Let me take you back… to a chilly October evening. I sat in the passenger seat next to Kendal (my best man) on our way to a homecoming party at Grace College. Grace College has given me many things over the years—countless memories, a brotherhood of rascals, and a five-star business degree—but a wild and surreal dance party? That wasn’t necessarily one of them.

Until tonight.

As you can imagine, upon arriving, we were hit with loud disco music echoing through a dimly lit corridor, leading to a packed dance floor. The scene before us was a spectacle—like a long-lost colony of dancers. Some moved smoothly, some mimicked robots, and others simply jumped up and down frantically to the beat. As we stepped closer, I locked eyes with my brotherhood of rascals, who were stationed near the outer edges of the center circle, dancing wildly and laughing freely. We joined in. Time passed. Songs played…

And then it happened.

I looked out into the crowd. I saw her.

Her wavy blonde hair left me dumbfounded. Even in the dim light, I caught a glimpse of her deep blue eyes. Her face was smooth and bright. She wore a white and pink floral dress. I was enthralled—until my gaze shifted.

She wasn’t alone.

A man stood beside her.

Who is that? What is that?! Why isn’t he dancing? Why isn’t she dancing with me? How is he with her? How am I not?

My disappointment turned to envy, which turned to heartbreak. Lol.

Time passed. Classes continued. I didn’t see her.

Until I did.

Time jump… three years later.

I had started working in sales at the local radio station and was on my way to introduce myself to a new client I had inherited from Jim after he retired. His name was Ron Redpath. I had heard the name before but had never met him.

There I stood outside the door, a bit nervous—this was the first time I had ever been to a funeral home outside of the usual circumstances. The building was beautiful—red brick, cozy-looking sofas, a grand wooden staircase. It felt more like a home than a funeral home.

I made my way through the building until I reached the staircase. That’s when I first heard his voice. He stepped out of his office—a distinguished man, dressed in a sleek suit, tall and sturdy. I liked him immediately.

“Come up and chat,” he said. Or something along those lines.

We talked for a while, shared a few laughs, and introduced ourselves. And then, he said something that would change the course of my life forever.

“Well, say, Tommy, since you went to Grace, you might know my granddaughters.”

A seemingly simple sentence. So much weight.

Christina Brent.

The next moments were a blur. My jaw dropped.

“Why yes… I’ve actually had a secret crush on Christina for the last few years.”

That must’ve done the trick. Because when I walked out of that beautiful brick building, I had a new friend—and a series of nine digits inked onto a yellow sticky note.

The rest is history.

On June 6th, I will marry the woman I have been obsessed with since the moment I saw her. Call it fate, call it destiny—but I personally believe the Lord brought us together. Praise you, Lord.

Thank you to everyone who has been so loving and foundational to our relationship. And thank you, Grandpa Redpath, for being the best wingman I could have ever asked for.

Registry