state of Utah, there are upwards of fifteen. Before setting off on my crazy France adventures, I was in the habit of going to the temple at least once a week, both because I love the peace I feel there and because they are so accessible. But here in Europe, they aren't as easy to come by. The nearest one to Lyon is just outside of Bern, Switzerland--four hours away. The distance isn't too terrible, but going there requires advance planning--finding transportation, figuring out a place to stay, getting a travel group together, etc. Since one of my job hazards includes not always knowing when I'll have enough of my own time to travel, putting together temple trips has been a challenge, and by March of this year, I had only gone once to visit the temple. Fortunately, I finally had a weekend where I knew for sure that I would not be traveling with the Roneys, so I immediately started organizing. In no time, some friends and I were preparing for a temple day on
April 13.

Not long after Roby and I started writing to each other and in the midst of all my secret hopes and thoughts and dreams of spending time together in person, he asked me one day if I ever had the chance to go to the Swiss temple. Of course I told him about our anticipated trip in April and how I was excited to finally be going again. His next message, though, came as quite a surprise. It turned out that he had been planning to go to the temple the same week as me.

Now, you might easily say that he decided to go when he heard I was going to be there. We had both been hinting at each other that we would love to meet up, and we hadn't been writing for more than two weeks before he invited me to come to Italy. But you have to know that Lecce, Italy is nearly 13 hours away from Bern. It was even more difficult and rare for Roby to get the chance to make that journey than it was for me. Furthermore, he had been invited the day before asking me by some friends who were making the trek. This was not a sneaky plot just to see me. The first puzzle piece had simply been put in place.

Of course, things always have to be a little complicated. It turned out that I wouldn't be at the temple until Saturday whereas Roby's friends were leaving early Saturday morning. My initial excitement crashed down into disappointment when I realized we might not be able to see each other. But Roby just kept saying "we will see." The day before Roby left, he told me that somehow, there wasn't a place for him to stay near the temple on Friday night, and he was trying to figure out what to do. A crazy idea came to my mind. My friends and I would stay Friday night in Geneva--two hours away from the temple. What if I invited him to stay? Of course, it would mean taking a train down to Geneva and taking one back to Bern as our car was already full. It didn't seem logical at all. But the idea persisted in my mind, and I finally asked him.

It turns out he had been praying that I would invite him to Geneva.

Although I thought my idea was crazy and improbable, he also said he'd been hoping I would then take the train back with him to the temple. Puzzle piece number two. Furthermore, he had found someone who could give him a ride to Geneva that day--piece number three. And once again, if you'd still like me to be counting pieces, it turned out he would be able to stay all day on Saturday as there was yet another person who could give him a ride back to Italy even though his friends were leaving much earlier. It all seemed so perfect.

Friday, April 12--finally, the day arrived! I was so anxious and excited and nervous that I could hardly teach at all. Roby and I had just Skyped for the first time a few days before, and I had realized that he was even cuter than I thought from his pictures or my fuzzy MTC memories. But what if he didn't like me in person? What if things felt awkward? What if there wasn't any chemistry? What if we didn't fit well together after all? He had known me as his teacher--what if I was just imagining that he was really interested? What if I had to deal with a horrible disappointment yet again? I imagined dozens of scenarios for our first meeting--everything from a cold greeting and a miserable train ride to swelling orchestral music and a love-at-first-sight kiss. Soon enough, we were on the road and I was headed closer to my uncertain fate.

And, of course, things got complicated again. I had arranged for a friend to meet him and take him to where he would be staying, but the intention was always for me to meet up with him that night as well. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. I spent the whole day anticipating our first meeting that night, but coordinating our locations became too complicated, and we ended up staying 20 minutes away from each other. I was keenly disappointed. It seemed too ridiculous--so close and yet impossibly far away. Fortunately, we still planned to meet early the next morning at the Geneva train station.

I think I slept about two hours that night.

...A Young Man and Young Woman Fell in Love.

Back in the day...here we are on opposite sides of the group!

I don't remember what I thought after commenting on Roberto's new profile pic, but I do remember being excited when he wrote back two days later, clearly wanting to hear back from me. We started with the basics: work, school, an exchange of memories from the MTC. He asked for help with his English. I told him that he already wrote excellently well. I explained what I was doing in France. He mentioned that he went by Roby and that his hometown and current residence of Lecce, Italy wasn't too far away from Lyon...  They were small things that somehow made for rapid connections. Within just a couple days, our messages grew much longer and even became significantly more personal. I started checking my Facebook several times during the day to see if he'd responded yet and always felt unusually happy when I saw one of his messages. We fell into a pattern before a week had passed, and I started learning what times he was most likely to write back. But then one day, I didn't get a message.

It was getting late in the evening--almost time to go to bed--and I started feeling anxious. What had happened? Why hadn't he written back? Had I done something wrong? I must have reread my last message about ten times, carefully combing through it to make sure I hadn't said something stupid or something that could be misinterpreted culturally, linguistically, or otherwise. Finally, I went to bed feeling disappointed and yet telling myself not to be ridiculous. Obviously, people have lives and things they have to do. It's not like I was a priority for him, right? We weren't dating or anything--I had no claim on his time. But I'd been through similar situations before and they always ended up badly: waiting up for a text that never comes; hoping for an email response that is never written. This was probably just another one of those got-my-hopes-up-way-too-soon moments that I'd spend the next week or two coming down from. Residual bitterness from past experiences? Maybe. Fears created by old wounds? Absolutely.

This is where the next miracle happened. I woke up the following day, and, even though my hardened-by-experience side tried to stop my little-kid-at-Christmas side, I checked my Facebook first thing.

And he had written back.

Dear friends, not only had he written back, but he even apologized for not having written sooner. This seems like a very simple thing--and really, it is a simple thing that most people wouldn't think much of. But to me, it was a sign. In all my ten years of marriageable-age dating, I had never had a guy apologize to me for responding just a little later than normal--especially not without any prompting from me. Honestly, from that moment on, I was sold. Here was a man who obviously cared about my feelings, even if they are a little neurotic at times.

It was also at this point that I realized he had tried to contact me two years earlier, when I was elbows-deep in a master's program and struggling with my first time teaching a college French class. He had wanted to get to know me back then and had tried to spark a conversation on Facebook, but it never went anywhere. Frankly, I completely blew him off. I still don't remember why or what I was thinking. Ultimately, I guess it just wasn't the right time. In fact, back then I specifically did not want an intercultural relationship, because I felt like they were too complicated and would make a marriage too hard to navigate. I look back on that attitude with a smile now...but, I digress!

My favorite walk

At this point, I suddenly became very quiet about my personal life. It was unusual. I generally told at least my mom and a couple of good friends about every guy I was interested in. But this felt so...BIG...that I took a little while to open up about what was happening. And what exactly was happening? Well, I was discovering remarkable similarities between myself and Roby. Our minds had similar ways of thinking. Our beliefs were entirely compatible. Our life goals were aligned. What we were looking for existed fully in the other person. I was falling in love. And I could sense that he felt the same way. We hadn't spent a moment together in over five years, and yet I felt like I knew him very well. I began taking long walks in the crisp, spring air and spent a lot of time just thinking. I will always associate that season with those feelings--fresh blossoms mixed with new emotions and ideas. I didn't even know yet that the next series of even bigger miracles was just around the corner.