On this date, fifteen years ago.
December 20, 1992.
It was a cool, crisp and sunny Sunday morning in Indianapolis, IN. I had been living there for all of three months when I decided to move back to Minnesota.
A year earlier (in November 1991 to be exact) I had met a young lady from Indy while she was in Minnesota for a mutual friend’s wedding. We were both standing up in the ceremony and even walked down the aisle together. Long story short, we became close, had a long-distance relationship and got engaged in June of ’92, just seven months after we met. Two months after that I moved to the Hoosier state to begin planning our April 24th wedding. But almost a year to the date of our first meeting, we came full circle. She decided she didn’t want to marry me. I know that’s sounds cold, but I must confess that I had it coming. Despite the fact she was a hypersensitive control freak, I was in the midst of my most Neanderthal stage. Let’s just say I lacked a significant amount of interpersonal skills. My fiancée and I got along great when we were only talking over the phone 2-3 times per week. But when it came to having a dignified relationship on a daily basis, we just weren’t clicking.
After the break-up, my ex-fiancée convinced me to stay in Indianapolis in hopes we could work something out, maybe even reconcile. Within about four weeks, I grew tired.
Tired of working 50-60 hours per week at a crap job making crap money.
Tired of the constant rejections when attempting to find employment within my chosen field of study.
Tired of living in a dreary apartment in a neighborhood where drive-by shootings were not all that uncommon.
And tired of my ex and her constant criticism of my character. I mean, I realize I was about as pleasant as a grizzly bear with a sore derrière. However, I resented the fact that I was told that on a regular basis.
With that in mind, I called my buddy Rolf and asked if he would come to Indy and drive back with me to Minnesota. A few days before I was to leave I packed up many of my belongings and shipped them to my Mom’s house, where I would soon be living again. The only other items I brought home was whatever I could fit in my ’88 Chevy Nova and what Rolf could stuff in his Grand Prix. Everything else I left behind and told my ex’s family to donate the items to charity.
After a long, ten-hour drive I was back home. My mother was shocked to see I had wasted away to about 155 lbs. I didn’t realize until I was home how overwhelmed and stressed out I was by my situation.
But fifteen years (and sixty pounds) later, I stand amazed at the bountiful blessings God has bestowed upon my life.
And I know the best is yet to come!!