Saving Ourselves For Marriage: Part 1

Two young Christians exploring love and passion.

Based on a post by Architect 23 94, in 3 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected.

I sit naked in an overstuffed leather armchair absorbing my surreal surroundings.

The remnant scents of crushed rose petals and last night's love making fill my nostrils while the gentle glow of dawn filters through leaded glass windows and sheer drapery. Gold-leaf picture frames and an antique clock face give off a slight radiance that contrast against the historic mansion's otherwise dark furnishings and wood paneling. Of everything in the room, the object most strikingly highlighted by the soft illumination is Emily's smooth alabaster leg extending from underneath the king size bed's dark duvet cover. The room is silent except for faint, deep breaths of slumber emanating from beneath the duvet.

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While my senses are filled by the early morning experience, treasured memories of the journey to this moment float through my head.

My childhood.

God has been good to me. I was raised in a very loving home by two wonderful parents, both faithful Believers who raised their two sons to be Godly young men. My mom worked as an elementary schoolteacher but spent most of her free time spearheading our church's county-wide food pantry ministry. Dad was a jack-of-all-trades who probably had 20 different jobs over his working career, not because he wasn't good at the jobs, but because he was a very inquisitive person and became quickly bored with each pursuit. We weren't monetarily wealthy by any definition, but we were a solid working-class family and our basic day-to-day needs were met.

There were a few local main street businesses that were the economic and social hubs for our small Midwest farming community. Linda's Diner was the only restaurant in our one-flashing-light town, and was where the retired crowd started their morning with coffee and gossip. Following breakfast, the older men moved to the John Deere dealership where they spent the morning drinking more coffee and lamenting that "they don't make tractors like they used to." Meanwhile, the older women went to Clancy Drugs, which was actually more of a "five and dime" store that had a small pharmacy. The owner, Oscar Clancy, had set up an area with armchairs, a couple sofas, and a coffee table where the women would knit and crotchet while they gossiped.

Two other local landmarks were the towering white steeple of the First Congregational Church, and the two-story brick Burkee Hardware building, owned by John and Bonnie Burkee. Both were welcome visual contrasts to flat horizons filled with endless cornfields, and both had transformational roles in my life.

The Burkee's attended First Congregational Church, as did nearly everyone in town, and were long-time friends with my parents. Mrs. Burkee often helped my mom with the church food pantry and my dad was a frequently found at the hardware store 'shooting-the-breeze' with Mr. Burkee. Nearly every Friday night, the two couples could be found playing Euchre at their house or ours.

Mr. Burkee knew money was always tight for my parents and, when I was a Freshman in high school, suggested I help out at the hardware store on Saturdays. I readily accepted and he put me to work with basic tasks like loading customers' cars, sweeping floors, and taking out trash. Since I was only 14 at the time, Mrs. Burkee would pay me in cash at the end of each Saturday and usually send me home with a plate of cookies or some other treat for my family. As a couple without children of their own, I felt a bit like the son they never had.

The hardware store was a natural fit for me. My family didn't have money to buy new things or hire repair technicians when something broke, so dad always fixed everything himself. He had a mechanical mind and was innovative with cost efficient solutions and repairs. I was always eager to watch him as a young child, and to participate in the repairs as I grew older. As grew into a young adult, my mind began to work like his, inquisitive and mechanical, and that translated into a lot of practical knowledge that was helpful at the hardware store.

After a few months, Mr. Burkee asked if I would want to help stock shelves on weekdays after school. He gave a stern warning that I needed to keep my schoolwork and grades in order. School was to be my number one priority and if I didn't abide by that, working afternoons at the hardware store would end. He had no reason to worry and I eagerly accepted his offer. School came easy to me and I carried straight A's without much effort.

What didn't come easy to me was social ease. I was a very introverted person and found social interactions awkward at best. I had a couple good buddies and did marginally well holding conversations with adults, but would stumble epically when even saying "hi" to a teenage girl.

When I turned 16, Mr. and Mrs. Burkee promoted me to be a legitimate, on-the-books employee at Burkee Hardware and had me start interacting more with customers. I helped them find items in the store, answered general questions, and sometimes helped brainstorm on their projects. Mrs. Burkee taught me how to use the cash register and record store credit purchases for customers that were billed monthly.

I didn't recognize it until years later, but the trust Mr. and Mrs. Burkee gave me in those early years allowed me to find trust in myself. I was confident in my knowledge and that gave me courage in my interactions with customers. That also spread to other aspects of my life and I found it easier to have more meaningful conversations with friends or adults at church.

Girls were still a different story. I had zero confidence in that area and remained painfully awkward to the point of social paralysis. It was as if I was on the outside of a glass bubble looking into the real world. There were a few girls at school and at church that I found attractive and interesting, but I lacked the ability to break through that glass wall.

Accepting failure in that part of my life, I poured my energies into school, church activities, and the hardware store. I became more involved at church where I took on a bigger role in helping my mom with the food pantry, joined a Wednesday evening Bible Study group, and grew much deeper in my personal relationship with God. Those things certainly didn't solve my awkwardness with girls, but they at least kept my mind from constantly dwelling on the subject.

Becoming a Man.

By the time my Senior year arrived, I was a well engrained fixture at church and the hardware store. The Burkee's trusted me implicitly and often left me to run the store or lock up at night when they had other commitments. Over the Christmas and New Year's holidays, they even took their first vacation in 20-years, a 10-day Caribbean cruise, and left me to manage the store.

During that year, I began to think about life after high school. The hardware store was very comfortable for me and I loved every minute of it, but I also knew it would be difficult to support myself, and hopefully a future family, on a store clerk's wages.

My mechanical mind dreamed of an engineering degree and a career designing complex industrial innovations. The spiritual side of me dreamed of a life in ministry leading people to Jesus, though that wasn't exactly a high-paying appointment either. The problem with both options was money.

My parents had managed to squirrel away a very small college fund over the years but, in reality, the vast majority of college expenses would need to be covered by scholarships and loans. Understanding the potential magnitude of college debt made a non-degreed life at the hardware store look more and more attractive.

Mrs. Burkee had taken a keen interest in what I intended to do after graduation and there were occasional slow evenings at the hardware store when she would sit and listen to all the conflicting thoughts rattling around in my head. Every time she would give the same advice, to keep my options open, pursue all opportunities until a decision became clear, and keep praying for God's guidance.

I took her advice to heart and explored various community colleges and universities, both those with engineering programs and those with ministry fields. I found a few Christian colleges that had well regarded engineering programs, which would give me the perfect opportunity to pursue both of my dreams simultaneously. However, the schools were private and their tuitions rates were astronomical.

My "top-pick" school, Powell College, was located in a small town of the same name and was especially pricey. Mrs. Burkee continued her previous advice and insisted I apply to as many schools as possible to keep my options open. She backed up her determination by insisting that she and Mr. Burkee pay for all the application fees. How could I argue with that?

Meanwhile, graduation was a couple months away and the entire town was abuzz about the upcoming Senior Prom. I had never attended a school dance and had no intention of attending Senior Prom.

My mom disagreed, arguing it was a rite-of-passage and that I would regret it for the rest of my life. She wouldn't accept no for answer and said she would make arrangements for me to take her coworker's daughter, Bridget, to Prom. I continued protesting and told her that I could find my own date, but I didn't want to go to any high school dance, Prom or otherwise. However, mom was relentless and I eventually resigned myself to the fact I wasn't going to win the argument.

My statement about finding my own date was a partial truth. Thanks to family genes, I was a fairly good-looking guy and occasionally drew the interest of girls around my age. Moving and lifting of heavy items at the hardware store had slowly evolved my body from that of a scrawny child into a muscular, well-defined 6'-3" young man with softly chiseled facial features. Unfortunately, any female attention I received because of my physical appearance was quickly repelled by my awkward and unconfident nature.

Prom was an absolute disaster. Set-up dates are awkward under any circumstances, but Bridget was very shy and just as socially backward as me. We were simply a bad combination and spent the first part of the night standing off to the side of the dance floor fidgeting nervously and trying not to make eye contact with each other. Eventually, I worked up the courage to ask her to dance when the band began playing a slow ballad. She reluctantly accepted.

We slowly shuffled around in circles, clumsily looking for appropriate hand placements and keeping plenty of distance between our bodies. Thankfully, our respective friends rescued us shortly after the song ended and we amicably parted ways.

Recruited.

Envelopes with college and university logos began appearing in the family mailbox about a month before graduation. I had a perfect GPA, so it wasn't a surprise that they were all letters of acceptance. However, what I didn't expect was that most of them also included offers of significant scholarships and financial aid. I was ecstatic to learn Powell College offered an 80% no-repayment scholarship, which made my "top-pick" school a realistic possibility. I excitedly told my parents then immediately raced over to the hardware store to tell Mrs. Burkee.

A few days later, I closed the hardware store and went home to find the Burkee's and my parents playing their regular Friday night Euchre game at the kitchen table. They all greeted me as I walked in the house and, with a strange look on his face, my dad said somewhat ominously, "Sit down son, Mr. & Mrs. Burkee would like to talk to you about something."

I nervously pulled up a chair and waited patiently while they finished the last couple tricks of the hand. Mom updated the score and dad started reshuffling the cards while Mr. Burkee spoke.

"Mike, you did a great job managing the store while we were on the cruise last winter and, well, we really enjoyed the time away. I have a proposition for you."

I listened intently as he continued, "We would like to go on an extended vacation this summer. Go out west to the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, Mt. Rushmore; maybe even try our luck in Vegas. We haven't planned it out yet so we're not sure how long we'll be gone, but I'm guessing 3 or 4 weeks for a road trip like that. So; We would like you to manage the store while we're away."

I was more than happy to do so and started to respond, but Mrs. Burkee cut me off before I got any words out, "However, you won't receive your normal hourly wage while we're gone;”

I looked at her quizzically and waited for her to continue after a faux dramatic pause, "Instead, John and I will pay the 20% of Powell's tuition that the scholarship doesn't cover, and also help you out with books and course fees."

I was quickly doing calculations in my head. Their proposal was easily worth 4 times what I would earn at my normal gross hourly rate, not even considering taxes. I sat speechless with a stunned look on my face. Here was the answer to my prayers. God had provided.

Mrs. Burkee excitedly continued, "I know you really want to go to Powell. You're an amazing young man and we want you to follow your dreams."

Mr. Burkee echoed her thoughts and added, "You've worked your tail off for 4 years, more so than we could ask of any employee. This isn't a gift. You've earned it."

I looked over at my parents. My mom was beaming and my dad had a 'gotcha' look on his face. Apparently, he thought it was funny to bait me at the beginning of the conversation.

I slowly responded, "I; I don't know what to say. That's very generous."

I think Mrs. Burkee was even more excited than me and blurted out, "Just say yes!" So, I did.

Cap & Gown.

High school graduation and the following summer went by in a blur. Amid preparing to move away to Powell, I also managed to keep attending my weekly Bible study and maintain status quo at the hardware store while Mr. & Mrs. Burkee were on vacation. Before I knew it, I was loading up my car and saying heartfelt goodbyes to all my friends and family, and especially to the Burkee's for all they had done over the past years.

After arriving at Powell, I quickly settled into my dorm room on the first day, then spent the second day on campus searching for a job. Despite my tuition being 100% covered, I still needed to pay for room & board and needed some spending money.

Naturally, my first stop was the local downtown hardware store where I spoke briefly with the owner, a stern-looking man in his late 50s, Mr. Jacobs. He looked at me skeptically and gruffly asked if I had any experience. I modestly told him that I worked at the hardware store in my hometown. He asked for a contact person, which I gave, and he said he would get back to me.

I spent the rest of the day applying for jobs anywhere that had a posting, though I needn't have. Mr. Jacobs called me first thing the next morning to say he talked to Mr. Burkee, and I was hired.

Higher Ed.

I settled into a routine of classes and work over the next few weeks. My inquisitive mind yearned for new knowledge from both sources and I soaked it up like a sponge. The coursework was more challenging and took more effort than in high school, but was still manageable and left adequate time for about 20 hours a week at the hardware store.

Between the hardware store paycheck, some help from my parents, and a moderate size student loan, I would be able to cover the cost of room & board and my general living expenses. Once again, God provided.

During those first few weeks, I also began attending Faith Bible Church, which was located a couple blocks from the hardware store. It was a typical church in many ways, but also had a large college-age ministry given its proximity to Powell's campus. They had a worship service on Sunday morning and a variety of study and support groups throughout the week, including a 'young adult' (a.k.a. college student) study group on Wednesday evenings that they called Next Gen, just NG for short.

Due to my schedule at the hardware store, it was a few weeks into school before I could attend my first Wednesday NG study. I followed signs through the church building into a large lounge area furnished like an oversized but cozy living room, complete with an artificial electric fireplace. I would guess there were about 40-50 students socializing in informal clusters around the room. I recognized a couple students from my engineering classes and decided they would be my safest point of entry into this new group.

My eyes casually scanned the room looking for other familiar faces as I purposefully walked toward my engineering classmates, that is until I plowed into someone. My hands instinctively reached out to steady whoever I just clobbered and grasped the shoulders of an extremely petite girl. I looked down to see a bob of strawberry-blond hair face-planted into the lower portion of my chest.

Socially horrified, I quickly stepped backward and squeaked out a timid, "Sorry. Are you ok?"

The girl's head tilted upward to reveal pure beauty with amazing blue eyes and a welcoming smile. Ignoring my question and the clumsy circumstance, she cheerily thrust her hand out to shake mine, "I'm Emily! Emily Fulton. I haven't seen you here before so I was just coming to say hello."

A pang of nervousness clenched my stomach as her delicate hand came to rest in my big mitt "Hi, I'm Michael; er; Mike."

"Nice to meet you Michael," she said emphasizing my formal name, then warmly continued, "I saw you at worship service the last couple Sundays, but you left before I could catch you."

I stood with Emily's soft hand in mine, frozen in an awkward conversational pause and unable to formulate an intelligent response.

Again, she ignored my ineptness and continued, "I'm glad you came to NG tonight! I'm a Freshman at Powell, but I grew up in this church and already know most of the students here. Let me introduce you to some people."

Her hand slipped from our handshake as she turned and began walking toward a group on the far side of the room. I followed behind, curiously observing Emily's petite form as her short legs took 2 energetic steps for every one of my lazy strides.

While small, her 4'-11" body was perfectly proportioned, and her tastefully conservative attire gave an impression of style and elegance not exhibited by other students in the room. Tasteful white shorts highlighted subtly athletic legs and graceful hips, while a tailored pastel-blue sleeveless blouse accentuated her narrow waist and modest chest.

Emily proceeded to introduce me to nearly everyone in the room before the study began, skillfully prompting conversation and filling awkward pauses in a way that made me feel at ease. That continued into the Bible study as we sat in adjacent armchairs and she effortlessly integrated me into the group discussions.

As the study ended and people began to informally mingle again, Emily turned toward me in her chair with a genuine smile, "I'm really glad you came tonight. Will I see you Sunday morning?"

The inquiry was rote social courtesy for most people, but Emily's smile and voice radiated true sincerity that meant much more than the face value of the words. The genuine kindness caught me a bit off guard and I stumbled a response, "Ye; yes, I'll be here Sunday."

She enthusiastically replied, "Great! I'll see you then!" and moved to join a group of her friends across the room.

School  Work.

Over the following weeks, I fell into a routine and became integrated into life at Powell, Faith Bible, and Jacobs Hardware. Classes were going well, and the hardware store atmosphere felt like a reunion with an old friend. Whatever tensions I had melted away when I entered through the old, creaky screen door on Main Street.

At church, I began to build friendships with a few of the guys in NG and, on more Sundays and Wednesdays than not, Emily would initiate a few minutes of friendly conversation with me. Over the course of those brief chats, I learned she was an Early Childhood Education major, her dad was a tenured seminary professor at Powell, she was a cheerleader and president of the quiz bowl team in high school, and; she always dressed impeccably. In turn, I told her about my engineering major and a little about my family background, including how the Burkee's made attending Powell a reality for me.

Emily made conversation easy. She looked beyond my nervous shortcomings and was genuinely interested in me as a person. It was obvious that she authentically cared for people around her, friends and strangers alike, and not in a fake or flirty way like some girls. Her infectious, cheerful personality brought out the best in people and brightened the day of anyone she encountered.

As the school year progressed, Emily's pure personality and intentions put me at ease and my social awkwardness faded away when in her presence. I felt comfortable; I felt good when I was with her.

Still a part of the town.

Freshman year flew by and, in a few weeks, I would return home to work at Burkee Hardware for the summer. Mr. Burkee had generously offered to continue our tuition arrangement if I would manage the store for the month of July. Last summer, he and Mrs. Burkee had really enjoyed the extended western road trip and, this summer, they were planning to park their beach chairs in Key West for a month.

That Thursday evening in Powell, I swept floors at Jacobs Hardware while Mr. Jacobs worked on fixing a problematic cash register drawer that had started sticking recently. It was common for us to chat about random meaningless topics in the evenings, but tonight Mr. Jacobs had other things on his mind, "What are your plans for the summer, Mike?"

I didn't understand his covert probing and innocuously answered, "Nothing big. Just going home and working at the hardware store."

"Well, I was hoping I could convince you to stay in town and work here. The customers like you and I could really use some full-time help for the summer."

Thinking there was a miscommunication, I apologized, "I'm sorry. I thought you knew I was going home for the summer."

"I did. I was just hoping to change your mind. I could really use you."

I thought for a moment, sighed, and decided it best to tell him the bigger story, "I'm sorry Mr. Jacobs. I feel like I'm letting you down, but I really need to go home for the summer. It's the only way I can afford to come back to school here next year."

He looked at me quizzically and jokingly said, "You know I'll pay you, right?"

I chuckled then more seriously continued, "Yes, but there's more to it. My family isn't wealthy like most of the students here and, quite honestly, it's only because of God's providence that I was able attend Powell this year." I went on to explain what the Burkee's had done for me, and what they were offering to do for me again next year.

When I finished talking, Mr. Jacobs compassionately said, "I understand, but I hope you'll come back to work next school year."

"Of course, I will."

I could tell he was still mentally processing things while I continued sweeping floors, progressing my way to the back portion of the store. After about 10 minutes, Mr. Jacobs approached me and somewhat hesitantly asked, "So the Burkee's are paying your tuition?"

"Yes. Well; a portion of it. They're paying for what isn't covered by scholarships."

"And, you're paying for room & board and living expenses?"

"I'm paying what I can, then I'm taking out student loans for the rest."

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, Mr. Jacobs said goodnight then left me to finish sweeping and lock up for the night.

Shopkeeping.

The following Tuesday evening, Mr. Jacobs and I tidied the store at the end of the day while making superficial conversation about the welcome spring weather. As we finished our evening routines, Mr. Jacobs insisted, "Come with me. I want to show you something."

I followed him up the stairs to the store's second floor of merchandise, then through shelving aisles to the locked third-floor stairway. He fished a key out of his pocket, opened the door, and we proceeded up the creaky stairs.

The top floor of the building was a dusty, neglected space haphazardly strewn with old shelving units, ancient product displays, and other long forgotten things. I had been up there a few times to retrieve items at Mr. Jacobs' request, and was sincerely hoping he didn't have aspirations of me organizing the mess before I left for the summer.

Once at the top of the stairs, we carefully followed narrow foot trails toward the front of the building. We high-stepped through the clutter and Mr. Jacobs explained, "The store has been in my family for 3 generations so there is a lot of history laying around here. My wife used to keep it all organized but, honestly, that hasn't been on the top of my priority list since she passed away."

He rarely talked about his family, but I had stitched together enough bits and pieces to know his wife died of cancer about 10 years ago and that he had an adult daughter serving as a long-term missionary somewhere in southeast Asia.

We approached a wall with a locked door that divided the rear storage space from the front portion of the building. Mr. Jacobs unlocked the door and gestured me through the doorway.

He joined me and looked nostalgically around the room before speaking, "My parents let me build this little apartment when I was your age. I didn't go to college and couldn't afford to live on my own, but didn't want to be a grown adult living with my parents. Eventually, I married my wife and we lived in this little place for a couple years until we bought our house."

I looked around the small studio style apartment as he spoke. There was an open kitchen along the back wall where we entered, an enclosed bathroom to one side, then an open living and bedroom space overlooking Main Street through tall seeded-glass windows. Exposed wood rafters, hardwood floors and brick walls gave the space a warm and cozy feel despite all the furnishings being covered with dust-layered plastic sheets.

He swiped his hand across the kitchen island creating a cloud of dust, "We spruced it up for my daughter to use while she went to Powell, but she's been gone for about 8 years now."

We stood in silence for a brief moment before he sighed loudly and continued, "You're a good kid, Mike. I knew that already, but the fact that John Burkee trusts you to run his store for a month reinforces it that much more."

He looked me in the eyes as he continued, "There's no good reason for you to take out student loans for housing when this place is sitting empty. I'd like you to live here when you come back to school next fall."

He paused for a couple seconds then said in an attempt to not appear soft, "That way YOU can keep an eye on that temperamental boiler, and I don't have to come into a cold store in the morning; Oh, and you'll need to organize the storage area so you can get in here without killing yourself."

I think I began to tear up a little and said, "Wow, I don't know what to say Mr. Jacobs."

"Don't get all sappy on me. Just say 'yes' you idiot." And that was that. God was good and had provided once again.

The wealthy folks.

Summer went by in a flash and I enjoyed every minute of it. It was great to see all my hometown friends and old customers from the hardware store. My parents were thrilled to have me back in the house and, oddly, I felt glad to be home. While I enjoyed the personal growth that came with going away to school, it was nice to be somewhere familiar and comfortable.

The Burkee's returned from their Key West beach-therapy with dark tans and not a care in the world. In conversations over the summer, I sensed our relationship was slowly evolving from a pseudo-parent/child connection to more of a friendship among adults. While not firmly committing to anything, they hinted that they would like our vacation-tuition arrangement to continue for the rest of my college career.

Sophomore days.

I returned to Powell on Monday, a week before classes started, so I could get the hardware store apartment in livable condition. I greeted Mr. Jacobs and thanked him profusely for letting me use the apartment. He brushed off my gratefulness and jokingly said, "That's ok. I'm getting a night watchman and a clean third-floor out of the deal."

I spent the first day clearing a widened path through the storage room, then prioritized cleaning the apartment. I figured I could more thoroughly clean and organize the storage room after I had a suitable place to sleep and eat.

The apartment was fully furnished with a single bed, sofa, television, small dining table set, appliances, dishes, and other misc. accessories. All were decidedly 'vintage' but were in good condition and functional. Plastic sheeting had protected the furnishings very well from years of accumulated dust, but I would need to do some serious floor and wall cleaning the next day. At least I had gotten far enough to be able to crash on the sofa that night.

The next couple days were spent more thoroughly cleaning the apartment and contents, and included a shopping excursion to stock the kitchen cabinets and fridge. When he could spare time, Mr. Jacobs started sorting through some of the storage room clutter while I cleaned, occasionally reminiscing and telling stories about various items he found along the way.

With the apartment itself in pretty good shape, the rest of the week was spent in the storage area. Mr. Jacobs had used color-coded sticky notes as he sorted through things. Red for trash, yellow for donate, and green for keep. It took two full days of constant trips up and down the stairs to remove all the trash and donation items. Mr. Jacobs laughed at my obvious exhaustion and said, "I think I got the better end of the deal! Free rent isn't so free, is it Mike!?!"

By Friday evening, the hardest portion of the work was finished, and I could focus on organizing the remaining green-tagged items. I assembled a dozen old metal shelving units that were being stored in pieces and used them to arrange miscellaneous small things, removing collected dust as I handled each piece.

Large antique and vintage product displays were gathered according to subject matter and placed in groupings along the building's blank sidewall. Finally, boxes were labelled and stacked in organized rows running the length of the storage room. Most everything was in its place by Saturday night. I could deal with the few remaining odds and ends after school started.

Church folks.

The next morning, I went to Faith Bible's morning worship service where it was great to reconnect with the NG guys I had grown close to Freshman year. We caught up on everyone's summer adventures, laughing and enjoying each other's company again.

We spent some more time talking after the service ended at 12:30, but quickly grew hungry and guys began leaving in search of food. It was then that I saw Emily approaching from across the room. As always, her face radiating beauty without the artificial assistance of makeup.

She wore a modest sleeveless white summer dress adorned with a fashionable navy-blue floral print. Its conservative A-line profile ended a few inches below her knees and, in combination with strappy white heels, very attractively highlighted her toned calves and delicate ankles. In contrast, the waistline and bodice of the dress were neatly fitted to her body contours and accentuated her petite hourglass figure. She looked amazing.

Emily's strawberry-blond hair fluttered in the breeze as she approached me, and her bright blue eyes connected with mine. Happy to see her, I smiled broadly and unsurely extended my hand to greet her. True to her warm and caring personality, she pushed my hand aside in favor of a brief hug between friends. Due to our height difference, her arms snaked around my waist and she momentarily pressed her head against my lower chest. Uncomfortable with this new experience and not wanting to cross any inappropriate boundaries, I awkwardly patted her shoulders until she released her short embrace and excitedly announced, "It's so great to see you Michael!"

"It's good to see you too Emily. How was your mission trip?"

Emily had spent the summer teaching at a missionary school in Haiti and spent a few minutes telling me highlights before she asked, "How was your summer?"

I sheepishly told her about the hardware store and reconnecting with old friends. It all seemed so mundane and meaningless compared to serving poverty-stricken children in a natural disaster ravaged country. If Emily felt the same, it certainly wasn't evident. She seemed truly interested and asked a few questions that were more about me as a person, than the facts of the summer. Her ability to genuinely connect with people was real gift.

A great apartment.

My Sophomore year went much the same as my Freshman year. Classes went well and I regularly attended Faith Bible's Sunday worship and NG study. I became very close with the group of guys and we regularly hung out whenever our schedules aligned. Likewise, Emily and I continued our pattern of short, friendly conversations whenever we saw each other at church events.

The apartment at the hardware store was great. The solitude of living by myself away from the dorm suited my personality and had the side benefit of me being more available to Mr. Jacobs. Occasionally he would call me down outside of my scheduled working hours when he was in a pinch. I didn't mind at all and, when I didn't have other obligations, I would frequently wander downstairs anyway to help customers or just to chat.

The following summer, I returned home to continue my tuition-vacation agreement with the Burkee's while most of my friends from school dispersed to missionary callings around the globe.

New Emotions.

After another successful summer at Burkee Hardware, I somewhat reluctantly said my goodbyes and returned to Powell for my Junior year. It was comfortable at Burkee's and I had grown to consider many of the regular customers as good friends. I couldn't fully understand my emotions, but I knew it just felt right to be rooted there.

I arrived back in Powell a week before fall-term classes started. Mr. Jacobs was happy to see me and was eager to share some new ideas he had over the summer. We spent several days doing a deep cleaning of the store and switching seasonal retail displays to feature fall items.

He keenly observed that all things antique and vintage were coming back into vogue, so we pulled some of the old merchandising items out of third-floor storage and gave the storefront display windows a more vintage look. I had to admit, the new display was very befitting for the 100-year-old building's historic character.

While we worked together, Mr. Jacobs asked my opinion on some of the new home and farm technology he had been reading about in trade magazines. I gave my honest opinion that it would be good to stock minimal numbers of basic home connectivity items that might appeal to more technology savvy Powell College faculty and staff. However, Powell was a small rural town and most of the store's customers were slow to adopt new technology. It probably wasn't a good business decision to load up on a lot of expensive inventory that would become quickly outdated with the next Silicon Valley innovation. Mr. Jacobs smiled and agreed.

It felt good to be back in the store with Mr. Jacobs. He had become more of a friend than a boss over the last couple years, and our conversations flowed easily regardless of topic. My feelings at Jacobs Hardware were very similar to those I had at Burkee's. It just felt right.

Great Aspirations.

I woke up Sunday morning eager to reconnect with friends at Faith Bible. The first Sunday before classes started was a homecoming of sorts, and the church had planned a special fellowship meal for returning Powell students.

Upon arrival, I joyfully greeted a group of friends and joined in the mingling before the service began. My excitement eroded to dejection as I stood listening to missionary stories brought back from far corners of the globe. They were exciting and inspirational experiences but, to me, they were a reminder of my comparatively dull and inconsequential summer. I had aspirations of leading people to faith and making an eternal difference in the world; not being trapped in a hardware store by my financial circumstances.

I went through the motions of worship that morning, but praise and thankfulness were the furthest things from my mind. Mostly I sat there feeling sorry for myself. Unlike most of my classmates, I didn't come from a family that could pay for my education, let alone fund far-flung summer missionary adventures. I lost interest in the fellowship meal, both the food and impending summer mission stories, and quietly slipped out the door after worship service ended.

I needed a distraction and decided to tackle the most annoyingly tedious of all hardware store tasks; sorting through the bulk hardware bins. In search of the correct item, customers always seem to put wrong size bolts, nuts, washers, screws, etcetera in the wrong bins, which makes the process that much more frustrating for the next customer. The bins were a complete mess and I assumed they probably hadn't been sorted for at least a couple months.

Customer traffic was very light and by mid-afternoon I had made my way through about half of the bins. I sat on an overturned bucket while my fingers lazily raked through a bin of supposedly 3/8-inch hex nuts, picking out erroneous sizes.

My head craned to see around the cabinet of bins when I heard the front screen door open and close, followed by footsteps lightly creaking across the old hardwood floors. Racks and displays obscured my view of the person's upper body, but petite calves and stylish ankle strap heels easily identified the woman as Emily.

My sullen words were just loud enough to be heard over the click-clack of her heels, "Hi Emily. I'm over here."

She rounded the corner and stood at the end of the bin cabinet, "I didn't see you at the fellowship dinner and didn't get a chance to say hello. Did you have to work?"

My eyes and fingers were still searching for mis-categorized nuts as I did my best to put on an upbeat facade, "Not really, I just wasn't hungry so I figured I would come back and get started on this."

I should have known that Emily's caring personality wouldn't accept that kind of whitewashed answer. She positioned an overturned bucket about an arms-length away from me, then sat down and modestly adjusted the skirt hem over her crossed legs.

Sufficiently settled on the bucket, her eyes gazed at me inquisitively, "What's going on Michael?"

I sat for a moment contemplating that Emily isn't the type of person to accept anything but the honest truth. Having resigned myself to that fact, I sighed and softly said, "I know it's selfish, but I couldn't listen to any more mission trip stories. I want to be out there reaching the world, but I was stuck in a one-horse-town hardware store all summer."

Emily's response would have come across as patronizing if spoken by anyone else, but I knew her heart was pure and words sincere. "That one-horse-town needs to hear the Gospel too. You grew up there. You know those people better than anyone, and they know you. I can't think of anyone better equipped to minister to them."

"I appreciate what you're trying to say, but it's not the same. It's the heartland of Christian America, not gospel-starved desert."

Her inquisitive gaze turned to one of determination, "You're right, Michael. It's not the same. A lot of people paint overseas mission work as a glamourous job with a continuous harvest of saved souls. Well; it's NOT; at least not in my experience."

"There are so many barriers to effective ministry. Language, customs, political strife, instability of the mission organization; not to mention that most of the target population is more worried about surviving the day than they are about eternal salvation."

She continued, "The place I served in Haiti is a constantly revolving door of short-stint teachers and severely destitute kids. I knew the kids' names and showed them love while we were together, but I had no idea if they would be back the next week, or even the next day. There were only a couple kids that stayed in school for more than a couple weeks at a time. If they returned later, it would usually be to a different teacher that they didn't know; it's hard for them to understand a loving God in a world of constant chaos and strife. Don't get me wrong, it's important work and there are success stories, but it's not ideal."

I continued sifting through the bin of nuts and asked, "Why did you go back to Haiti this summer? You must have felt like it was important since you chose to go back."

Emily's tone turned softer, "I don't really know why I went back again. I guess it's what my parents and friends expected me to do."

"Are you going back next summer?"

"I don't know," she said quietly then paused for a moment, "I don't know."

We sat in introspective silence for a couple minutes before Emily said, "You know, most of the success stories I saw in Haiti weren't because of outside missionaries, they happened because of locals ministering to locals."

I nodded my head to let her know I was listening.

"You know the people at the hardware store; you know the road their life has taken; and you have the chance to build a deeper relationship with them every day, talking about things that matter to them. And when the time is right, that foundation of trust will give you the chance to share Christ and meet them at the point of their need."

"Michael, I think you have an opportunity that a lot of overseas missionaries dream about."

Her words had the remarkable duality of a compassionate reprimand and powerful encouragement, delivered in a way that only Emily could. I knew she was right. A stabbing pang of remorse shot through my stomach as I thought about not making the most of opportunities I had over the last two summers.

I looked into her kind blue eyes for the first time during that conversation and very sincerely told her, "Thank you, Emily. I needed to hear that. You're an amazing friend."

We both stood and shared a short embrace. Her arms around my waist, and mine cradling her head against my chest. No pretense. No awkwardness. Just an honest expression between friends.

Bonding and struggling.

Classes unceremoniously began the next day and, over the next several weeks, I settled into a regular routine of school, work, and church activities. I was happy to discover that Emily and I were in the same 'Introduction to Biblical Theology' section together. It was one of the few general studies courses where our very different majors overlapped.

Our respective classes that followed Biblical Theology were both on the north side of the campus, so we often walked together and were eager to learn more about each other along the way. Some conversations were light-hearted and fun, while others were quite deep and personal.

A bond grew between us as we spent those hours together, and we began gravitating toward each other whenever in the same room or at the same events. We would always find each other before and after Sunday worship and we were always eager to hear each other's thoughts at the weekly NG study. During the week, Emily would occasionally stop by the hardware store to say hello and chat for a few minutes.

Over the course of that fall semester, I recognized that my mood soared when I saw her, and plummeted on the few occasions when we weren't able to connect. My feelings for her were becoming more than just friendship.

I wrestled with those feelings over the winter break between semesters. I had never experienced that kind of emotion for a girl. Confused and generally clueless about dating relationships, the last thing I wanted to do was mess up our friendship if she didn't feel the same way.

As the spring term began, I was no closer to resolving my internal conflict and decided it was just best to suppress my feelings for Emily. When our theology class ended with the fall term, we continued spending time together at church, and her social visits to the hardware store became more frequent.

Despite my best efforts, I couldn't completely put thoughts of something more than friendship out of my mind and began to do a little research. I covertly probed our group of mutual NG friends for information, innocently inserting questions into conversations over the course of several weeks so they wouldn't discover my interest.

After assembling all the tidbits, I surmised that Emily hadn't dated anyone during her college career, and probably not during high school either. Several guys had asked her out over the last couple years, but she graciously declined all of them. I was curious to know why but knew I would blow my cover if I kept asking questions.

To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by Architect 23 94, in 3 parts, for Literotica.