(Editor’s Note: This is the first part in a two-part series.)
Enjoying the experience, we’ve been on a sweet journey that holds much promise as the path unfolds.
A couple years ago, our daughter met a tender-hearted young man who purely and respectfully pursued her. Falling in love, they began planning their future together, and her dad and I have been privileged to be included.
Last June, she and her then-boyfriend flew home for a family wedding and planned on staying for a time. Our daughter wanted to expose her friend to her way of life, as it was polar opposite from his. He is Latino, born and raised in Columbia – about as different as A to Z from a farming community in northeastern Wisconsin.
As a side note, this meeting of soulmates could only be orchestrated by a God who is infinite and all-knowing. A boy from Columbia meeting and falling in love with a girl from Leopolis while in the state of Texas? How does that happen if not by God?
In January, our daughter and her boyfriend flew to Cartagena, Columbia, to meet his parents and spend time immersed in the beauty of his culture. It was eye-opening and mind-blowing as he was raised in a city with a population of 1 million. Unincorporated Leopolis may house 100 in a good year.
Undeterred by their dissimilar upbringings, this past January, this young man proposed to our daughter in the most incredibly sweet way. She said yes!
Wanting “the ask” to be a private affair, her fiancé secured a photographer to follow discreetly and after a special meal, captured the exact moment he bent the knee.
Unbeknownst to our daughter, he secretly arranged a surprise engagement party where he invited her longtime good friend from Oregon and another from Wisconsin as well as her dad and me.
Blindfolded, he led her into a house decorated with balloons and banners and 75 friends hollering “surprise,” showering her with well-wishes and hugs. Then she saw her close friends. Squealing with delight, she hugged them simultaneously. Then she spotted us.
Needless to say, our stock in Kleenex rose exponentially.
One night during our stay, my husband was introduced to a supper of gumbo. Oh boy. He ate it! Without complaint and a full glass of water. He also tried quiche. Listen when I say, this is my farmer guy who I’ve s-l-o-w-l-y introduced green vegetables, one at a time, throughout the years. He’s come a long way.
Fast forward to February. Getting a phone call from my daughter she asked, “Mom. I want you with me when I pick out my dress. Could you fly down here by yourself do you think?”
It gave me pause. I am a follower. And especially through airports. I’ve followed my husband or my daughter or my very capable sister-in-law. I don’t do well leading.
Swallowing hard I said, “Sure.”
I started praying for angels to assist, and believing he means what he says, because all of his promises are yes and amen, I settled in to wait for the day to arrive.
My husband drove me to the airport at an hour we haven’t seen since we sold the cows – leaving at 4 a.m. for a 6:30 a.m. departure out of Appleton. Seeing me off, I swallowed the lump in my throat and, putting on my big girl pants, bravely started off on my own.
Landing in Dallas, I immediately found a restroom before baggage claim as I cannot think when my bladder is taking center stage. Waiting in line, I looked at a woman bending down, fussing with a pretty hat. She stood up.
“Karen?” I exclaimed.
“Kay?” She echoed back.
She was from Marion, a fellow mom whom I’d sat with during our boys’ sporting events back in the day, developing defined bleacher-butt together.
We “happened” to be in the same bathroom in Dallas, Texas, at the precise moment I needed help. She and her daughter quite literally took me by the hand and deposited me at Baggage Claim B40. God had sent not only an angel, but personal ones to boot.
Watching my daughter search for just the right wedding dress was an experience I’ll remember always. Sipping on my first-ever mimosa, a box of Kleenex was supplied. After she said yes to the dress, I was hauled along to a French bakery for a light lunch and after shopping for my dress (and shoes) we met up with her fiancé and a dozen Latino friends for a meal at a Thai restaurant. I ordered Pad Thai. (Who am I?)
The next day, after an amazing worship service at Upperroom in Dallas, we stopped for a meal at a Japanese restaurant. I tasted flavors never touching my palate ever in my 68 years on this good earth.
Experiencing rainbows of sights and sounds as well as flavors from Thai to Japanese and interacting in delightful conversation with pleasant, God-honoring young men from Honduras and Columbia, I felt like I was pulled out of my black and white world into Dorothy’s colorful Oz. I was definitely not in Leopolis anymore.
(“For all of God’s promises find their ‘yes’ of fulfillment in him. And as his ‘yes’ and our ‘amen’ ascend to God, we bring him glory.” 2 Corinthians 1:20, The Passion Translation)
(To be continued)
Kay Reminger was born and raised on a dairy farm, and she married her high school sweetheart, who happened to farm for a living in Leopolis. Writing for quite a few years, she remains focused on the blessings of living the ups and downs of rural life from a farm wife’s perspective.
Farm Life From a Farm Wife
