An Unexpected Proposal

     I should begin by sharing that my future bride and I are avid Tolkienites.  Though I'm ascribed the honor of resident Star Wars nerd where I teach by virtue of the many Lego Star Wars vessels hanging from my classroom ceiling and advisorship of the Sci-Fi Club, The Lord of the Rings is without question my sci-fi/fantasy franchise of choice.  So when it came time to propose, I knew from the outset it ought to be very us.  And frankly, few things are more Laura and me than a shared penchant for British period drama, which we agree finds a kind of high-water mark in Tolkien's saga of wise, immortal Elves; stout-hearted Dwarves; brave Hobbits; sinister Orcs; and us, humankind, a last hope for the becoming world in a long-past, mythical epoch of transition known as Middle-Earth, of which the central conflict, of course, hinges upon the Ring of Power, the One Ring forged by the Dark Lord Sauron in a bygone age, with the power to ruthlessly dominate all life.

     Now, I honestly can't recall a longstanding notion of how I wished to propose to my future wife, but I chose to ask Laura to marry me December 13, 2013, the very night we attended an
opening-day performance of The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug alongside a dozen or more members of the Oaks Christian High School Sci-Fi Club.  One glorious effect of having chosen an occasion already laced with excitement was that she never saw it coming, didn't have a clue, until the moment the ring emerged, which I'll always consider a personal triumph.  Now, to the purist who may criticize any true parallel between the significance of my proposal and the bearing of the Ring by Bilbo and his nephew Frodo, I should declare that no such parallel was ever intended.  Tolkien himself professed a blanket aversion to allegory, and it was not the conflict itself I chose to spoof, but merely the symptoms.  For Frodo in particular, bearing the Ring from Rivendell to Mordor becomes increasingly burdensome, emotionally, spiritually, and physically.  I parodied the physically.

     Once finished feasting with the kids at Red Robin, near the Muvico theater where the film was shortly to begin, I begged a moment to admire the giant Christmas tree centered in the roundabout that curls past the front of the movie house.  Laura patiently assented, and a few moments into admiring the yuletide sparkle fest, I began to feign chest pains, a rather too believable cry of wolf that sent her into such a spasm of concern, she nearly dialed 911 on her cell.  At that point, I uttered, with a goodly pinch of melodramatic panache, "I see the great eye, in a ring of fire!"  To be fair, this was not a direct quote from The Return of the King, in which Frodo's actual line is, "I'm naked in the dark, with nothing.  No veil between me and the ring of fire!"  Still, she got the joke, and was immediately relieved, amused, and stern all at once.  I stood up and confessed how I felt such a prank was only too apropos just minutes before the next installment of The Hobbit.  I had even worn my One Ring replica (which she knew I owned) specifically for the jest.  And no sooner had I drawn the ball chain out of my shirt and over my head than I held up the ring it bore and said, with facetious perplexity, "Whoa...  That's not the Ring of Power."  And expecting to see a small gold replica of Frodo's bane, there was instead an orb of white gold with a three-quarter-karat center stone and two oval diamonds on either side.  I'll never forget the victory of seeing her face morph instantly from nonchalant bemusement to abject incredulity, arresting and joyful.  Every objection to the prank crumbled, and she was swept away with adoration, a fine result, I should say, if such trickery should have gone a little too far.  And after removing the ring from the ball chain and with still more pithy artifice, I took the replica from my pocket.  "This is the Ring of Power!" I said, smiling.  "This is it right here."

     Now drawing puppy-like devotion from her eyes and in the presence of Oaks students Kayla Gorman, Josh Becker, and Jak Darby, all aiming cell phone cameras our direction, I spoke these words to my dearest girl:

"I love you so much.  You're my best friend and the finest woman I've ever known.  Sometimes I can hardly comprehend how much I love you.  Every thought of you is like coming home.  I think of you, and my heart is full.  And I want to spend the rest of my life sharing that love, and building a life together."  Kneeling down then with the ring in my hand, I said quite simply, "Laura Marie Gordon, will you be my wife and have me as your husband?  Will you marry me?"

     She said yes, of course, and it turned out we needed a second viewing of The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug some days later to catch the film's gamut of detail and drama, unhindered by the fresh and effervescent joy of being newly-engaged.  One or the other of us may have, in fact, uttered some astonishment that second time around at the presence of a dragon in the final act of the film.  Either way, while not overtly romantic or applause-worthy as a banner trailing a Cessna or scrawled across a stadium Jumbotron, it was worth the glorious intersection of our Tolkienphilia and my pending ask for what I think can only be dubbed, and in which I take no small degree of pride, an unexpected proposal.

     More unexpected still...  The realization of the step we're about to take has challenged me spiritually, in the best sense of that.  As far as I can tell, you know you're marrying the right person when you not only crave their companionship, but likewise envision all too earnestly the ways in which you will, on a daily basis, challenge and support each other in growth and purpose.  I didn't always know I would find such a person, and in truth, there are so many ways in which Laura is dramatically different from the sort of girl I thought to one day call my wife.  What most amazes me at times is how much better I am known by my God than by my own self.  And the more faithfully I seek the Lord, the gospel himself, which is Christ, the more deeply I find myself loving and delighting in my future bride.  This was something I did not expect, though such a dimension will, I hope, characterize not only our courtship, but likewise our marriage and life together.

     Many a long-married couple, I suppose, might corroborate this.  In so many ways, you cannot plan for what's to come.  But you can aim well.  And walking by faith means remaining in the Almighty, even when you can't see the way forward.  It means praising His name and bearing with one another in love and peace, withstanding the squalls of trouble and testing that inevitably come and by which moments of weakness, grief, and difficulty His glory is marvelously revealed.  For me and my future bride, I pray just this much may be ours, that is, precisely what God would grant us, being the courage to forbear in the face of every hardship and the joy to celebrate, in fealty and affection, His many mercies and endless provision of love, a fruit that ever satisfies—glorious, true, and in so many ways... unexpected.