What had begun as a minor setback, visited with no intentions of leaving any mercy the moment I found myself alone in the car. I watched their backs disappear into the Canadian equivalent of Barnes and Nobles, Chapters, covered my shoulders with a sweater, and my thoughts with the Lord. I meant to complain. I meant to voice my frustrations and hurts and self-pity, respectfully lay them at His feet and see what He could do with them, but, as usual, He had the first say.

Him: Do you love me?
Me: Of course I love you.
Him: Hmm. Cause it doesn't sound like it.
Me:
Him: Do you want all this? All this world? All this distraction? All these magazines and stimuli and premarital jitters and after marital glitters? Do you? Cause that's fine. But do you love me? That's what we need to talk about first.
Me:
Him: Okay, I'll go first. I'll tell you that you love me. I'll tell you that you want me. But what I won't tell you is how you get me. That's the wonder of our relationship. That's the beauty of the covenant we share. Do you still want me? Okay, we can go somewhere with that little nod you barely acknowledged me with.
Me: Fine. I want you. How do I get you?
Him: Ah, now we're talking, but it appears that your two friends are coming back out. Let's just trial and error for a few minutes.

So we did. So I did. Failed miserably I'm sure. I'm just not the most gracious person; not the most sociable in situations where I feel hopelessly out of place. Glaringly not wearing a ring on a certain finger. Even more glaringly not wearing an expression of joy on my face. I won't lie, goodness knows, my face doesn't lie, it's hard. It's hard to find joy, and hope, and promise, and purpose, and completion with old friends who are finding their joy, hope, promise, and purpose in something so different than what we've always pursued. And I know that the Lord is still the highest goal, the ultimate mark, but the lives we live coincide with one another; and the actions we play out are marked by the minute by minute way we live. And it's different than it used to be. For them.

But my life hasn't taken such a dramatic turn. I'll stand beside one friend in seven days. I'll stand beside the next one in eleven months. I'll move to Tennessee this fall. I'll find a new church around then. I'll make new friends and find new goals and old goals which need to be taken out and readjusted. That's the way of life, I suppose.

But He reminded me of something important this evening in the car. He reminded me that I want Him; that my prayer needs not be that I want what they have, but that I want Him and my heart needs to be focused completely on getting Him. I may never have what they have -- but I will always have access to the throne we all have access to. I may never pour over bridal magazines, cake decorations, dress colors, and ring settings, but my cup pours over with all the wealth a child of God is given. I may never keep house, make a budget for more than one, iron blue Oxford shirts and coordinating pants, but the maintenance of one heart is enough work for this child.

I want the Lord; He's more than good enough for me.