As Promised

I did--kind of--promise that I would trickle out more about this man of mine.

I'm caught in a bit of a conundrum, though.

I dearly want anyone who reads my blog and doesn't already know Rundy to have the chance to hear the story in all of its quiet beauty. But I am afraid. I don't want to overshare. I don't want to somehow take something glorious and cheapen it by constricting it with words that are too small to contain it.

There is so much to say.

Then there's also the problem of dignity. (Ahem.) Select members of Rundy's family read this blog, and as many of them already take such keen delight in embarrassing me I hesitate to give them more ammunition to use for nefarious blush-inducing purposes.

I will leak things out bit by bit, though, starting with this first taste. It is a good story, and I suppose Rundy and I will always be the only ones who know the whole thing.

When Dad died, one of the countless threads of thought that floated hazily inside my head was how anyone could get to know me, really know me, without knowing my dad. I couldn't imagine getting married after God had named it right and good for me to walk that road without a husband.

Here's where God caught me by surprise, completely.

Long ago--before I was born--Rundy's family went to the same church as mine. When they moved on to a different church, my dad with his insatiable curiosity and relentless sociability (that word choice only makes sense if you're either in my family or Rundy's...) made intentional efforts to stay connected. All growing up, I'd be trundled into the car with Mom and Dad and we'd all go over the the Purdys' house, where I became fast friends with Cadie, one of Rundy's younger sisters.

Year after year we would go and visit, maybe four times a year. Cadie and I would tromp off in the woods and play games with her younger siblings; I never once gave a thought to her Scary Bearded Brood of Older Brothers (except maybe to avoid them).

In order to understand this next part, you have to understand something about the family I grew up in (at least during the era I was part of at the tail end). You don't talk about the opposite gender. You don't really tease each other about romance. You don't tell anyone who you have a crush on. You are as silent as a stone.

Which is why it was so odd, really, that just about the only people Dad ever really teased my sister Abigail and I about were the Purdy boys. After she got married, Dad says I was the only hope. It was up to ME now... I was mortified by this, and vehemently protested that this would never, never happen. Not because of any fault of the Purdy boys whatsoever, but because I wouldn't be caught dead thinking about them that way. Sheesh, they were my friend's older brothers!! So, through no fault of their own and entirely the fault of my dear Dad who caused me such mortification, the very last name I ever thought I would take on was Purdy.

I'm pretty sure we have a God Who's not above laughter.

When I graduated from college and moved to Bainbridge to teach, within a couple months the Purdy family moved to a town just 15 minutes away. I was able to spend a lot more time with Cadie, become friends with her older sister Talitha, and start getting to know the whole bunch of them a bit better.

At this point, Rundy was away caring for his grandparents. He took care of his grandfather with Alzheimer's for three years until God took him, and then he cared for his grandmother an additional 4 years or so until she passed away, as well. (A lot can be understood about Rundy if you understand what 7 years of caregiving means. He's a gem.)

I can be an awfully quiet person. I think a lot and don't say much when there's a crowd of people around that I don't know intimately. I've always been that way. We don't have to go into all the reasons and do a complete psychoanalysis of Debbie, but the truth of the matter is that my comfort zone is listening.

Rundy's told me since that my quietness used to make him think that I was fragile; if he talked to me, I might break. It wasn't until Cadie shared one of my old blog posts with him a few years ago that he realized that I wasn't all quietness and fragility. That must be why when he was at home during some of my visits to his family after his caregiving days had come to an end we could talk. I didn't know he was reading my blog at that point, but it didn't really matter either way. God had brought me to a point where I was slightly more willing to open my mouth in front of Cadie's family, and Rundy and I had shared interests to talk about. Mostly literature at that point.

I hadn't the foggiest idea what was coming. I didn't even think about Rundy in any way except, "Oh, yeah, he's one of Cadie's brothers" until it was forced upon me by the man himself.

It started slow and soft.

When Dad got sick so suddenly, Cadie and Talitha weren't the only Purdys giving comfort. Rundy sent me songs and scripture. He checked in on me. He prayed. He's a man who knows grief by name and has had to walk in step with it himself more than once, so he knew how to walk through hurt alongside me. The odd thing is, I didn't even consciously know that he was doing it. But there he was, steady. As the weeks grew into months and the rest of the world started turning again, as it moved and I stood still, Rundy stood still with me. I don't know how to say it other than that. It isn't as though we talked often. He would send a message once in a while, that's it. But without quite knowing how it happened, we became friends in our own right. I trusted that heart, the one that stood still with me.

And you know how I said earlier that I couldn't imagine how someone could know me without knowing my dad?

God gave me even that.

Rundy knew my dad. He even got up to say a few words at the funeral.

And boy, does he know me.

I don't feel like Dad's been absent from all of this. He's actually been part of it all, but in the funniest ways.

I keep feeling God laughing.

It wasn't until September of this past fall that Rundy started talking to me a lot, just a couple months short of the first anniversary of Dad's leaving to be with God.

It's a funny story, really, how it began in earnest. Rundy messaging with Debbie online for a couple of hours nearly every night, and her thinking, "Man. Does he realize how this is coming across? He's probably just really bored every night and thinks to himself, 'Huh. Maybe I'll talk to Debbie.'" After a great deal of agonizing, and a very bold-for-Debbie questioning of Rundy, I finally realized that yes, Rundy did indeed know how it was coming across and was doing it on purpose...

And we talked. We talked about God and about grieving, about faith and life and where our hope comes from. We talked about hard things that don't have easy answers, and we tried to find words for things that I'd never put words to. We came to know each other.

The first time we met in person just the two of us as People Who Are Interested In Each Other, I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to talk. We'd just stare at each other awkwardly until he left.

(We talked for six hours straight.)

This post has mostly been the back story, but I could go on and on about Rundy. Not silliness, not fluff, not infatuation. The real and good and true of being best friends with someone who knows you by some sort of instinct God Himself gave them. But perhaps he can be in the spotlight by himself another time.

But for now?

For now,  I will tell you that being loved by Rundy has helped me know what it means to be loved by God. And loving him back? Well, God's in that, too.

I am learning so much, and it is so good.

I am glad for a future of learning about the Father Who made him and made me and brought us to this place. 

 

Mugs compliments of one Sarah Johnson, who gave them to us before we were even officially engaged... :)